Marlene Lupin is plotting her revenge (on_the_wall) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-06-30 21:00:00 |
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"I think I need to get a hair-cut," Marlene mused, standing in the doorway of she and Remus's bedroom, bath-towel wrapped around her shoulders almost like a cape as she examined the long ends of hair held between her fingers. A brief shrug later, she tossed the towel into her hamper and fell backwards onto the bed next to Remus, keeping her feet up in the air for a few moments before letting her legs flop down onto the mattress as well. "What're you reading?" she asked him, turning onto her side to face him as she pulled her wand out from beneath her pillow, applying a quick drying spell to her hair. Not that she needed it; it was hot enough out that her hair likely would've dried on its own within minutes, but nonetheless. Wand replaced a minute later, she spooned up next to Remus, resting her head on his shoulder, reading along and trying to figure out what it was before he answered. "One of the books you bought me for my birthday, actually," he replied, shifting on the bed as she moved to lay against him, putting his arm around her and holding his book open with one hand. "Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms. If you have trouble falling asleep tonight, maybe I could read it to you. I'm sure it'll put you right to sleep," Remus smiled -- a kiss to her forehead -- and then he was looking back at his book again. "I think your hair looks fine, by the way," he commented without looking at her. "Were you thinking of cutting it short?" She didn't answer at first, instead pretending to snore loudly simply at the name of the book. "Wait, what, sorry, I missed what you said," she replied with a small laugh as she opened her eyes, glancing up at him. "Not short-short. Like, not Emmeline short. Never, ever ever again," Marlene practically shuddered, remembering the horror that was her haircut at 12 years old. "I'd still need to be able to put it up in a ponytail." Enough hair-related chatter. Marlene was half-positive that Remus wasn't really paying attention to her potential makeover crisis anyway. She could tell from the look on his face that he was completely enthralled with his book. "I still don't know how you can read stuff like that for fun." She'd gotten her fill of textbooks back during school. "Unless maybe you're trying to put yourself to sleep..." she guessed, wrapping her arm around to fold down the corner of the book to mark Remus's place before trying to nudge the cover shut. "It's interesting," he insisted, but Remus relented when she folded down the corner of his book and encouraged him to close it. "It's like what plants are to you," he said, setting the book down on the nightstand before turning more onto his side to face her. "But, if you're trying to get me to pay attention to you instead of the book, now you have it." His other arm slid around her waist to pull her closer. "Have you ever seen a magical logogram try to eat someone?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Maybe if they did that like a few of her plants did, then that would be a book that Marlene would be willing to get into. She didn't mind though; quite the opposite. Marlene never would've gotten him the book if she had any sort of long-standing vendetta against boring non-fiction about hieroglyphs. Reaching up to take off Remus's reading glasses, she tried leaning over him to nudge them onto the side table on top of the book, then rolled back to into place. "Good. Take that, Magical Book About Stuff," she smirked, talking to the book on the bedside over Remus's shoulder. "You'll have to share him." He closed his eyes when she removed his glasses for him, opening them again once the glasses were safely out of eye-poking distance. "Oh, it's not Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms you have to worry about. But Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes? She's a jealous one. If you're not careful, she'll steal me out from right under your nose," he smiled, resting his head on his pillow. "Oh, I've known about that one for a long time," Marlene replied, turning her head for a moment to stifle a yawn in her pillow. "We've agreed that it's best for everybody if we take turns, but I have this gripping feeling she's up to something." Another yawn; she was still sore from everything that had gone on at the Rehabilitation clinic fight, and it was making her sleepy. "I feel like an old person; sheesh," she laughed at herself, sitting up briefly to look towards the bedroom door. "Sammie, Lady, it's bedtime!" she called to the dogs, having given up months ago on either of the basset hounds sleeping in their respective baskets, the two typically falling asleep at the foot of her and Remus's bed. The two dogs came running through the house to the bedroom, tails wagging and mouths open with panting tongues in a canine smile as they approached the bed, and they tumbled over each other in an attempt to be the one to get there first. It didn't matter in the end, as both dogs went on either side of the bed -- Lady to Remus, Sammie to Marlene -- and stood up on their hind legs, front paws on the bed as they waited for their masters to pick them up. Remus leaned over the side and lifted Lady up onto the bed, who gave him a sloppy lick over his face (which he promptly wiped off using the sheets) before walking down to the end of the bed, turning in circles a few times before settling down at Remus' feet. Sammie was less patient than her daughter, continuing to try to jump up onto the bed on her own accord, same as every night, never giving up despite having it proven to her again and again that her legs were too short to help her make the jump up onto the bed. "Come on, Sammie," Marlene said as she leaned down to help boost the basset hound onto the mattress. Rather than padding to the end of the bed as Lady had done, Sammie flopped down on the quilt between Marlene and Remus, resting her head on Marlene's stomach as her tail thwapped against Remus happily. "That's not where you go," Marlene laughed, nudging the dog down towards the foot of the bed, rolling closer to Remus to fill in the empty space lest Sammie attempt to move between them again. Remus leaned over to the nightstand to retrieve his wand, and with a swish of a silent spell the lights went out, and he tucked his wand underneath his pillow before settling back down again, and in the darkness his smile faded slightly, thoughts once again returning to James and Peter and how they had failed to find them -- let alone save them. But his thoughts remained his own, and he whispered a goodnight before he closed his eyes to attempt to get some sleep. The day's events (if not the duelling at the Rehabilitation Clinic) had left Marlene exhausted, and even though it still felt like it was too early for her to turn in, sleepiness began to set in almost immediately after Remus flicked off the lights. She curled herself into him, sinking onto her pillow with another quiet yawn. "G'night, love." And barely thirty yards from this cosy home picture was Rodolphus Lestrange, sitting against the brilliant blue backyard fence that separated him from the muggle homes beyond. It had taken the better part of four hours to work his way closer, but he had patience, and he was careful. Proximity wards were carefully unravelled and the muggles that gardened behind him, the children that squealed and played, were too foolish to notice the figure that sat and waited, blurred into half-existence by magic and calm. They saw nothing, and he saw everything. He worked for a very long time, and then he waited. Like many young couples, when they returned home they were distracted by the other's company, and though cautious enough to give the wards a good checking before entering, the proximity alarms were