xxxiii. selfish irony

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CHAPTER XXXIII:
selfish irony

CHAPTER XXXIII: selfish irony

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( December 1979 )

      DUPONT READ THE LETTER WITH A HAND OVER HER MOUTH, TEARS UNCONTROLLABLY STREAMING DOWN HER FACE, AND A CONSTANT PINCH TO HER SKIN TO ATTEMPT TO WAKE HER FROM A DREAM

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      DUPONT READ THE LETTER WITH A HAND OVER HER MOUTH, TEARS UNCONTROLLABLY STREAMING DOWN HER FACE, AND A CONSTANT PINCH TO HER SKIN TO ATTEMPT TO WAKE HER FROM A DREAM. But it was unfortunately no dream. Regulus Black had sent her a letter after nine months of silence and it was a letter defining his death.

She rushed to her toilet to relieve herself of the vomit that had quickly bubbled in her stomach, back hunched over, both hands grasping the edges of the porcelain while her right hand still held the letter.

After finally leaving her meals in the depths of the toilet, she sat with her back against the cold wall while rereading the letter. Her fingers grazed over the letters of her favorite handwriting, it was the most recent letter from Regulus and it was written in September meaning he was long a rotting corpse wherever he had taken the horcrux.

Call her selfish for thinking this, but Libillule had no care that he was sacrificing himself for the greater good of the world. She only wished to be held in his arms, no matter if her life were at risk, she would still have him within her grasp. To be able to feel his porcelain skin beneath the pads of her fingers, to run her fingers through the soft curls that grew from his scalp, to utter sweet nothings for only his ears to hear, to feel the warmth of his lips to hers. That was all she wanted. Not some cruel goodbye that could have been avoided had he not tried to be a hero.

To hell with this being the end of their story, she had dreamed for them to have an entire series, a novel for just them. Not some pathetic short story ending in tragedy.

      Then she looked at the greeting he left her. Ma Libellule. It was the first time he had ever called her that and it ached in her heart that it was the last. More tears streamed down her cheeks for her lover, her glasses had long been discarded on her desk had been that she took them off in disbelief. So there she sit, crying like a tall child, all over a boy who had wanted nothing to do with her when he received her first letter, just wishing he would say he loved her in person before leaving her.

      Oh, the irony.

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