Fear is an emotion that is dedicated to the concept of controlling individuals all across the globe.
It is an abstract sensation, a consuming fervour, that can envelope individuals with the mere mention of its name.
It is an ardour that can determine the true morals of a person; for fear can both drive one to insanity and propel another into war.
It ate at the most crude, inconspicuous parts of an individual before regurgitating it and emitting a shrill cry of its truth for the whole world to see.
Fear was the primary dictator of the world and Fallon was an individual who remained perched in its vicious claws for much time.
Her battle in reprimanding her father and vanquishing the illness of her sister had led her toward the modest strip club she chose to reside within; fear thrusting her before the vivacious, foul maw of men to come.
It could be inferred that the pressure of her own torment had encouraged her to take residence at the dim bar of the club, however in truth, Fallon thirsted for a single thing.
And that was a break.
Some could say that it appeared as though Fallon was a figment of the clouds, an angel in all her frivolous beauty and strength.
She was certain of otherwise as the disarray of the world continuously reared its ugly head from the means of her lap.
It was as though she herself were a disease; a vile, repulsive illness that slivered into the mind of those around her before making waste of them, destroying them from the inside out.
Her eyes were eternally clouded with mist, make-up removing the sight of the red rimmed lids.
Anyone who truly knew her knew she was no angel.
And as her beautious figure exited the imminent stage, the beat of her heart emanating in her head as though the pleasure of the crowd below was all she knew, she raced for the changeroom.
The lace of her clothing felt nearly as though it were burning and laying waste to a permanent dent in her skin as she tore it from herself.
The fabric rippled against the rich wood of the floor.
The gentle breeze of the wind caused the enclosed building to creak around her.
While the pub was indeed pleasant, it was old as well.
Black leather highlighted the walls in a tiled formation, mahogany wood enveloping the ground she walked on.
Hints of burgundy and rich purple remained present upon the furnishings of the establishment; the carpet, the cushioned chairs.
Despite the uniformed appeal, the bar was dim, as though something of darkness had repressed and hung itself above the building.
Figures jostled about the premises; women thrusting themselves upon the burgeoning bodies of the men in the audience, teenagers rutting around the dance floor.
And then there were those who occupied the pub.
Their fingers were thick with fat, wrists dainty with watches that cost more than Fallon's life, and the stain of red lipstick remained engrained on the flesh of their bruised, cracked lips.
Currently, however, the bar remained particularly empty, the residue of alcoholic beverages littering the bar top with unnecessary circles as Fallon seated herself in a stool that lay ajar.
"What'll it be this evening, Beauty?" the bartender quizzed expectantly, a gleam of welcome appearing upon his lips at her presence.
The mahogany table top of the aforementioned bar, shone with a gnarled fluoresce in the light.
YOU ARE READING
D. Malfoy | Crucio
FanfikceDraco Malfoy was a broken boy, to say the least. With the misfortunes of his family and the darkness of his actions weighing down on his soul, he felt like he was utterly alone. In his attempts to silence his pain, Draco Malfoy had discovered that...
