Apr 2, 2014 12:09:59 GMT -5
Bio
Plot
Gender:
Posts: 55
Cash:
Played by
|
Post by NARCISSA VIRGA BLACK on Feb 11, 2013 16:15:57 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,background-color: #d3d1d1; background:url(http://i88.photobucket.com/albums/k193/HorridRomance_2006/VF_l38.jpg); width: 300px; height: 400px; -moz-border-radius: 2em; border-radius: 2em; -webkit-border-radius: 2em; border: #d3d1d1 3px solid;]
beautiful & dirty rich , Narcissa sat up, blinking furiously. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she tried desperately to draw much needed air into her lungs. She’d had a nightmare, again. The past fortnight had been riddled with them, perhaps due simply to the unfamiliar environment. In some she was a lone, dying, and without possibility of rescue. In others she was surround by familiar faces, loved ones even, but they staunchly refused to save her. In this one she’d been in the Dark Forest, only able to make out trees in the darkness when they were within hands reach. The dark, moonless night swallowed everything into its’ bowels and left her blind. She stumbled, following after a familiar, taunting voice. She felt scrapes and a warm trickle on her legs, but no matter how she preserved the forest grew darker (if possible) and the voice grew farther away.
Her legs were tangled in and around the crisp white sheets of the guest bedroom that she had been allocated. Though not nearly as comfortable as the master suite, the room was comfortable enough. Narcissa kicked her legs, trying to push the fabric away from her body as she tried to alleviate the terror still vibrating in her chest. She was cold, though the air around her should have been warm on the mid-June. She wiped the thin layer of perspiration and tears from her face before burying it into her hands. Narcissa felt her braid slide over her left shoulder and against the side of her breast.
She collapsed back onto the bed as, with one final kick, the blankets fell over the footboard of the bed. Her pillow was damp and she realized, in her frustrated, anxious stupor that she must have been crying throughout the dream. She really hoped she hadn’t been screaming; she’d often been accused of screaming during her night terrors as a child and it would do nothing to inspire confidence in her from the men show now resided with. She flipped the down pillow over, trying to bury her head in the cool side of it. When sleep did not come, her heart still racing and her stomach tossing and turning, she sat up again.
The empty expanse of bed beside her stared back, sheets smoothed out. Her eyes drifted to the window, the curtains blowing steadily in the breeze. She hadn’t remembered opening the panes and scrambled from her bed to lock it, fear of the very room around her starting to overwhelm the small girl. She fumbled about in the dark, finally grasping in her wand from the bedside table. The lip lit up as she whispered the charm, and almost regretted doing so. The light cast shadows small and short across the room, which made everything more terrifying than it had been when she couldn’t see it. Her heart began racing again.
She moved across the room, her wand poised simultaneously as protection and light source, retrieving her pale grey dressing gown. It had been tossed haphazardly over the back of her dressing table after she had placed her evening glass of water down. She put her left arm through, carefully transferring her wand as the right one was encased in satin. She gave half a thought to finding slippers somewhere in her closet, but she hadn’t found a reason to need them yet. She had not left her rooms without proper shoes on before this night.
Perhaps leaving her rooms had been less of a brilliant idea than she’d previously imagined. She had hoped that the lights would still be bright, but an elf most have moved through the corridors and dimmed them all. Shadows cast by portrait frames, as their occupants slept, seemed to move with her, following her down the way. Every few steps the blonde whirled around, making sure nothing had followed her from the suit.
She should, she acknowledged as a feeling of grim fear swept through her again, have paid more attention during the days. The halls looked all the same at night, her landmarks gone with the light. The soft steps she took echoed around her, her breathing extraordinarily loud. The more she moved, the more the fear grew in her. The pounding in her ears forced her eyes shut. She would have stood there, trying to talk herself out of this childish fear of the dark, when something, very audibly, fell behind her. She cried out and immediately pushed herself into the room beside her (which she had noticed just seconds ago, was still lit).
