Robert Kingsley | Lord Voldemort (kinglyone) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2013-10-27 22:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | !halloween, !plot week |
WHO: Robert Kingsley
WHAT: Dropping the veil
WHERE: St. Louis Cemetery, New Orleans
WHEN: The stroke of Midnight, when the 30th turns into the 31st
WARNINGS: Evil shit up in here.
Plans were going perfectly, which was exactly how Robert preferred them--and also why he had chosen to do this task on his own rather than delegating it to anybody else. While he had the perfect entourage for most tasks (he certainly had wonderful Death Eaters at his service), Robert also had an increased sense of self; nobody could ever do anything as well as him, and this was a particularly difficult task to complete. Things had to be done in a delicate manner if the veil between the living and the dead were to be dropped. Completely delicate.
...
Robert kicked the limp hand away from his boot, his nose wrinkling in disgust at the smear of blood now brushed across the black toe of his shoe. He stood in the center of what could only be described as a massacre, a necessary ritual for the task at hand. He'd created a triangle of body piles, thirteen in each. All thirty-nine people brought to the cemetery against their will using the imperius curse and chosen for their specific attributes. One pile were the innocent, mostly nuns from a local convent (it was the only way to ensure their virginity); another convicts from a local prison all incarcerated for murder; and the last, his favorite, were the heroes. Police, fire rescue, EMTs, and a local hero heralded in the paper for saving a drowning kid in a well. The beauty of it all almost brought a tear to his eye.
Robert's eyes flicked up to the moon and then down at the watch on his wrist. He had two minutes before midnight hit to finish the preparation for the remainder of the ritual. His wand swirled through the air to carve intricate symbols that burned red hot into the cemetery dirt around him, not a single mistake being made in the artistry. Had he not needed to do things exactly by the book, he may have paused to have a one-sided conversation with one of the convicts to entertain himself and pass the minutes necessary for midnight to strike.
Time went quickly enough. He gazed at his watch once more, eyes twinkling in delight as the hands both pointed at the twelve. Wand jutted into the sky as he bellowed, "Mortuis resurgere!"