given only a cursory glance, and their hollowness, their ineffectiveness went unnoticed. He'd learnt many things in fifty years, and one of the most poignant lessons was how careless people were, even in the face of great danger. Carelessness brought peace of mind in its own unfortunate way, and though they would feel at peace as they cuddled and coddled their animals, as they ate supper and prepared for bed, they would not feel it for very much longer. He would make certain of that. McKinnon and the werewolf had made many enemies in the past year, but worse still they had made clumsy friends. Pettigrew had given the death eaters this location, and Rodolphus had awaited the moment he would put it to use -- waited too long, it seemed, for there was irrevocable damage done to his sister's reputation, to their cause, but he would wait no longer. Very soon there would be justice. Once they settled into a routine (and Rodolphus could see them as they passed by the windows, shadowy figures illuminated by warmth), he began work upon the wards. These took nearly as long as the proximity sensors, but he did not have to look for them. All attention was on the dissembling of the magic and the threads woven around the house. Darkness consumed the garden before he was inside, and the moon was nearly at its zenith. Without pretence, he broke directly into the bedroom, no pause before his wand was towards one side of the bed. The werewolf was petrified and thrown to the floor so that he might watch the scenario as it unfolded. It didn't even occur to Marlene to scream. There was a brief, split-second startled moment of wide eyes and terrified disbelief in which Marlene convinced herself that she had to have fallen asleep and this had to be a dream because there was no bloody way that Rodolphus fucking Lestrange had gotten into their house -- the wards were good; they were up -- but it dawned on her just as quickly that it didn't matter. Remus was on the floor (he was fine; he was alive; there'd been no flash of green; they'd be okay) and Rodolphus Lestrange was in her bedroom and Marlene's hand went shooting under her pillow to grab for her wand and rolled off the bed to the floor, knocking the contents of the side table down with her. Marlene didn't bother standing; she turned her wand on him immediately and shot out an Expelliarmus and a Stupefy in quick succession as she moved to dive under her bed, continuing her attempt to fend off the Death Eater by firing spells at his feet. She needed to get to Remus on the other side of the bed and she needed to get them both out of there because oh god, this could not have been happening. She wasn't awake enough for this. The wand was gone from his hand in the blink of an eye, but, for all his patience and caution, Rodolphus didn't care. It was the ultimate irony that he felt as comfortable in combat without his wand as he did with, and he dodged the stupefy with an uneasy grace that seemed out of place for such a large man. A spell hit his foot, burning down past the boot, and he lunged forward, dragging the quilt from the bed and throwing it at Marlene; his body followed after. The adrenalin had finally kicked in, and was accompanied almost as immediately by the panicked reckless shaking that was always annoyingly present when Marlene found herself in the middle of a fight that she wasn't prepared for. Her aim was off, and as she twisted to shoot another spell off at the Death Eater was greeted only with a quilt to the face. Any thoughts of who throws a blanket were quickly interrupted by the massive amount of weight that dropped down on top of her legs. And that is when Marlene started shrieking, the familiarity of the situation dropping on top of her like a 300 pound sledgehammer. Wrapping her free hand around one of the boards under the bed, Marlene pulled hard to try and move herself further underneath to some semblance of "safety," but only succeeded in causing herself more pain. Her tactic changed almost immediately, continuing to hold on to the post under the bed for dear life while kicking and hitting at Rodolphus as best she could from underneath the quilt. There was pain, from somewhere, and Rodolphus's body reacted to it; but his mind was elsewhere, caught up in revenge and duty and the overwhelming, all-consuming need to remove this thorn in his master's side. He was tired of the girl and her incessant harping, her sniping at the law and order the Dark Lord had brought. The nation was growing to be a better place; people were falling into line, and every. single. time. she and her pathetic friends rose up to cause chaos where there could have been peace. Marlene's time and meddling were coming to an end, and if he had to be the executioner to his master's judge -- so be it. More pain now, and as Rodolphus dragged the girl forward, all flailing fists and heels and digging knees, he was peripherally aware of an animal near his calf, howling and snarling and biting. He kicked it away, and with a sharp, pitiful yowl, it cowered away into the shadowy recesses of the room. She was yanked away from the deathgrip she had on the bedframe, completely pulled out from underneath the bed now, completely out in the open. Marlene continued to struggle and kick and flail to get herself free of the blanket that was magically sealing itself shut around her, panicked tears streaming down her face as all of her attempts fell flat. They needed help; they needed the rest of the Order, but any chance of conjuring up a patronus when completely overwhelmed by almost feral fear was slim. Help instead came in the shape of her basset hound. "GET HIM, SAMMIE. BITE HIM," she screamed at the dog, her cries muffled by the blanket. Her heart dropped when Sammie yelped in pain; it was one thing to attack her, but you didn't mess with her dog. More kicking, more clawing, none of it working, but Marlene didn't stop. She didn't have a choice. Even through the blanket, Rodolphus could feel her fingers and heels digging into him, and though the pain seemed to rise as he dragged her across the floor, and past the place where her husband lay staring immobile-y on, he wasn't about to let her go -- not when she had her wand and he did not; however that inequality did not last long, for, after many bumps and scrapes to the lumpy blanket, he'd retrieved it, and they were apparating away. Miles elsewhere they were in another part of the country, on land very different from either his Norfolk home or Marlene's comfortable cottage. The grass here was sharp and angry and as tall as his boots as Rodolphus dragged the now-magically bound blanket across it. He dropped it with a thump against the wall of the house, then ran his hands over the stone walls, searching for the entrance to the underground chamber. There. And they were passing through the wall as if it was water, the only sign of their presence Marlene's wand as it fell with a clatter to the rocky soil beneath. Rodolphus was dragging the blanket along after him as if he had caught Marlene in a fluffy and comfortable light blue burlap sack, yanking her across the floor and out of the room and kicking and hitting him wasn't working; she needed help and Remus was laying there petrified and oh god this couldn't be happening. Marlene tried twisting around inside the blanket, attempting to shoot a hole clear through the damn thing with her wand, but her charms professor's voice was in her head reminding her that her swish and flick was all wrong and finally Marlene started attempting to stab through the damn quilt with her wand, screaming Finite Incantatum and praying that maybe it would hit Remus and maybe he would be able to help even though she wasn't sure if they were even still in the bedroom by that point. The pull of being side-along apparated was enough to alert Marlene to the heart-wrenching fact that no, it hadn't worked. The ground was painful and jagged and harsh