[COMPLETED] In which the untold story of Walburga Black unfolds.
She was a witch before she was a wife, mother, and cruel woman.
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"You failed as a mother; I failed as a son. Can you sit here truthfully, and say you love me? Look in my eyes, and s...
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Her fingers danced on the piano's keys, the same sad melody she always played. It was the song she had once shown Regulus, a piece imbued with sorrow and nostalgia.
Each note lingered in the air, echoing the pain of lost moments and unfulfilled dreams.
Time seemed to stand still in her home. The house shifted and creaked, dust collecting on shelves, and curtains drawn tight to keep away any sunlight.
Despite her efforts, the coldness of October seeped through, chilling the air and adding to the pervasive sense of desolation.
As she reached the climax of the melody, her fingers danced feverishly on the piano keys. She ignored the pain of her peeling fingernails, ignored the drops of red that fell from the raw nubs.
Her blood mingled with the ivory keys, each note resonating with the sorrow and desperation that consumed her.
"Always the same melody," the voice echoed in her mind, haunting and relentless, never too far from her ears. "The same bloody melody," it sneered, a constant reminder of her pain.
"If you hate it so much, then leave me," she whispered, her voice hoarse from her yells.
The bitterness in her tone was as palpable as the sorrow that weighed her down.
"You know I can't," the voice replied, dripping with malice.
Biting her lip, she stood up from the piano and glanced around her home. Everything seemed dull and lifeless. The once cherished furniture now looked hideous to her, its beauty lost in the shadows of her grief.
There was nothing left—nothing but the remnants of a past she could no longer bear to remember.
"Halloween..." she murmured aloud, walking towards the large windows. She moved the blinds and looked outside, the wind and grey clouds reflecting the deep depression that consumed her.
The dismal weather couldn't match the darkness inside her.
"Ah, Halloween," the voice whispered in her mind, a chilling murmur that seemed to swirl around her like a cold draft. "A night of revelry and masks. How fitting for the mistress of this house to revel in her own masks, hiding behind her grief."
Her breath caught in her throat as his words cut through the silence, each syllable tinged with a sinister edge that seemed to deepen the shadows in the room.
Letting go of the curtain, she moved back towards the couch.
"I have never once hidden from my grief..." she murmured as she looked at the wooden floor, marked with scratches from her recent panic episode.
