Pandora Montgomery (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} pandacharms) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} finnigans_rpg, |
"Woods," she murmured, gaze unconsciously finding one of those paintings and she shuddered, a full body thing that was hard to miss. "Aunt Bellatrix. Blood. I hate her laugh." She spoke low and thready, eyes darting around nonexistent trees fearfully. "If I run, they'll hurt me. If I run, they'll kill Peri and Seph and Phillip just like they did Perseus. But I don't want to watch." Didn't want to participate, didn't want sick pleasure curling in her, or the shame she felt at it to show.
Her eyes flickered around Orla, trying to pull out of the memories with effort. It was often easier at home, mostly because she was used to it, and Tristan always knew what to do, or so it seemed at times. Breaths shuddered in and out, and she remembered the paintings, and hated them even as they had a dreadful pull on her mind. If she hadn't been to those places, she'd been to places just like them.
Pandora nodded without looking up, giving her permission to sit. For now she just focussed on pulling air in and out. She rested her head on her knees, her hands going to the back of her neck, wand clutched and almost forgotten in one of thrm. Her nails dug deep crescents into her skin, unfelt for now. She managed to start controlling her breathing, and the very beginnings of utter humiliation tickled at her. It had been so long, and never in London, that she'd broken down. Most of her lapses happened in private, or after Azkaban in Hogsmeade or abroad. "Heart's gonna pound outta my chest, fucking hell," she muttered to her knees.