there, and it was impossible to tell exactly what it was that she was hearing on the other side of the fabric, when suddenly the blanket was dropped hard onto the ground. The fact that the motion had ceased was lost on Marlene -- all she realised was that her hand was empty -- the wand she'd kept held tight had somehow vanished into thin air -- and she was trapped. The magical bindings fell with a dip of Rodolphus's wand, and he leaned into the stone fireplace, across the grate atop which she'd been dumped. A cigarette was located and lit and the fire erupted behind him unbidden, as if aware its master had returned to him. He did not like this place, in principle, but with the taboo it was necessary. He was not foolish enough to bring someone into his home any longer, particularly after Chloris's epic failure and the danger of wards dropping upon his land. Here, the air was stale and abandoned, and a thin layer of dust coated everything. Though normally rather fastidious, Rodolphus ignored these small annoyances and merely watched the bundle as it squirmed. "Get up." Marlene ripped the blanket off from over her head, clutching it tightly in her arms as she stared up at the death eater, some last resort of reassurance in having at least one thing with her that was hers. Not that a quilt was going to do shit in a fight against Rodolphus Lestrange, but somehow it still felt like something. The look in her eyes completely gave away the terror she was desperate to hide despite keeping her jaw set and chin high in some ridiculous act of defiance. She would get up when she wanted to get up. She didn't take orders from him. In all actuality, her legs likely would have dropped out from under her if she tried, drunk with fear. Instead she forced herself out of the centre of the dark, noxious room, scrambling backwards off the grating until her back met the wall much sooner than she'd expected. Tearing her eyes away from Rodolphus for the first time, she glanced upwards, realising that it wasn't the wall that she'd hit, but a wooden post. A new wave of cold terror slowly washed over Marlene as she realised why the floor was sloped downwards towards the drain in the room's centre, and why a drain would be necessary at all. "Oh fucking hell," she whispered, her voice shaking with panic and terror as she twisted in the opposite direction and clamoured to her feet, knees trembling as she backed as far away from Rodolphus as the room would allow. He stared on with an almost indifferent nonchalance, surrounded by a cloud of smoke by the time realisation struck her that the wood behind her was actually a gibbet and the floor designed to be rid of blood. He was tapping it as she swore, and watching magical ash swirl into the ether when she hit the real wall near his tables. Marlene's shoulderbones slapped against unyielding stone, and his attentions were upon her once more, though his anger and distaste no longer tinged the corners of his mouth of the glints in his eyes. This was business, no more, no less, and he saw no reason not to be affable. "Miss McKinnon... or should I say Mrs Lupin now? I expect you understand why you are here." She understood, yes. Or, at least, she understood that this was probably going to hurt a hell of a lot before she managed to get out of here. It always did. Marlene didn't answer immediately, instead taking stock of the things that were covering the walls and were laid out around the room, attempting to figure out what she could get to fastest and what of it she would actually know how to use when it came to defending herself, because she certainly couldn't place names to the dark objects littering the room that the Lestranges likely thought of as toys. "Your son is classier than you are," she noted, deciding against answering his question as she continued to back herself into a corner, feeling along the walls for some hint of where in the hell the door was. "Barging in on a little girl after bedtime. You're lucky I don't sleep naked." His reaction was amusement, dark and malevolent and always, always, disinterested. The corners of his mouth pulled up around his cigarette, his eyes creased against blue haze, but when he spoke again the voice was cold and dispassionate. "It would not have mattered if you had been. There is no prudence in death." It was simply stated, and he threw the cigarette into the fire, wherein it was consumed in a flash of bright blue. Rodolphus took a step forward, wand flicking towards the wall of drawers and pegs. A thin, brilliant silver knife flew into his hand, and he considered it with an assessing glance. "I trust Zippy is well." Rodolphus's step toward her was matched by Marlene attempting to jerk backwards and further away, only succeeding in reminding herself that there was an annoyingly solid wall there. A small squeak of dismay escaped her throat as a knife went flying across the room into Rodolphus's hand; he was armed (doubly so) and she had a blanket. Rather than paying attention to his slight moment of threatening monologue, Marlene yanked open one of the cabinet drawers, barely even looking as she fished inside for something to defend herself with. Within a moment she'd emerged with a book, a length of wire (both of which went flying across the room at Rodolphus's head), and a small knife of her own. Whatever, it would do. She just needed to get out and it wouldn't matter what sort of makeshift weapon she was wielding. Marlene just needed to figure out where exactly "out" was first. "Zippy's great," she replied humorlessly as she followed the wall, backing into the corner, one of the large tables serving as a barrier between the two. "He misses Felicity." There was no mistaking the accusation in her tone. It was with a vague sense of mottled contentment that he watched on; the drawers were unlocked for a reason, and it was certainly not to give Marlene the fighting chance she clearly desired. No, he wanted blood, catharsis, something to make the past few days a little easier. He'd lost a sister to the Order. He and his family had suffered humiliation. The cause had lost a soldier, inept as he was. They were being threatened every day by the cavalier attitudes of selfish children who cared nothing for the preservation of tradition. He was at a loss. Rodolphus had never taken helplessness very well. He conjured no shield, but strongly buffered the book so that it came to a rest gently. Marlene had no concept of the dangers with which she played -- rather par for the course given her behaviour over the last year. He was tempted to let her reap the suffering that came of opening those pages for someone of her blood, but as he desired to have something left to bloody up, it seemed a better course of action to temper her rashness. The wire, however, struck him squarely across the neck, and within seconds a stream of macabre red blossomed to the surface before drooling down into the collar of his shirt. "I suppose it is fitting that you speak the animal's language," he replied brusquely, circling to cut her off from the supply cabinet; orange from the fire glinted from his blade, and he sized her up as if she were a Christmas ham. And as Rodolphus circled around to block her from the cabinet, Marlene continued speeding back and away, passing up the first table and continuing until the second slab fell between them too. This was good. This is where she wanted him to be, nearer to the wall with the drawers and away from the hearth. There may not have been drawers, but Marlene was willing to put money on the fireplace being connected to the floo network. "Yeah, well..." she began, only to trail off as anything that resembled snark or wit escaped her. Instead she just glared, giving him the stink-eye as she continued the taunt-filled dance around the tables. Finally feeling like she might be close enough to make a break for it, Marlene pushed off the table and sped as fast as her