#*mulciber

Bathed in sunlight, variations of gold outlined around a silhouette whose every curve held clues to the mystery of attraction. This is how he remembers her. And he knows she’s special because it’s the only thing the Dementors took away from him.

You always take the sweetest rose And crush it till the petals fall

It started as an interest. No thought was given to the quality of her blood, to focus on only that withheld the comfort that held against a shame beared willingly on the back of a son as consequence to a traditional upbringing, where elitist ideals like barbed wire were wrapped and worn as armour. To him, she fit perfectly into the hollow shell of a reckless boy with an all consuming, dangerous curiousity that for once, had left him exhausted. And he wanted to spoil himself in it, in her.

                               Self-destruction as salvation as transformation.

  But to entertain an idea of a man changed for the better ? Cowardice won that battle.

You always break the kindest heart With a hasty word you can’t recall

                                                                            OBSESSION.

                                                  Not a mark on her. NOT. A. MARK.

He was a master of the imperius curse. The will of others lived through him with only the need to mutter two words and a swish of his wand. How MAD must a man be to have that much control over someone ? It’s said that the calmness of the god of madness is a characteristic dionysian paradox. A subversive genius showing restraint in the face of his definition : MAD. 

Her blood curdling silent, still screams are the very last memories he held on to till the very end. Baying at his mind as though that alone was worthy to be called penitence. It’s a reminder that he isn’t a fucking god as he’d have himself believe. With her misguided faith he had orchestrated to have been put in him, died his hopes,  and yet he still stands proclaiming the GRASS IS DEFINITELY GREENER ON THE OTHER SIDE ! 

So If I broke your heart last night It’s because I love you most of all

                                                                    This is the art of                                                                     living with a ticking heart — a grenade you                                                                     throw through windows to make a                                                                     point that language                                                                     has no room for.

They crawled over rutted earth, disregarded from the feast but still they persisted onwards with blood on their heels and bodies in their wake. They were not noble, only a chess piece on the game board no one bothered to give a second glance towards because it was the warrior they judged. When it was the woman, the mother, the queen, that promised greatness with tantalizing whispers through silken sheets and white lace. She bled their nobility dry from Mrs. Avery, and rich was the taste for they were suddenly moves away from checkmate.

          {soft tongue, sharp teeth}

A: get lost, mulciber

M: but denial is really unhealthy. So, sit your ass down and confess your truth

A: Since when were you saintly?

M: look, I know you're obsessed with me but you can't copy everything I do and say

A: are you fucking serious?

M: we both know it's my words that make her weak in the knees

A: You are, aren't you, you fucking shit head.

M: so a little re-compensation should be thrown my way

A: fuck. you.

M: MIMI COME BACK

M: MIMI

M: MIIIMIII

M: ALL I WANTED WAS YOUR VINTAGE. WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING?