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chapter thirteen. ( the dudley dursley spectacle )
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SWEAT-SOAKED SKIN DRENCHED HER shivering body, the contradiction between the two forever so intriguing to the terror-ridden girl. Her hair clung to her head as the remnants of her nightmare still lingered, her hands trembling as she reached over to slam shut the open window.
Ascella Black slid back into bed, her body enveloped in the silk covers tightly, like a caterpillar engulfed in its cocoon. She brushed away a few, stray tears, the nightmare playing on repeat in her mind like a broken record.
Various flashes all occurred at once: a girl with a horror-stricken expression on her gaunt face, a shock of emerald green light penetrating her chest, her eyes going blank and body slumping to the ground.
The manic cackle was what awoke Ascella, her breaths ragged as she bolted up in bed, the silver claw of the moon emitting a glow of pearl on her trembling figure. The silence was deafening to her, every single sound magnified to ring in Ascella's ears.
A bandaged hand flew to her mouth to muffle her sobs, fear lacing her body as she wondered what was so wrong with her. There wasn't a logical explanation in her mind as to the strange occurrences. The only reason she could think of was that she was slowly, but surely, losing her mind and succumbing to the Black curse.
Ascella Black hands were a sudden, unexpected problem that she was forced to live with. At Hogwarts, the glowing of her hands was an issue in itself, but now, they're scattered with bitter scabs and burns, the painful sting almost too agonising that she couldn't lift her wand.
At first, the Black heiress had resulted in using her wand to heal the burns, yet the mass of them had caused her to wrap them in bandages, as each day she woke up to a new blister on her hands. She had fumbled out mindless excuses when her Mother, Seraphina Laurent, had questioned her, not entirely sure what to say, as she didn't know either.
