Clutching at his wild brown hair, he gazed unseeing into the darkness. Every atom of his body shook with a horrendous amount of pain. As days turned into weeks, the happiest of his memories were laced with a bitterness that he couldn't fully understand. It was as though someone had poured a combustive liquid into his brain and set it on fire; everything he recalled burned against his eyes, spreading to his chest.
Was he dying?
Part of him hoped he was.
Try as he may to fight it, his thoughts circled the bottomless pit of his darkest memories, spiralling down into the unknown. He was constantly reminded of the horror, of the cold, isolated vault, and of the never-ending pain aching in every part of his body. How could he stop himself from thinking about all that he once knew? Life as he'd previously known it was forgotten — lost — in Bellatrix Lestrange's vault. For several weeks, he dangled from his shackles, teetering on the edge of insanity, as he screamed desperately for help to no avail.
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With every wound inflicted by the Death Eaters, he struggled to maintain balance, to hope for salvation. His once youthful face had been replaced by one of sallowness, sickness, and pain. Large gashes were evident on every inch of his skin. Fading purple bruises lingered on his torso, indicating the areas of abuse. The most distinct change, however, were the dark, deadened brown eyes that seemed to stretch into an eternity of unfathomable excruciation.
Echoes of a sinister memories flashed in his mind, suffocating him. There were pairs of vicious eyes, an amused collection of wicked cackles, various wounds inflicted by the sharp blade of the dagger, and multiple blood-curdling screams — his own screams...
Charlie's fingernails often dug into his palms, drawing blood from the amount of pressure. The hard protein bit into his skin and left painful marks in their wake, but he did not seem to care. In his opinion, physical pain was tolerable; emotional pain was not.
The Death Eaters toyed with him, each taking turns with the dagger. With harsh words, they taunted him, and Charlie's head constantly urged to advert their eyes; but he forced it straight, unwilling to succumb to the humourless and bitter sounds of their voices.
"Quite the Mudblood thing you've got, eh? It'd be such a dreadful shame if something happened to that pretty little face of hers, wouldn't it?"
