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Post by Servilius Vladimir Murder on Mar 25, 2010 22:38:06 GMT -5
Before him stood a door. It was outstretched high above his stature, reaching towards the clouds that floated above this bare plain. It was just he and the door, yet, the two were one in the same, he felt. This door was him, and he was the door. Servilius squinted his eyes as it opened before him. The hands of the shadowed light reached out and grabbed him, pulling him inside the darkness. He wasn’t scared; it wasn’t like this was the first time he was venturing past the golden brown color that stood between him and his inner self. Funny thing was, Servilius could see in his dreams, and he understood. Strangely, he understood. Somehow. He felt nothing. As a matter of fact, he was weightless subsiding in the pitch black that engulfed him, as if he was floating. It was like a baby in the womb, he thought, warm, comforted, at peace. If only he could imagine himself as a cradled, loved child. No, as far as he was concerned he never had a childhood. With all the hatred, pain, sadness, the tears… Xanthe Murder’s only son couldn’t picture what happy felt like, though he was certain he had felt it before. It had been too long since he felt this way: free. He then realized he wasn’t in the darkness anymore, for the cold broke him away from his blissful trance. Beside him was a woman. She was young, in her early twenties at most, and walking alone. Snow fluttered around them as he moved beside her without feet, like he was drifting along beside her. They were far from existence as possible, possibly in the middle of nowhere. As far as Servilius could see there was snow. Miles upon miles of snow. No trees, no rocks, animals, nothing. Just a gray sky and rolling piles of snow. He looked over to his partner, who was crossing her arms from the cold. She must’ve been traveling for a while by the look of her rose-tinted cheeks and the dimness of her dull olive colored eyes. She was wrapped in a scarf and a simple cloak, not something you’d usually see for a nomad traveling across the desert of snow. What a stupid woman. Shump. Servilius blinked down at the collapsed lady. She lay in the snow face-down, her arms spread out with exhaustion. Was she passed out or just playing around? What was up with her? It was her own damn fault for being too air-headed to travel out here in the first place, much less alone! He bent his knees down to her level, placing them in the snow that did not leave an impression from his weight. “Oy, lady,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and shaking her lightly. “You’ll die out here, lady.” When she did not respond, he pulled her over on her back. “Oy!” That didn’t work. Servilius raised a hand and smacked her across the face, leaving no sign of impending redness upon her cheek. “WAKE UP YOU STUPID WOMAN! YOU’LL-” He stopped in mid sentence as he witnessed a dark entity form out of nowhere on the other side of where the young woman lay. It had eyes. Eyes like the devil paired with a shapeless black silhouette. Servilius took a quick step back, moving to his invisible feet. He could only witness as the… thing began to become her shape and form. The woman gave a scream of pain begging it to stop, but it wouldn’t. She cried out for help, her hand extending toward him. He couldn’t grab it as much as he wished to. He knew even if he could he could not help her. This was her pain to grit her teeth to. It was time to go. Servilius turned slowly around to leave when he heard her one last plea. “Please! Please don‘t take him away from me, he‘s all I have!” His body began to disappear as he was pulling out of this world’s existence, but he was able to get one last look at the woman before being completely taken into the darkness again. She was a shadow. “Mum!”
Servilius twisted awake, rolling off of whatever he was laying on and hit the hard, carpeted floor beneath him. He brought his hand to his head to cover up the pain and the bump that would later ensue for his carelessness. Getting to his feet, the eleven year old boy felt his heart racing. Who was that woman? Why did he call her his mother? He had no mother. As far as he knew, and was concerned, his mother was dead. His father too. But those eyes… he’s seen them before. The way she screamed was all too hard to forget. It‘s like he‘s heard it before. Pfft, whatever. It was just a dream. He held out his hands as he began to walk, feeling his way for the door handle. The blind boy turned it quietly, unaware of what time it must be. I’ve got to find Uncle. He felt the rug beneath his bare feet, which alerted him that he was now in the hallway of the Malfoy Manor. Walking past several portraits, his fingers ran along each door on the left side of the corridor, which is known to be the side Xavier’s room was on. Xavier’s room was indicated by a small “x” in the middle of the door, so Servilius would always be able to tell where he was. Just in case. “Uncle?” he called from the other side of the wooden frame. “I’m coming in.”
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Post by Xavier Murder on Mar 27, 2010 18:52:51 GMT -5
The pale light filtering through the window illuminated his drawn face. His bed shook with his body, the matress squeakin. This wasn't how his life was supposed to have turned out. He wasn't supposed to be locked in this room, with only the walls as his friends. Servilius was the only one that visited him regularly, and half the tine, he couldn't remember them. But here the child was now, the child he had raised as his own after Xanthe had been forced to give him up. What had happened? How could this happen to me? he was supposed to be roaming the Manor, bossing around the lower Death Eaters. He had stayed loyal, only to end up locked in a room with his body wasting away, his mind slipping through his fingers, rocking back and forth on the bed.
"C-Come in, Ser-Servilius." His eyes slid closed at his stuttering, something he had picked up recently. Oh, what he would give to return to the days of his teenage years. Everything was worse now, everything. His transformations, his nights, his days, everything. They kept him locked in this room; for his own good they said, but he didn't believe them. They had merely grown tired of his existence, and taken his magic away from him. His wand had been snapped over a year ago, right after they had moved him in here. It was like prison. Bars on the windows, a door that locked from the outside only. He didn't have a handle on his side, though he was sure it wouldn't work even if he did have one. They wanted to keep him in here, at all costs. They claimed that he was a danger to everyone, including himself.
Voldemort was just afraid. Afraid that in his altered state of mind, his advanced state of mind, that he would be able to overthrow the Dark Lord and steal the throne.
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Post by Servilius Vladimir Murder on Mar 27, 2010 20:10:35 GMT -5
Servilius gave a slight nod and extracted an old, chipped brass key from his pants pocket. Using his best judgment, the eleven year old poked the key through the small opening in the door. Only a few Death Eaters had access to his uncle’s room: Voldemort, the Malfoys, and himself. Everyone else would be too frightened to venture beyond the thick walls of the hallway even if they obtained a key. Xavier frightened everyone, it seemed. No one trusted him since he had bitten Servilius as a young child. From then on, he believed, his uncle took a turn for the worst. His physical frame deteriorated and he turned to alcohol for relief. Which only made him worse in body and mind. Servilius opened the door quietly to Xavier’s room, no… his cell. Xavier had told him how the Death Eaters had modified the used to be bedroom into a prison. Come to think of it, this room used to belong to Servilius too, when he was just a baby. Once inside, the raven-haired boy felt a swirl of emotions: anger, distrust, helplessness, depression, and the worst… loneliness. Servilius was all this man had to look forward to. His life was nothing but waiting around for the full moon to transform into a monster, the kind of person others thought him to always be. It was sad. Xavier was actually a kind, caring person deep inside his wounded heart. Anyone that was human could realize it if they gave him the chance, and be able to see past the scary form he is told to acquire. None of that was his fault. Uncle is so strong to handle this on his own. Servilius walked slowly toward the aura of his poor uncle, careful not to step on any strange objects that could be lying around. Around his feet he could feel pieces of shredded fabrics, broken slivers of wood and glass. Practically anything that could be broken was, including the man who raised him. He had never felt his spirit to be so low. “Uncle,” he began, his voice quiet. His head looked up to where he thought Xavier might be. “My mother,” he stalled, wondering if he should even consider asking the question, “she’s dead, right?”
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