legs would carry her to the fireplace, standing on her tip-toes (why was this fucker so big?) in a desperate attempt to reach the mantle for Floo powder or something so that she could get home before Rodolphus foiled her chance at escape. His wand swept out again, almost casually, and Marlene went slamming backwards into the table closest her. "Mmno. You will stay with me," he replied, idly. Another twist of his wand, and she spun around, face hanging so his slow approach would not go unnoticed; another flick released her from his hold and Rodolphus slid the knife across his forefinger thoughtfully, awaiting a response. She had been so close to wrapping her fingers around the floo powder, only to have herself ripped backwards through the air and slammed onto the table. The wind was completely knocked from her lungs as she crashed onto the surface, coughing hard in attempts to trick herself into remembering how to breathe as Rodolphus spun her around on the table like a fucking merry-go-round so that she could watch his lumbering approach. "Like hell I am," she spat back, trying to pull herself up and free from whatever magic was holding her down, needing to get back to the Floo. She had been over-compensating for not being able to move, and when the spell finally was lifted, Marlene went tumbling off the side of the table, hitting the ground hard. Barely hesitating for a second, she immediately started back toward the fireplace once again, knowing deep down that it was pointless but refusing to not at least try. Another flick, and Rodolphus was rougher this time, knocking soft flesh into sharp angles before slamming Marlene down upon the second table. He imagined bruises flowering over her skin and smiled in grim satisfaction before sweeping a hand towards the fireplace. Floo powder gathered itself up and slid a few feet to the other side of the mantle; he could have tidied it away to the top shelves of his wall, or even destroyed it -- but there it mocked her, called to her, convinced her she might have a chance to escape. And when he let her get her hands upon the floo powder, she would realise it was not a true fireplace -- merely a magical creation made to burn and smell and feel like a fireplace, and she would break. Rodolphus stepped closer still to the tables, until he was within inches of the girl. If she knew what was good for her, she would attack... but Rodolphus doubted she would know what was good for her if it walked up and stabbed her in the chest. Perhaps he could oblige. There was no refraining from crying out this time as Marlene was slammed back into the table again, her hip banging into the unblunted edge before she was dragged back onto the surface once again. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes, and Marlene promptly squeezed them away. There wasn't time for that; she couldn't fall apart, not now. The floo powder, her chance at escape, was moving further and further out of reach, and it was obvious that she was never going to get to it while Rodolphus was still there, looming and mocking and playing with her. Marlene was done playing. Gripping the knife tightly in her hand, she moved as though going to make another attempt at running towards the fireplace, only to doubleback, diving toward the death eater to stab Rodolphus as hard as she could just under where she assumed his ribs were, using both hands to try to push the blade in further, twisting as she went. A breath escaped him, of pain and surprise, but his eyes glittered orange and pleased against the backdrop of fireplace. The blade plunged past his shirt and through flesh as easily as a razor through paper, and he felt the agonising burn of metal as it disregarded muscle and glanced off one of his ribs. His insides rejected the intrusion, attempting to bleed it out, but as much as his heart quickened with every difficult pull of air, adrenaline repressed the need to escape. His hand was upon hers so fast he could scarcely remember moving it, and it had soon captured the wrist, pulling it harder, deeper, into his chest. She was within a hair's breadth of him, and his smile was at once pained and malignant and victorious. His other hand moved, and her clothing fell open along his own blade's path, leaving a crimson wake. Another. A third. Marlene had expected to feel something as she pierced through flesh and muscle with the knife, some sort of epic feeling of accomplished vengeance at finally making the man who'd killed her family pay, something that should've been accompanied by a sweeping score and rushing wind effects. Instead there was a hollow and angry sense of duty in that he deserved it and nothing more. It only lasted a mere moment, though, and was quickly replaced by gripping fear and confusion as Rodolphus's hand snatched her wrist and helped her push the knife in. The dagger she'd jabbed into Rodolphus was released, but Marlene remained suspended, held there by Lestrange's other hand as the knife in the other sliced into her back. Unable to escape his grasp, she instead shoved one hand of clawing fingers forward into the wound in his chest as she yanked the knife free with the other. And he responded. The elegant curve of metal was one thing -- it was sterile, unfeeling, precise -- but her fingers were another matter entirely, and the clumsy, visceral way in which she was scrabbling at his wound was utterly unacceptable. Snarling against the pain that exploded across the back of his eyes, Rodolphus's hand, now bloody, sticky, hot, slapped her hand away before lunging for her neck. His knife came between their chests. He stabbed. It was too fluid a motion to warrant thought, and he felt a flicker of ill-placed surprise, a moment of regret. He did not wish to kill her just yet. She deserved more and he was not ready to sit in silence over another dead body. The moment happened too fast even to elicit a scream, her horror and anger and excruciating pain were met only with a slight, choked gasp that quickly melded into terrified whimpering and gasping for air that wouldn't come. She'd been cut and bitten and cruciated before, but this was an entirely different sort of agony, both compact and all-consuming. Marlene stared up at her assailant, her eyes wide and petrified as it hit her for the first time that she wasn't going home after this. "That it, then?" she choked out, refusing to blink away the tears that were welling up in her eyes, not wanting him to see her cry. She kept staring straight ahead, focusing on something far away, avoiding the glance downward that would prove to herself that the searing pain in her chest wasn't something imagined. The smear of regret within him sharpened, and though it was a very twisted sort of regret (for there was nothing that could be likened to compassion in the desire to keep her alive so that she might suffer more), it would stave off Marlene McKinnon's death a bit longer. Rodolphus released her neck so she could fall back into an arm, and then lowered her to the floor, legs draped over one thigh as he knelt to keep them above her heart. It was unfortunate how little healing he'd learnt in the last forty years, but there were basic facts -- rudimentary things important in staying alive. Right now it was all he needed. But not yet. "Ask me to heal you." Everything was happening in a freezing cold blur of slow motion. Somehow one moment Rodolphus was squeezing her throat and shoving a knife into her chest, and the next she was being lowered to the ground almost carefully. It didn't make sense; her hands were so much warmer than they should have been as she attempted to press down on the wound to stop the hot blood blossoming through her shirt and between her fingers and down to the floor, slowly oozing and inching its way toward the drain in the room's centre. That couldn't all be coming from her. There was too much. And then Rodolphus was talking to her from somewhere far