WHEN GODS SLEEP - DRACO M.

SIXTEEN.

WHEN GODS SLEEP
Chapter Sixteen

         Sixteen, fourteen, and twelve years old - the Grimaldi sisters were only as much when they were first presented to the Dark Lord. Summer had barely reared its teeth and the wounds of Cedric's death still bled. He'd begun testing his followers the moment he was reborn, calling for old alliances and seeking – demanding - proof of their commitment. 

          Being a Death Eater, following him, had always provided its fair advantages and the price was loyalty, whatever it entailed. Voldemort had never been as mad as one would think, he had learned since young how to play with desire, the thirst inherent to the human mind, and mold it into his favor.

         Whilst some yearned fame and others power, between riches and lust and the pureblooded society, he gambled and traded, redistributed, and complied with what was asked. The Grimaldi family had once too greatly benefited from serving under his command. They had a nice fill in Gringotts and heirs settled – they wished for power instead, and power he gave them. A pull and a tug and barely any strings twisted, and a position of importance in the Ministry was filled by Elliot Grimaldi – his entire bloodline's allegiance as collateral.

          And so, there they stood. Prim and proper within the finest witch robes, their wands – so explicitly and repeatedly prohibited whilst on holidays – pressuring against their chest, much less a relief than it was a cause for worry. The three girls in line with their parents, they too tensing under studious red eyes.

           There were a million thoughts that could have flown through Epione's mind while enduring the excruciating silence; she could have certainly distracted herself with the vast paintings of Malfoy Manor or the sight of a platinum blond tuff just by the velvet sofa. However, she did not allow herself solace into a safer corner of her mind.

          Fourteen-year-old Epione saw the disfigured, ghastly semblance of a human burning the color of blood into her iris and felt fear – oh, she was deeply terrified, - yet there was something inside of her that too wondered of tasting such power. He held a bone-like wand between his bone-like fingers and she could nearly glimpse the glow of his magic outline its length. Her mother and her ridiculous curses – who had seemed so threatening only moments prior - wouldn't survive a wave of his hand, much less live to witness his full force.

          The Dark Lord was not undermined or mistreated; everyone knew of his worth and immense capability, he was followed and praised on the basis of his potential. Everything he had done, from scheming to torturing to gathering, what he built, it was a product of strength beyond imaginable limits and intelligence. There was something admirable in him to her, even back then.

          Pitifully, fourteen-year-old Epione was not acquainted with the ways of Legillimency, and had not been advised of the Lord's tendency to abuse of it. Where for her there was the grounding reality, for him there were lifetimes playing behind his lids, tales of the perfect little sisters being gifted to him flashing by in different perspectives and iterations to collide into a crystal clear picture – there was potential in them.

          Whatever he saw exactly, whatever piqued his interest, he did not speak of. But there was a hint of a smile across his pale lips and the night ended on a pleasant note for Elliot, who was praised and conceded the honor of remaining among the Lord's ranks.

          He was murdered a year later.

* * * * *

          Epione later wondered if what had captivated her in the darkness surrounding Voldemort and the entire reality she'd been presented to was the possibility of choice. For as long as she could remember, she had only known bruised wrists and bloodied feet. Her grand piano and classical ballet. She only spoke when prompted and never a question, and the only relief she was granted was the occasional pity from her father.