Art Deco

take me to church;

pairing- cultleader!sirius black x reader
warning(s)- mentions of murder, gore, dark themes. (let me know if i should add more)
a/n- inspiration from a novel i'm writing!

ps- i'll only do a part two if people want to. this fic is not everyone's cup of tea, so i'll leave it be at this. i just wanted to tease the idea. :) let me know your thoughts though!

secrets were whispered ear to ear, scrolls of parchments with inked prophecies and lores were trapped under the facade of an unassuming bookstore. the cloaks of secrets unveiled a monthly ritual under pale moonlight, blood stained clothes and gashed wounds. it was an enigmatic society, with brilliant minds who were thirsty for esoteric knowledge and truths, known as the crimson harbringers. only those who unraveled the mysteries, could have initiated the cult's existence, which contained a collection of ancient texts, manuscripts and artifacts, some of which were considered to possess unimaginable powers.

this clandestine organization's helm, simply called 'the voice' was a figure of mythic proportions, who was believed to possess the ability to lull one with their voice, enchanting them under their spell, alluding to the capacity of manipulation and control over those in their circle. rumor had it, they could foresee the future, decode prophecies hidden within the time-worn parchments of manuscripts. the visions into fate and destiny were considered to be the cult's most cruelly and closely guarded secrets, the key to unlocking the universe's ultimate secret.

the chairs would scratch against the wood, creating an echo that would dull out the emptiness of the chair at the end of the high end oak table. the dim candlelight flickers over the masks of anonymity they wore. it was an eerie trepidation that crept under your skin, as you searched sat, squirming within the unfamiliar environment. but it was a mission, to end the rumors of the witches, to demolish the fear felt because of your kind.

there was a sense of shifting, a new tension in the air as the creaking floorboards announced the arrival of the helm named as the 'the voice'. he lifted his hand, rubbing his index finger against his thumb. the candlelight, the candle flame burning out with a wisp of smoke. hotness creeps on your face, as the mask of anonymity melted away. the silence within the darkness was eerie, heavy shrouded breathes echo across the room, oozing respect for the speaker.

'we meet again,' he says. the rumors about his voice weren't whispered tales. it tingled under your skin, with a feeling that made you loose your rational thoughts, clogged your head. it was as if his voice was gifted by secrets of bellowing winds, the rain and the whooshing of the trees.

'we have gathered here to discuss a recent prophecy our members have discovered. it contains a lore about aftermaths of the saints, who discovered the existence of witches.'

a collective gasp stunned the gathering.

'it speaks how witches tortured them into insanity, brutally murdering them. it explores the spectrum of tortures, where we discover how hard it is for human beings like us to exist, within the clutches of the wizards, and how painfully cruel they are,'

you sunk your nails into the skin of your toes. while what his lips spit out hurt your heart, your brain was too fogged to understand him, to fight the control he had over you, just by his words. you bit your lip, a feeling of anger overcame you as you fought your internal battle.

if you had to end these stereotypes, you had to sit there and listen. you had to understand the perspective of the other side who thought of your kind as dangerous. you had to curate a new vision for them, to fight against them.

'we have to destroy them, remove their very existence. suck their souls and rip them apart! ruin them like how they've been ruining us all these years! we have to show them how it feels to live with fear, and breath bloodshed every breathing moment into their lives.'

'if we really torture them, then what's the difference between them and us?' you speak. the room is dark, silent, but you know pairs of eyes are searching for you, some even staring at you. you realize no one dares to cut him off while he speaks, or maybe his influence is too empowering. either ways, the silence is scary when it envelopes you. he doesn't speak further, and you're not sure whether he simply doesn't care or he simply doesn't want to.

'i'm in authority. your minds have been shaped solely by me, and just me. you're not supposed to blaster out your opinions, upon mine, do you understand fellow member? or do i have to end your fate with destiny?' he breathed. you could hear his gritted teeth. 'meeting dismissed.' he ended, as the candleflame burned back to life again. you never saw his face, the mask framing his face again. it was different than what the others, including you were wearing. you sensed it was his way of standing out, of being different.

****

the distant echo of your footsteps reverberated through the empty streets. each turn towards your house crowded you into the labyrinth of shadows, of a fear that burned within your heart. you felt someone, but it was too quiet. all you could hear was your own footsteps against gravel.

while you could've disapparated, you wanted to walk to your house. you wanted to feel the cold air slashing through your skin while you let your thoughts consume you, rot your brain. it wasn't a fruitful try, but it was something. to begin with. to work with.

you murmured against your breathe, unlocking your door. the door clicked open.

'so you are a witch,'

the similar voice crawled behind you. before you could scream, you were pushed into your own house, the doors closing on it's own accord. you were trapped inside your own home, with your wand pointed at you.

dark eyes stormed into you, as he moved closer, with you taking your steps backwards. you were trapped against the wall and his chest. you gulped,

'you can't do anything with that wand.'

he provided you a lop-sided smile in response. brushing long strands of raven hair away from his face, he whispered,

'you're not sure about that sweetheart are you? i can do wonders with this wand. what makes you think i'm not a wizard?'

you splutter on you words,

'b-but you-'

his hands wrap around your throat, mocking you,

'b-but you-. it's a ploy you stupid bitch. it's a prophecy i've predicted. it's a ploy to get the wizards and witches rule over the muggles. you don't know the things i've gone through to get here! kill my friends. and oh it was just the beginning,'

you tried to breathe against the constriction, but he hardened the hold on your neck.

'i'll tell you a tale. it's so enthralling, you'd love it. you'd love to hear how i ripped out hearts, enjoyed as the blood stained my fingers. you'd love to hear how tearfully i could make them beg before they lost the hope of life in their eyes, and i'd love to chop them up, fed them to the wolves. i'll tell you all of them, make you slice through them.'

his dark eyes were all you remembered before the world blacked out.