away, telling her what to do and what to say. Marlene wanted to refuse. This was the man who had killed her family. He was the one who had done this to her. But that voice in the back of Marlene's head was buried somewhere deep and hidden, silenced by fear and regret and a numbness that was beginning to set in which scared her more than cooperating with the enemy did. She wasn't ready yet; god, she was barely twenty years old, and was scared and alone and hurt and if he could make that stop, it didn't matter who he was. "Please," she was barely able to whisper, nodding weakly as her voice cracked. "Please; I d- I don't want to die. I- please." He'd heal her and that would give her more time and someone would find her and she could go home. Even as he shifted her across his arm (eye on the knife in her hand, though he did not remove it), Rodolphus questioned his actions -- a momentary weakness he assumed would pass as quickly as it came. Perhaps now, confronted with a dying girl in his arms, he did not wish to go through with plans that had been so clear to him only minutes before... ... but he would not permit doubts about his motives, even internally, and so pressed his palm hard against her chest; pressure would not quell the bleeding in a wound this deep, but it would hinder it long enough to seal the injury. A sweep of his wand and more concentration than he cared to admit, and her insides were knit together with haphazard efficiency. It would not keep, but he did not intend to stall her death indefinitely. Once she was healed he didn't move, attempting to catch a breath growing laboured with blood-loss. He would have to tend to himself next. Marlene didn't move either. The bleeding may have been stopped, the wound might have been closed, but the pain still lingered in intense waves that made her dizzy and nauseous. And even if the pain would have vanished, the fear that had arrived attached to it had become a permanent fixture, keeping the colour drained from her face through no fault of blood-loss. Her eyes stayed fixed on Rodolphus's face, trying to read some sort of reasoning behind why he had bothered healing her if he planned on killing her anyway. Maybe she could evoke some further semblance of pity and regret inside of him somehow, he'd change his mind, and take her somewhere else where she had a chance of being saved. She doubted it, but if there was a chance... "Thank you for not killing him too. Zippy," Marlene said quietly, tears running down her face as she tried to push herself up to a sitting position with her free hand, only for it to slip on the blood-slick floor to send her falling back to the ground again. Had it not been for the blood, though, Marlene was pretty sure (it was likely the adrenalin talking) that she'd be able to stand if she had the opportunity (provided Rodolphus didn't knock her right back down again)... but maybe it would work to her advantage if he thought she couldn't. "And for taking care of him. He's a good cat." Rodolphus let his knee down to the ground so that her legs were free, attempting to rile up his hatred of her so that it would overpower whatever vestiges of paternalism that had risen. He was not an overly complicated man; easily manipulated, it did not take very much effort on Marlene's part to play whatever mediocre emotions to which he was subject to her advantage. Only his own persistence and determination stood between her and effective sympathy, and so to counter his own stray emotions, Rodolphus dumped her to the floor from his arm unceremoniously before closing his own wound. "It would be pointless to condemn an animal for its master's sins," he replied gruffly, moving back to the storage cabinets to find a new instrument. Perhaps he should have killed her quickly. Doubt was not an emotion to which he was frequently subjected. Marlene bit her tongue to keep from snapping 'but it's okay to condemn a person's family?', as that would have destroyed her shaky attempt at a half-hashed plan before she'd gotten the chance to put it into action. "I was just doing what I thought was right." Which was true. It wasn't much different from what the other side was doing, except her side was actually right (at least in her opinion). She slopped onto the floor as Rodolphus moved, groaning as she tried to roll up into a sitting position, her breathing ragged, curling her legs in so that she could hug them to her chest. It was tempting to go get her blanket from the other side of the room and just cry into it. "Please, I just want to go home. I'm sorry; I didn't... I don't want this anymore; I thought it's what my family wanted," she sniffed, wiping her eyes with her sleeve (a pointless act that only succeeded in streaking her face with blood rather than tears) and glanced back sadly at him, taking careful stock of where in his robes he'd stowed his wand as she tried inching slowly toward the fireplace once again. The wand was thrust easily inside his outer robes before Rodolphus went for one of the drawers. This session had lost some of its flavour, as he'd assumed Marlene would be spiteful and resilient to the bitter end. Her crumbling into a terrified girl registered outside his expectations and thus made him, with all his rigid views of the world, uncomfortable. Still, what had to be done would be done; regardless of his more flawed, human side (the side that wavered even in justified rage when there were crying girls), conviction kept him upon the true (and narrow) path. He neither believed nor disbelieved her, as it wasn't the words he listened to but the emotion, and he was hardly a scholar of that human trait; still... his lips pressed tight together as he retrieved a thin, sharp wire. He'd changed his mind. He would end this as quickly as he was able without the use of magic. As Rodolphus dug through his cabinet of tools from hell, Marlene scooting closer and closer to the fireplace, keeping one eye on him as she pulled herself up off the floor, her chest still feeling like it was on fire after even the slightest of movements. A few seconds passed, and (despite barely being able to reach even when standing on tiptoe) finally managed to wrap her fingers around a fist-full of floo powder. She'd go to Abe's. Aberforth was one of the last people she could think of who still had the Floo connected (as far as she knew), and even if Rodolphus knew that's where she'd escaped to, if she trusted anyone to be able to handle Lestrange, it was a Dumbledore. Almost giddy relief washed over her as she threw the dust into the fire, stating "The Hog's Head" as clearly as possible. ...And nothing happened. It didn't quite register at first, and it wasn't until a second handful of floo powder was cast into the flames that empty realisation began to set in, twisting and knotting her stomach. Marlene swallowed hard, choking down a sob as something deep inside of her that knives and spells couldn't reach finally broke. "Right then," she whispered, biting her lower lip to keep it from trembling as she slumped back against the wall to the fireplace's side. Rodolphus's eyes narrowed as he turned to consider the girl. He certainly didn't fault her for desiring to escape, or even for trying, but her little display for mercy was ill-timed. "You ought to have played for my sympathy after attempting that, Marlene," he stated dryly, apparently unfazed at his affected familiarity. "Now I feel betrayed and used," he went on, in a decidedly unbetrayed-feeling voice. He wound the garrote around his hands, staining it with blood as it bit into his ungloved palms. Whatever sympathy had attempted to worm its way into him was crushed. Every fragment of compassion her pitiful performance had presented gone. He was ready to murder, and he was now quite certain it would not be a quick occurrence. "I considered killing you quickly, but now I believe I will take my time." A menacing step forward. "It is simply impolite