The bookshelf lined walls, the dark leather chairs before the fire, and the antique Persian rug were familiar enough. The large mahogany desk on the other side of the room was more familiar because she’d been told, quite sternly, that none of it’s contents were for her eyes. If she wished to write a letter she could use her own writing desk in the drawing room (though who would she write letters to?). She’d been promised a key to the small, white-and-cold writing desk but had yet to receive it.
The man sitting behind the desk was the most familiar thing, person, in the room. She closed her mouth and held her breath for a moment; her eyes still red full of sleep and her heart pounding away behind her ribs. Narcissa grasped the ends of her dressing gown, pulling the material taut around the pink-and-white silk chemise she wore.
She closed her eyes and sniffed slowly, rubbing one balled up fist against her eye. “I can’t sleep.”
WORDS: 927
|
[/td][/tr][/table] |
|
Apr 2, 2014 19:41:37 GMT -5
Bio
Plot
Gender:
Posts: 25
Cash:
Played by
|
Post by LUCIUS PHINEAS MALFOY on Feb 17, 2013 14:54:07 GMT -5
Life had been, for the most part, hectic. A weaker, lesser man, he realized, would have given up the game quite some time ago, having been thrust into his circumstances. Everything had been thrown off balance, forcing him to accept some quasi-reality that he would not otherwise have chosen for himself. His wife now the shadow of someone she once was, and his son’s sanctity raped by the volition of another, much lesser person. Oh, and it was rape. He refused to see it as anything but. Though, in a legal sense, he could only push for so much – but he would push. Lucius Malfoy was a dark, powerful man not to be messed with. Had he willed it, he could possibly find a way to make expulsion viable for Cambridge, as well as his wand snapped. As vindictive as Lucius was, he would have wanted to be the one breaking it in two.
The night was quiet, perhaps even peaceful, which did not reflect the maelstrom of his mind. He stared at the legal papers strewn across his desk, unorganized to the point of madness. Normally, this would not have been done – but it was how he felt on the inside: A confused, twisted and horrible mess. He swilled the brandy in his hand, taking idle sips on it as he stole glances at the requisition papers he had been gathering for his lawyers; it was not only on the account of Cambridge’s indefensible behavior, but of his wife’s mistreatment while in the hands of the Ministry. Lucius thought over that again – he didn’t like how it sounded, did he? His wife. It didn’t feel right.
Pale grey eyes glanced at the moving photo on his desk, framed in ivory. It was Narcissa, poised and graceful, staring directly at the camera with slight smile, as Draco stood next to her. Before all of this had even happened, he barely regarded the photo. It was simply an ornament. But now, as the gravity of the situation weighed down heavily upon his weary shoulders, he couldn’t help but to look every so often, catching the calm gaze of her light azure eyes. He took another swig of his brandy, choking back another nasty wave of emotion. He missed his wife. He wanted her back.
Seconds later, an intruder entered into his quarters. Instinctively, his hand went to the hilt of his wand, ready to brandish and point at whatever threat had pervaded his sanctuary. He supposed being in the service of the Dark Lord once more alighted a sense of paranoia he had not felt in such a long while, but it was better to be paranoid than to be dead, he supposed. His breathing hitched slightly, before resuming calm, as his eyes registered the form of the younger Narcissa trouncing into his office. She looked timid, perhaps even frightened, and unsure of what to make of her surroundings. He watched her idly, relaxing back in his seat as he waited for her to speak her piece.
I can’t sleep.
Lucius’ eyebrow rose. The way she had said it struck a paternal sense, aroused since a few days hence. The way she held herself so meekly, it reminded him of a young Draco, having done the same a few times before in his life. His fatherly core was the first to take hold of him, as he set his brandy glass upon the desk and leaned back in his seat. She couldn’t sleep. He wondered if her trouble had come from nightmares, since before he had even resigned himself to his office he checked to see if she had been sleeping. “Oh? I could provide you with Dreamless Sleep, should you so desire.” He glanced briefly toward one cabinet, where he kept the potions Severus had so graciously provided him when Lucius, too, was having problems with his sleeping. Lucius settled her with an appraising look as his lips twisted wryly.
