Dorcas "troubled torturer" Meadowes (electriclight) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-09-11 21:25:00 |
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Another night spent alone in the safehouse. Dorcas Meadowes laid her head down on her pillow, her journal scattered across the floor from when she had kicked it only a few moments earlier. She was tired of her life, and even more, she was tired of being tired of her life. More than anything, she just wanted to live. Blearily, she held up the hand-mirror that she kept in her purse and gazed at her reflection blankly. She looked like hell these days. Her body had too much healing to do and hadn’t had enough time to do it before she forced herself back to work. In the last three weeks she’d been beaten into submission twice, and neither time had been easy, though the second time wasn’t as bad. Well – the Cruciatus Curse was terrible, but at least the pain died. She hadn’t had to be hospitalized. Looking at the deep circles under her eyes, the sallow appearance of her cheeks, and how thin she’d become, she couldn’t help but feel as though she was wasting away. What from, she wasn’t sure. The longer the war went on, the more Dorcas felt as though all the life was being sapped from her. Too many deaths, too much torture, too much of this fucking bullshit. She knew what they were trying to do. They wanted her to quit. They wanted her to give up, to roll over and accept a life under their rule. Well, Dorcas Wilhelmina Sunburst Meadowes wasn’t going to take it. This was bigger than disliking Narcissa Malfoy, it was bigger than her. It was about freedom and equality and a beauty in the world that goes beyond fabulous dinner parties and antique wines. Right now, she wasn’t sure what exactly that beauty was, or where it had gone. The world seemed so bleak, and at nineteen years old, Dorcas felt helpless. Dumbledore had told her that the Order would do something, and everyone ran from the Death Eaters like scared children. You’re going to get hurt, you’re going to get killed, you’re going to get your friends and family killed. As far as she was concerned, it was a war. Sacrifices had to be made. If she was one of them, then that was the price she had to pay. What was the point of living anymore, anyway? What motivation was she supposed to have to live in this world? For a moment, Dorcas closed her eyes, imagining what kind of peace it must be like to be dead. Heaven, hell, or nothingness… it had to be better than this. Maybe it would be easier just to die, to let the Death Eaters come and kill her. Or even… she contemplated her options, briefly, in her mind… whether or not Avada Kedavra could be used on oneself. The only thing that frightened her was the permanency of it, not being able to take it back or apologise for it. She knew she’d have to apologise for what she had done, soon, though, and guessed that there were whispers going on behind wards she couldn’t see of her usefulness in the Order. What was she useful for to them, anyway? Her dueling skills were only honed because of how many attacks she’d been under. Her connections to the Department of Mysteries were there with Emmeline as well. She was just a little girl in a big, horrible world. The only reason she didn’t want to leave was that she knew, without the Order, she would have nothing left. They’d kicked Mary out and look what happened to her. Slowly, she settled down on her bed, taking up her wand and Summoning a few of the more useful-looking books from one of the shelves. She’d have to charm her journal so that she couldn’t reply to Death Eaters, because charms she could control. Her emotions, she couldn’t. And there had to be a way to do it that was complicated enough to discourage her from constantly taking the spells down. She Summoned her journal to her, as well, and opened it up on her bed. |