to abandon one's host without proper warning." Things immediately shifted back to the game of cat and mouse as Marlene scrambled away from Rodolphus's approach, fingertips desperately searching the cracks in the stone wall for something, for some sort of hidden passage out, breathing deeply and quickly (because oh god, how much longer would she even be able to) to try and calm herself down. There was no point in growing calm; there wasn't a way out, he wasn't going to have second thoughts, and there wasn't much left that Marlene could do beyond accept the fact that she was going to die here. As Marlene found herself trapped in a corner of the room again, arms dropping weakly to her side in defeat after one final violent thump against the wall, she skewed together the last bit of her resolve. She wasn't going to accept this quietly. If she was going to die, she was taking this big arse fucker down with her. Instead of peeling off into the opposite direction, this time Marlene ran charging straight toward Rodolphus, pushing herself off the wall to help power her lunge. Once within a few feet of him, she dove towards past his legs towards the ground, stabbing the knife she'd barely realised she was still holding into his thigh and making a wild flailing grab for the wand tucked in his robes. Her fingers wrapped around the wand and she yanked it free of the fabric and kicked her feet out as hard as she could into the back of his knees to send him off balance. Anger flooded through him as Marlene struck him, though some of that was stripped away in the place of adrenaline fuelled exultation. She was aware of and had accepted her death; she must have, if she were being so careless with the barely bound wounds in her chest, if she was stupid enough to come into contact with him -- but it seemed she had not returned unarmed, for the first cut of knife slit Rodolphus's trousers and dug into the muscle of his leg. Surprise did not override his survivalist instinct, so he jerked away, one palm slamming into her throat to shove her back, not realising that she'd grabbed his wand as they tumbled sloppily to the ground. He was bleeding everywhere, and though his reaction had saved the artery, he could see, now, the wand in her hand. Growling, he used his stable leg to knock himself forward into her, and amidst a tangle of limbs and clothes and kicking, he sunk his teeth into the nearest, softest bit of flesh. The shock of Rodolphus Lestrange biting her honestly felt more intense than the pain resonating from it for the first few moments -- Marlene had been bitten before, and badly (it came with the territory of somehow becoming Tabitha Pryce's favourite chew toy), but it had never been by someone who remained human on the full moon. Then the pain came, and Marlene reacted wildly, beating at the man to try to force him to let go. Marlene had nearly forgotten the wand until she physically saw it in her hand. She moved to stab Rodolphus in the eye with it, then suddenly realised she could do much, much worse. It would likely cost her part of her hip, but at this point what did it matter? "RELASHIO!" Fiery sparks splashed over Rodolphus's face, and he only just closed his eyes before a violent burn spread over his forehead and cheeks, threatening to consume him; jerking away from the source of heat and pain, he felt cloth and skin tear in his mouth and blood spread across his tongue, though in a moment of blind testosterone he could not remember the origin. Free of fresh pain and entangled flesh, he curled up on the stone, arms instinctively dragging over his face to try and stave off the lingering agony. Garroting wire was tangled in his fingers and the smell of copper tinged the air, heavy and sharp. He spat blood and gristle. He struggled to rise. Marlene's shrieks of pain filled the room as Rodolphus was ripped back and away from her by the spell, part of her blood-soaked pyjamas and part of her hip torn away in the process. Despite the spell not being anything new to her, she had never seen it react in such a way, but given the circumstances? Marlene wasn't complaining. The wand was much more powerful than her own, wielding magic that she didn't have the slightest knowledge how to control, especially not in foreign territory lined with traps and wards she'd never be able to master because of her bloodline. Scrambling in the opposite direction, gritting her teeth against the pain, Marlene grasped the wand tightly and attempted to apparate out of the room and back to her home -- she'd splinch, she was certain of it, but what was a few missing fingers or an eyebrow if she made it out alive? The apparation attempt proved just as devastatingly useless as the fireplace had; she was still there, Rodolphus was still alive, and all she had to defend herself was the fucking wand that had killed her family. How appropriate that it was the same wand she had every intention to kill their murderer with. Eyes narrowed, Marlene growled out the most powerful fire spell she knew, sending a streak of angry red-hot flames tearing from the wand, the tips burning ice-blue. A snarled grin twisted Rodolphus's mouth in a way that was entirely unwholesome. He looked like a cat who'd stumbled upon a canary with very careless owners, and whether he was aware of exactly what Marlene was trying to do with his wand, it was utterly apparent that it wasn't working. That predatory smile faltered, however, as fire exploded from the tip of the wand; at first it seemed as if it were heading for him, and he dodged out of the way, throwing himself into the protection of the shelving and bookcase... but the wand was too foreign for Marlene to control completely, and rather than hit its mark, the fire stalled a moment before exploding so violently and so suddenly that he was thrown against the shaking wall behind him. The room reappeared in flickers of orange and red between periods of black deafness. He'd hit his head hard enough that his neck was now warm and wet and he struggled to find his feet and put them beneath him. Marlene had blown apart half the room -- and though it was impressive, she would pay for the attempt. All games were finished. The spell roared past Rodolphus in an angry blaze that Marlene was honestly shocked she'd managed. Fire-based spells had somewhat become her forte, but she wasn't sure if it was her desperation forcing the power behind it or something in the wand. She had expected the inferno to crash into the stone wall, dissolving into nothingness as she broke the spell, returning the wandtip to Rodolphus and considering, for the briefest of instants, attempting to use the killing curse on him. Maybe she on her own would not have been able to control magic that dark, but she knew for a fact that the wand had cast the curse (too many times) before. There wasn't a chance to ponder it further -- the blaze continued to surge straight into the cabinet of drawers, and the explosion that followed sent Marlene hurling backwards through the air, crashing hard against the stone wall. A flash of pain ripped through her, and then there was darkness. The pain hit first, a stabbing agony at her wrists and ankles that increased tenfold with even the slightest of movements. She tugged slightly, pulling at her arms that were wrapped around something, keeping her suspended in the air, which only caused the razor-sharp wires wrapped around her arms to cut deeper into her skin. Blinking seemed to only make the blurriness enveloping the room worse once Marlene had finally gathered up the strength to open her eyes, whimpering softly in tiny pathetic squeaks, praying that the pain would be over soon. Her eyes moved to an armchair at the side of the room, where a significantly more bloody and bandaged Rodolphus sat reading a book. Oh god. This was hell, wasn't it? Had Rodolphus been privy to her internal thoughts, he would have agreed that it was hell; however, he was