|
|
Apr 2, 2014 12:09:59 GMT -5
Bio
Plot
Gender:
Posts: 55
Cash:
Played by
|
Post by NARCISSA VIRGA BLACK on Feb 17, 2013 16:22:58 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style,background-color: #d3d1d1; background:url(http://i88.photobucket.com/albums/k193/HorridRomance_2006/VF_l38.jpg); width: 300px; height: 400px; -moz-border-radius: 2em; border-radius: 2em; -webkit-border-radius: 2em; border: #d3d1d1 3px solid;]
beautiful & dirty rich , Narcissa held his gaze for a long time (or, rather, for several seemingly-long seconds) before shifting uncomfortably and admiring the wooden paneling in the room with uncharacteristically deep interest. Her slightly moist palms grasped at the gauzing fabric of her gown, trying to find some anchor in the room to hold her still. Now that she was in the light, she supposed, she was in safety. That had been a game Bella had played with the girls in their youth (though she never exactly played with them, but rather initiated the game). She would blow out all the candles in a basement-level room and lock Andromeda and Narcissa below, after spending the evening explaining what kind of terrible beasts lurked in the shadows. Bellatrix would hold the knob shut as the two sisters cried out. Narcissa had always sworn that the eldest Black daughter longed to hear the screams before allowing them into the safety of the light.
It was just a game, Cissy! Don’t be such a baby.
No wonder her child-self had suffered from night terrors.
Narcissa felt the pads of her slight toes dig into the luxuriously soft carpet, pulling up at her leg slightly and rotating her skin against the material. She pressed the backs of her toes against the material until she caught an audible crack from the toe-knuckles. She moved to do the other food, but hesitated. She was admittedly uneasy with the situation, with this whole past month. The maternal feelings that rolled through her stomach, to protect the boy several years her junior because he had half of her characteristics and longing in his eyes, were unsettling to say the very least. She had always adored her younger cousins, until their schooling. She had held their hands as Sirius and Regulus toddled about. She had shushed tears and coddled while the governess dealt with another duty. This was different, though.
She felt as if she was meant to be several feet taller and austere, not a girl on the verge of womanhood longing for her own parents and fiancé to coddle her and soothe the fears from night terrors. How was she to be a comfort to anyone without anyone to comfort her? Narcissa sniffled, returning her gaze to Lucius. She cleared her throat, shaking the tousled blonde curls.
“No. Most sleep draughts leave me…ill the next morning,” She admitted, crossing her ankles. She fumbled, regained her footing, and slowly moved across the study toward the man and his desk. “I…I thought there was something in the hallway, you see. And I could not see in the dark. And I know so very little of your home- my window must have opened on its own this evening, for instance.”
Narcissa lifted one small, pale finger up and traced the very edge of his desk with it. The wood was both smooth and rough beneath the digit. She had begun toward the middle of his desk, before the man, but had traced the edge right around until her knees pressed against the leather chair her husband occupied. “What’re you working on?” She asked offhandedly, her eyes dallying over the paperwork and various desk-decorations.
She could smell his cologne and an overwhelming yearning settled in her stomach. The youthful young man she longed for (to hear his small, confident murmurs of comfort as his callous-free palm caressed her right exposed elbow) was almost there if she closed her eyes.
Narcissa did close her eyes just then, breathing deeply as searing hot emotion swelled in her chest and cheeks. She raised her eyelids slowly, trying to blink away the misty haze the wave of melancholy had brought on. Furiously blinking, the blonde leaned across the seated man and plucked the photograph from before him.
She stared at the framed photo for a long time, her finger tracing over the woman and child before her. They were happy, Narcissa decided. The boy bit his cheek, trying to suppress a grin from spreading across his pale features while the woman let her smile switch between the camera man and the boy by her side. The woman’s thumb caressed the nape of the boy’s neck, her body visibly shifting toward her son every few moments.
As Narcissa examined the photograph she had, without thinking, perched herself on Lucius’ knees. Her left leg wrapped around his left leg, her foot acting as an anchor. She wiped her nose ever so slightly on the back of her dressing gown’s sleeve.
“Is this me, then?” She questioned softly. “I always thought that I would have more photographs of us in my home, but they’re all of Draco and…your wife.”
WORDS: 778
|
[/td][/tr][/table] |
|
