#:barty

Dress after dress lay scattered on the floor of Alecto's room, each donned then abandoned in a rapid concession, their beautiful silks and satins laying cold against the stone floor, the wrinkles which various house elves had spent hours smoothing taking hold once again the the fine materials. None of the gowns suited her desires that day, and the witch found fault in each one. They all looked breathtaking on her of course, the fabric cut and sewn to fit her curves, moving with the line of her body, but none pleased her. They each fell short of what she required.

It was not that she was nervous to see Barty, though she was a bit, knowing the circumstances in which they were to encounter each other, but rather that every garment she appraised had one of two problems, which were equal in their undesirability. 

The first flaw with the dressed was that they left the pale and tender skin of her forearm bare. On the once unblemished surface now lay a mark as black in it's color as in it's meaning. To some the design would have appeared crude, but in Alecto's eyes it was breathtaking. From the moment it had been engraved upon her the witch had been captivated. She had seen the most lovely paintings in the world, tasted the finest wines and kissed the most handsome, and yet each experience was pale in comparison to the ecstasy she felt looking upon the symbol of darkness, her darkness. With each glance her mouth went dry and other more intimate places suffered the opposite affect, her heart began beat too fast and all thoughts seemed to slip away, seeking refuge in the parts of her mind she chose to deprive of any attention.

She knew all too well that it would be foolish to leave the mark exposed, a risk far too great to take when others might observe it who did not have similar symbols upon their wrists, but she could not bring herself to use a concealing charm. The thought of doing so was abhorrent. The younger Carrow could not stomach the idea of hiding that which she took the most pride in, that which she adored so utterly. However whenever she selected a gown that sheathed the spiraling stain on her pale flesh it felt wrong, shameful to wear. Gown after gown was torn off, abandoned on the floor as the witch's hands began to shake. She could hear the voices beginning to murmur in the back of her head and knew if she were to stay much longer they would become a cacophony. 

Fifteen minutes later Alecto stood inside a small primarily abandoned restaurant, the walls painted dark and the lighting dim, the whole place smelling of expensive perfume. She looked lovely in her red silk, it was flattering of course but the sleeves felt like chains on her slender arms, binding her in ways she had never even know were possible.