when regulus black put the poison in his mouth he counted in-between swallows; the thirst was a horrible beast, worse than whatever lied beneath the glassy lake around him — the white faces that ought to be serene in their slumber spilt over with violence.
he didn't expect it to hurt so much — death, that is. it was supposed to be like falling asleep: a swirling vortex of black and purple shades; instead there are hollow corpses clutching at his robes, his limbs, cracking his jaw open to wear him as a second skin.
his farewell letter, a final act of defiance — perhaps small, and regulus came here to die but not without hope for the future.
even at the break of his bones, the teeth that ghosted over his jaw, he remained brave. terror only seized him as the corpse approached with one final whisper:
/at the return of eternal darkness — at the return of eternal darkness/ a promise, a warning of what comes after lord voldemort's fall at the hands of his match. regulus could see the outlines of the future carved in the concave belly of the inferi and this prophecy goes unheard. there was only silence.
— [act i] || Eliot C. || gift of @alasseablack ||☕||
