WHO: Blaise and Isabella Zabini
WHAT: Blaise begins to realize how badly Isabella’s grip on reality is deteriorating.
WHEN: 13 March, early evening
WHERE: Zabini Manse, Isabella’s private chambers
RATING: PG-13
Complete

~ ~ ~

Blaise rapped sharply on Mother’s door, humming an idle tune to himself while he waited for a reply. The past few days had been rather lovely, though he knew that Theo was about to leave and move into that horrid hidden lair of the Order. Still, the party had been a complete success, he had gossip to last for weeks, and Mother had seemed to enjoy herself. She did so love to sneak up on people and interrupt their conversations. Really, you’d think that people would remember she did that sort of thing, but the memories of drink-addled purebloods were never that reliable, it seemed.

“Mother?” he called out merrily. “I was thinking perhaps we could go to Huntington’s tonight instead of dining at home. We don’t have reservations but it’ll be fun to see them scramble to get us a table once they realize who you are.” He grinned at the memory of the last time they’d done that. The maitre d’ had gone into apoplexy before a table was finally cleared that was to Isabella’s standards. Causing apoplexy was always fun.

After no answer came, Blaise tried the handle of the door. Sometimes Mother became so immersed in a book that she ignored everything outside of the room, and they were comfortable with this truth. The door wasn’t locked, so he opened it and let himself in.

Isabella sat in the corner of the room, facing away from the door. She seemed to be perfectly still, and resembled a statue made of flesh and black satin instead of marble. Her hands seemed to be clenched around something, but Blaise couldn’t see what it was. “Mother?” he asked again, tentatively, coming closer.

She said nothing, moved not at all, and as Blaise drew close he realized that she was clinging tight to her mirror, laid flat on a small table before her. The brief glance he gave it showed no reflection at all but a depth of murky grey, swirling in patterns that defied any sense at all. He shut his eyes and rid himself of the feeling of vertigo that threatened to overwhelm him, and then opened them again to stare at Isabella. She was staring into the mirror, unblinking, her face an impassive carven mask, betraying nothing at all.

“Mother?” Blaise whispered, unsure of what to do. He’d never seen her in a trance this deep, this unsettling.

After what seemed an eternity, Isabella blinked once and then turned her head to look at her son. Her eyes were lit with an unhealthy light, and Blaise wasn’t sure he saw any recognition in them. “Mother, what is it?” he murmured.

“Locusts,” Isabella hissed, staring at Blaise’s face. “They’re like locusts, a swarm of black and hideous red that rises from every corner to consume whatever was once good and green. They think I don’t see them but they are wrong.” Her hand shot out like a striking serpent, seizing Blaise’s wrist. He bit back a hoarse cry, and sunk to his knees in front of her. “I see everything,” she whispered close to his ear.

“Mother, please,” gasped Blaise.

Isabella giggled, a manic little sound that Blaise had never heard from her before. “The signs are everywhere,” she insisted, squeezing his wrist harder. “They’re coming out of the woodwork like termites, and they think they understand what they’re doing. A wolf howls at a moon that glows like a skull in swamplight, its fur writhing with the children that have forgotten their names. I saw it, I did. It looked at me and thought that it understood, but it understands nothing.”

Blaise whimpered, staring in helpless terror and fascination at Isabella’s face, still eerily expressionless. His wrist burned as her fingers kept a tight grip around it, far stronger than they appeared.

“Vermin,” continued Isabella, now looking back at the mirror. “Vermin crawling around the wolf and the snake of bones, clinging and thinking that they will clear a path through the misty vale. They are full of lies, the both. Both desire the phoenix, and neither know what lies before them. And they see me, their eyes are always watching as I raise my sword to cut a path as well. They hunger for my blood, they do, all of them, bitches!” She hissed, and her nails cut into Blaise’s skin, drawing blood. “But no, no I won’t allow it, won’t step in the way of that,” she snapped, slamming her free hand down as a fist on the arm of her chair. “They may come at me from all angles but I can leap above them and watch the crowd, I can, I will, I won’t allow any mistakes –”

“Mother!” Blaise cried, the pain growing overwhelming.

Isabella stammered and blinked again, her eyes losing the light of madness and focusing finally on Blaise’s. She quickly let go of his wrist with a small gasp, pulling away from him. “Oh my darling,” she whispered hoarsely, twisting her fingers into knots. “I’m sorry. I… I’m sorry.”

They sat in silence for what seemed to Blaise like hours. “It’s alright,” he finally said, pulling out his wand and healing the scratches around his wrist. “I… it’s alright, Mother. Are you alright?”

She nodded hurriedly, still keeping well away from him. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” she admitted. “I don’t want to speak of it anymore, my darling. Please leave me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Just go, Blaise,” she breathed, turning away from him with an air of finality. She didn’t return to the mirror, but instead gazed out the window at the darkening sky. Blaise stared at her back for a long moment and then nodded, rising and leaving her room. She sat there for hours, just staring at the sky.