limerence- d,,Malfoy

chapter twenty-one

I sat at the long dining table, shivering still. A blanket had been wrapped around my shoulder. The walls are covered in pictures of old portraits. Valentine crossed his fingers, holding a cup of warm milk. My stomach lurched, but there was nothing left.

From the other side of the door, my father commanded all servants to leave the room. The maids, who once fussed over me, left abruptly. He entered, sitting at the head of the table. His eyes trained us both.

"Blood witches," he spoke, his voice hushed. "We derive from the only long living line of the finest of blood. Magic was said to be created from the rib of Adam. We are the creators of all magic, even that which mud and blood can retain.

It was said that long before the human race, came the witches. It was a young woman who took her first breath. Her name is Ara, and her hair is white as the snow and her skin is pale as the moon. Your greatest ancestors, derived from her line, spread across the world.

Magic is said to have come from her heart. She devoured both Eve and Adam for the knowledge of spells. From her spring, Val, the father of magic, It is believed that death himself gave her the curse of spell-making.

Although, for many generations, the line was hunted, Until Lord Voldemort, he regarded us as the most holy of blood to him. We live under his protection; we give him what he lives on. Magic, spells—the darkest of spells.

We are the last standing blood witches; you must understand this, yes?"

I sank down into myself. Shock was evaporating off my body, and an ancient race lived within me. My magic was strong, and it had always been stronger than most. I saw Valentine's eyes light up, but I didn't follow. 

My hands still trembled, and the memory of death still lingered. None of my father's words could explain the fact that we played a part in Voldemort's scheme. I relished the fact that I finally understood some evidence of family history.

But at what cost?

Was my whole life's purpose just to serve a man? Who hated the assistance of some of the people I loved the most? I looked past my brother, staring at a portrait of a young woman. Her face looked almost like a copy of mine; her skin, her eyes—everything was the same.

I felt numb to it all. Nothing makes sense anymore—nothing at all. I gazed up at my father, who only looked at me back. My tears had no place in front of him, and my sad gaze did nothing for him. How could my mother love such a cold person?

My mother.

"What about Mother?" I asked, my voice almost like a mouse. Valentine perked in his seat, his arms retracting.

My father looked at the large grandfather clock and said, "She'll arrive here in four days' time."

Four days—all days of torture alone. I creaked my neck, and the clock's face morphed into a countdown. Ninety-six hours and counting. I folded back, slumping into the chair's embrace. My father went on to explain that we must pledge allegiance to Lord Voldemort. He would teach us the ancient art of spell-making.

Essentially, I was a weapon in the making.

"You must be tried." He finally sympathised, snapping his fingers. "The servants will show you to your rooms. Goodnight, children."

"Goodnight, father," Valentine said, standing from his seat. I went to stand, but my body was stuck. I was being held by a sticky feeling.

Valentine nodded at me while his eyes wandered in my direction. I wanted to keep silent and avoid speaking. I tried again, but all I got was my father's glum expression. I felt a chill run down my spine as I stared him in the eyes.

"Goodnight," I said, holding back any angst. "Father."

I was released, and my body is now free from the grip. Valentine was led in the opposite direction by a young servant girl. I walked behind the servant, who bowed before walking away. My room, my childhood room It was still just as it had been many years ago.

The plain white bed sheets have a canopy bed. The old Victorian dresser and vanity were all the same as what I had left. The bathroom was cold, and the tile bit at my skin. The warmth of the shower was all I had, and it soothed the overdriving thoughts.

I slipped into the silk pyjamas laid out for me. Curling into a tiny ball under the covers With not a single tear left to drop, I stared out the balcony window, the curtain blowing in the wind. It had all fallen to pieces now, and I couldn't repair any damage from this point forward.

My eyes grew heavy, and sleep called for my name. I gave in eventually, my body relaxing into the pillows. I wish someone would hold me just so I could fill this empty bed.

But no one came.