Who: Bellatrix What: Reactions to redhead-torture and another dream Where: The woods around Hogsmeade When: Tuesday night, after this. Warnings/Rating: Hints of past/future Bellatrix/torture
Staying in and around Hogsmeade where the door so often dumped her, trying to keep her head down as much as possible, Bellatrix was well aware of when the commotion started on Tuesday night. She had been planning to slip back through the door, but had stayed a while longer to talk more with her sister. And so she knew the second the screaming started.
The tone of it, that desperate and excruciating timbre, reached into her and pulled at something very vital. Something that sent a thrill of excitement and desire through her veins. Something that made her gasp and press her hands to her mouth, trying to keep in what she thought was a sob, but soon realized had the manic edge of a giggle beneath. Hands pressed harder to keep the sound from escaping, she fled in the opposite direction, into the dark woods away from the scene, casting charms behind herself to hide the track of her presence.
When she finally stopped moving, she pressed her back to a wide tree and slid to the ground, pulling her knees up toward her chest. The autumn-bare limbs above only served as a skeletal framework for the Mark that still glowed and glowered in the sky. She stared up at it, the green glinting within her dark eyes, and her breath went still and calm, even after her dash through the woods. The grimace of the skull and twist of the snake touched that same strange-but-familiar place inside of her. It was a shivery call, and her hand covered and curled around her opposite arm, where the scratches from the other night's bad dream were still healing. The sting of them there was satisfying, but somehow not enough, and she sighed.
The glow eventually faded from the sky, leaving her in the darkness that only a nighttime forest could posess. She knew she should be frightened, but the darkness didn't hold that menace for her. She knew, with no hint of doubt, that there were far worse things than could be found in the forest. Closing her eyes and tipping her head back against the tree, she tried to push away the familiarities that had overwhelmed her. But in calming her pulse, shoving away at those thoughts, sleep snuck up and overtook her again.
Screams of the cursed. One high, feminine, sobbing and begging but not giving her what she asked for. The information they needed. Where was He? She cast the curse again, mouth wide in a grin that bared her teeth, leaning over the agony-twisted body. A masculine shout sounded from across the room, and she knew that her own husband, a man she found both dull and delightfully sadistic when he kept his gaze away from her, was doing his share of the work. She heard his low mumur of spell casting, words reflecting her own, and the pair of writhing bodies on the ground gave another round of shudders and moans. Her grin never faded, eyes gone wide and breath gone deep and quick, thrilled with the course of power through her and the pain before her, and she laughed as she cast again.
She jolted awake with the sound of a morning birdcall, the sky past the branches only just beginning to lighten into gray. She couldn't tell how long she had been there, but her legs were tight with chill and pain when she attempted to stretch them out again. Her journal dug into her leg from where it resided in her pocket, and her racing heart urged her to write, to tell someone of the dreams that were only becoming more vivid.