"Trust me, you shouldn't want anyone like me on your back."
"Maybe I don't want anyone like you on my back," His eyes darkened as he stepped closer, confining me tighter into barely any space as my back pressed against the wall.
"Maybe I want you. U...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
"DO YOU FEEL LIKE A YOUNG GODDESS?"His question occurred to me now, gently throbbing against my ears in his guttural voice as I looked at myself in the mirror.
Gellert Grindelwald, a man—a dark wizard, who had at several turns in his life claimed that he was mortal but undefeatable, had asked his great niece if she felt like a goddess when he himself had never claimed his form to be that of a God's. What did that mean, I couldn't properly decipher.
If I were to tell someone, would they believe me? The sick twisted care that my great uncle had had for me sounded like a reverie that would never find its feet on the ground-a reverie that would never materialize. But it had materialized, hadn't it? For me?
I glanced at Bridgette, her form enveloped in her brocade magenta gown, threaded through with delicate patterns of dying flowers, as she fretted about our dorm, trying to find one thing or the other for her auburn hair. The wide skirts of her dress knocked against side tables and toppled things over to the carpet soundlessly, and I didn't have the heart to tell her that she was making a mess for us to come back to.
I focused my attention on myself, taking my own form in again as I stood transfixed in front of the vanity mirror. The embellished emerald green gown I wore, stood out against my light toned skin, my collar bones on full display as the strapless dress molded into chiffon bell sleeves that fell inches off my shoulders and stopped at my wrists. The dress was a cacophony of delicate emerald jewels that resembled green glitter, covering the entirety of the bust and the rest of the gown, which hugged my curves and flowed into a gentle tamed circle from just below my knees.
It looked majestic, the dress made me feel majestic. And perhaps, like a young goddess too, but that wasn't what my great uncle had meant when he had asked me that question. He had hinted at my power—and I had been wearing half damp winter clothes then. I wondered if this was what Voldemort felt like, desperately wanting that one final thing to complete his own vision of himself. Like putting on a beautiful dress for a single night, adding that final touch to your hair, fixing the last piece in a thousand piece puzzle—mediocre things that soothed that sense of restlessness, erupting in a blissful satisfaction that wore off like cheap perfume quickly after.