only aware of her consciousness insofar as her small noises went. He did not look up from his book, but flipped a page, then two, to finish his chapter. A glass of red wine was finished. He sat, patient and quiet and calm, for nearly twenty minutes before he finally snapped the text closed, set it atop the side-table, and turned to address the wide-eyed girl. "Good morning," he said smoothly; it had only been about an hour since she'd blown up part of the room, but there was no natural light here and he enjoyed disorienting his victims. "Is this worth your defiance yesterday? I am curious." The flashes of the fight from earlier felt both moments earlier and a lifetime ago -- the pain from her wounds still being so fresh made her briefly think he was lying, but there was also the very possible possibility that she'd acquired new injuries while unconscious. She supposed it didn't matter. For someone who'd spent her entire life remembering dates and anniversaries and checking off squares on the calendar, time seemed of very little importance. Marlene wanted more than anything to wait until he approached to answer so that she could spit in his face as a reply. Her mouth was dry, though, and her throat raw from screaming, and that would also involve Rodolphus moving closer when she had no place left to run, and couldn't even if she did. "I hope it treats you like it did the cat," she finally rasped out, managing to reply after what felt like hours of trying to develop a retort that wasn't caked with terror. "If I recall the lore correctly, cats have nine lives," came his low, unaffected response. Sliding away the glass of wine, he stood, finally, and moved in her direction, though he did not go for her directly but the cabinets behind her. There was the sound of metal objects scraping together and a few hushed, ambiguous noises, and then there was silence but for the slow pad of his footsteps behind her. "I am also curious whom the new leader of your little rebellion is, now that Dumbledore is dead." He did not act, instead letting her wonder what was in his hands. Her eyes followed him across the room as long as they could, watching him warily until Rodolphus eventually passed behind the stake and behind her line of sight. Turning her head to look in the other direction proved useless as well, and all twisting did was cause the wires to gouge further into her wrists and ankles. She quickly gave up on trying, instead resting her head against the wooden pole and giving up, finally breaking down into the quiet gasping sobs of panic that had been tugging at her all night. She froze upon realising Rodolphus's question, torn between feeling panic and disgust that he was going to try to tap her for information before he let her die. "There isn't one," she replied slowly, voice quivering as she answered, bracing herself for what she was positive was going to be quite a bit of pain, since he undoubtedly wouldn't like that answer. "We don't need someone pulling our strings for us like you apparently do." "Mmm," he replied with an easy thoughtfulness before running his index finger down what was exposed of her spine. His movement was slow and clinical -- as if determining the quality of a meat before cutting into it. Rodolphus said nothing as he brought the knife into view and slid it across the peri-spinal area, cutting away long ribbons of fabric without so much as nicking the flesh beneath. "My master does not waste his time pulling strings," he whispered into her ear, breath hot and brusque. "And you should not waste my time, for I will become quickly impatient. This time the knife-blade had a more sinister purpose, and he drew it up the sides of her spine, cutting thin ribbons of red that quickly blossomed out over what was left of her shirt. Heavy sobs echoed through the otherwise silent room, tears running freely down Marlene's cheeks and falling from her face, her chest aching with every heaved rise and fall from the crudely mended stab wound from earlier in the night. She tried to squirm away from Rodolphus's finger as it traced along her back, her eyes going wide, hyperventilating with nearly unhinged terror as bits of her shirt were sliced and fell away to the floor. Not being able to see what was occurring behind her was almost as deep a torture as the blade carving into her skin. "Fuck you, I'm not. I'm not; there isn't anyone," she cried, her voice hoarse and desperate, knowing she was lying, knowing he likely knew she was lying, and praying that he'd conclude it was a waste of time to attempt to get the truth out of her soon. "That is not what a little bird tells me," he replied into her ear once again, sweeping his palms out over the torn fabric at her back so that blood spilt across his hands and the canvas he was creating was a bit clearer. He felt for her ribs, fingertips surprisingly precise as he located and contemplated them The knife was again in her back, this time rougher, less delicate; and he carved from her spine into graceful arcs that followed her ribs almost to the side, discarding fabric in his wake, holding her still with one massive palm. "I suppose if you will not admit it to me I always have the werewolf to play with instead." He was lying; everything he said was a lie to try to trap her into giving up the truth because there's no way that he could have known; there was no one who would've told him that. "What bird; what -- I don't know what you're talking about," she cried, her head feeling foggy and heavy as she struggled against his knife and his hold on her and the unrelenting binding. "God please just leave him alone, there's nothing to admit; there's nothing, there's no one. Please stop." He wouldn't be able to find Remus. Someone would make him move out of the house to some place that he could be safe. And even if Marlene did give up the information Rodolphus was asking for, there'd be no way to assure that he wouldn't go right after Remus anyway. "Do you remember little Peter Pettigrew, sweet Marlene? How quickly you forget those who were once your friends. Tut tut." Another rib completed, another. He did not even care about the information, but the pretence satisfied him. His hand smoothed over blood until copper tinged the air, and came to rest upon her neck. A shuffle of tools and there was a snip and a pause as hair fell over her shoulders and to the ground. And another. Marlene's shoulders slumped as far as the binding would allow as she broke down once again into full out sobs, gasping in choked coughs for air but instead only the metallic taste of blood filled her lungs and mouth. "He wouldn't. Pete wouldn't." She was bleeding profusely now, the blood running down and pooling underneath where she was suspended on the stake. Maybe that's where Pete had gone. Maybe that's why he'd dissappeared. Jo had warned her months ago, and he'd always made comments that seemed a little bit off... Marlene knew it was possible, but she knew somewhere even deeper that Peter could never have betrayed them like that. The Order had tried to find him, they'd kept trying and Marlene could not comprehend someone who had been one of her best friends, someone who had saved her life before, being the reason she was here. He had to know that, that they weren't going to give up on him, they just hadn't known where to look because he'd been with Ted when he'd gone missing, and Ted had died at Hogwarts the next night. When Dumbledore had died too. "You are lying." Somewhere lurking deep within her sobs was a slight, desperate, almost manic laugh. "He went missing before Dumbledore died. You don't know anything, none of you do, it's why you're trying to be gods to people who you lie to and who hate you, and it's why you're going to lose." More locks fell until Marlene's hair was just below her ears, and Rodolphus swept errant strands from the base of her skull until he had a clean canvas, though below the shoulders hair stuck to blood in a chaotic mess of bodily fragments that did not belong together -- the aesthetic of torture, he supposed. The knife was brought out again and he sliced down the collar of her nightshirt until it splayed open in two halves and he could see the scars that ran along her shoulder. "I do not wish to be a god, Marlene. Only a servant to my master." It was a simple statement, and he pawed the back of her neck until he'd located the softest point, into which he shoved the tip of the blade, dragging down, across the spine, and up through the shoulderblade. These were meaningless marks, designed only to make her cry the loudest, to make her jerk against her gruesome bindings. She would plead for mercy before he was through (again and again), for the crimes she'd inflicted upon pureblood innocents. Even the slightest hint of laughter was gone now, her cries filled only with horror and grief and pain that didn't seem like it could end. "You're no better than a house elf. Dolphin the house elf," she said, her voice strangled and low and frail. Marlene was mildly aware of her hair falling to the ground (somewhere in the back of her head a tiny voice protested that it was too short; she'd only been thinking about it earlier, she didn't actually want a haircut), and she could feel herself growing weaker as the moments passed -- it was so cold and it was hard even to scream any more -- and she still begged for him to stop despite it being futile. At one point she cried out for her mum, first feeling embarrassed for doing so, then immediately terrified that it wasn't going to be long now until she would see her mother again. Oh god, she wasn't ready, not here, not like this, and even though Marlene knew it was inevitable, it didn't stop her from being petrified. The knife jerked across her shoulderblade at her comment, and Rodolphus did not respond, slightly rankled at the notion that his loyalty was akin to anything parallelling an house elf. But there was no purpose to getting angry; Marlene was suffering, and for all her begging and pleading, he would not spare her. "Ask me to set you free," he said finally, almost gently, after several long moments of only blood and pain. He was kneeling now, knife cutting away the bottoms of her pyjama trousers as he supported her feet and sliced cleanly and quickly through the tendons stretching across her ankles. Her feet kicked feebly in protest as Rodolphus moved to grab them, Marlene paying no heed to the wire binding her legs. She choked on her scream as the knife cut into her ankles, coughing up blood in its stead. It wouldn't be long now -- it looked there was more of her blood on the floor than there was still inside her. Even in her dizziness and confusion, she knew what he meant in his question. It wasn't an offer to go home. She wasn't asking him for any more favours. Nearly all her energy drained, her head dropped against her chest, and Marlene's eyes met Rodolphus's. "No." "You think you are near the end but I can make this go on for days," he replied bluntly, dragging the knife up the back of her leg and through the calf in a macabre mockery of hosiery seams. He grew less delicate with every cut, and now he was tearing through inches of muscle, blood escaping faster and harder with every wrist flick upward. His glance at her was less malicious than one might have expected, but there was no semblance of compassion at the corners of his eyes -- only understanding. "Ask me." She knew it was true -- he'd healed her before. He could do it again. The death eaters had an entire fleet of Healers imperiused; Rodolphus could probably bring in a Healer to keep her right on the edge of death for weeks if he wanted to. It didn't matter. If she was honest, it might have been some fear of death that kept her silent still, even with it so close. If she asked, that was it. The gouges were only getting bigger, though; the blood-loss was coming quicker as the end crept closer. He'd grow bored of torturing a little girl soon when her only reactions to each new wound were choked sobs and muffled cries, when she no longer had the strength to protest. It suited her better to at least try to be spiteful to the end. "No." The backs of the knees now and the bottoms of the thighs; blood ran so fast that Marlene's legs were paling visibly, a creamy white backdrop for the brilliant crimson currents that splashed to his knee, to the floor, and vanished down through the drain as if they'd never been. "Soon your arms will grow too weak to support you. Your body will drop a few inches. Your ribs will rise too high for your lungs to expand. You will die gasping and desperate for breath. Is your ego worth so much to you? I assure you that pride does not go with you through death." Marlene had wanted to believe that she was strong enough for this. That she would be able to fight against whatever the odds were, and to keep fighting right up until the end that came too soon. Maybe she wasn't. All she wanted was for it to stop. Her eyes were red and raw from crying, her face streaked with tears, and she was sobbing too hard in fear of what she would face if she refused (and fear of what was to come if she didn't) to answer vocally either way. Drawing in one last long, shaking breath, she nodded yes, hoping that would be enough. He paused in his slicing -- hopefully a reinforcement for her to comply -- before responding. "Ask." She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. Her chest was burning and she strained to gasp for air, but all she could taste was blood, and all she could see was red running into the drain in the room's centre and the murderer demanding she beg to die. She couldn't ask, not like he wanted her to. Marlene nodded again, her eyes wide and scared, between attempted breaths. She mouthed the word please, and if that wasn't enough... she'd die anyway. Either exsanguination or suffocation would get her in the end. Rodolphus let a few seconds pass before accepting her acquiescence and moving, quickly, to release her from the post. First, the hands were cut free, and he used his shoulder to keep her upright as he carefully unwound the wire from Marlene's wrists; it had to be unburied from flesh and bone, and when she was finally free, he supported her weak body against his chest, indifferent to the blood soaking his vest and shirt. Next were the ankles, which came free more easily, and then he was lowering to the ground so that he could hold her in a kneel. In death, everyone was equal, and he harboured no particular malice now that she was seconds from passing. This was simply another body with blood and fear and gasping breaths, and he tortured her no further, but cleaned the knife on the back of his boot before smoothly and gracefully cutting her throat. There was no sudden rush of relief as he cut her free; she didn't expect it, and it didn't come. Her body was drenched in cold sweat and blood; her complexion sallow and drained, her breath sluggish and fatigued and hopeless. New degrees of pain washed over places that she'd thought had gone numb permanently, but Marlene was too weak to struggle away from it. It was enough of a fight to keep her eyes open; she was too frightened to close her eyes before she had to, not wanting to let everything go dark until there was no light left. She was trembling as he lowered her to the floor, suffocating on the blood in her lungs and wishing for more time that she didn't have to do things differently, to do things better, to do more. She wasn't dead yet and was already regretting and missing her unlived life. And then the blade she was too weak to fight sliced along her throat, and all last thoughts of the people and the things and the life Marlene was leaving behind were replaced with one final struggle for breath that ended too quickly. She hoped she'd done enough with what she had. She hoped that she mattered. And then she let go. |