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C A Z H V Y R E
MEMORIES OF THE TORTOROUS PAST HOURS flashes in my head as I have finally regained consciousness. I gave the hard, stone wall several blows to the back of my head to remind myself how naive I was to even try to beg and plead with him to stop. I ought to have just kept my lips shut, let him lash out at me, and moved on from the arguments without further ado. I simply need to let myself blather and pour crude oil to the flames, though.
Despite knowing how it will all end, I still fought stupidly. It has been three days since I came back to the house, the starting point of my suffering. Afternoon hours are always his tortuous time with me, not even feeding me before he throws curses at me like this was supposed to be any other normal afternoon.
I'm so parched.
My eyes were moist from the tears that fell even though I told them to cease and numbed my feelings. My vision doubled. I had severe back pain—fuck that. My body burned everywhere. I'm starving that I begin thinking back to the times I've gone without food when I don't have the vitality, and how bad it feels to not be able to nourish myself even though I wanted to—even to the bleeding old me.
The lights started to come back on in this cellar, a torture dungeon designed to punish me, and I had to stop tracking my thoughts.
Why was he here when it was already evening? By now, the torment ought to have ended, and by tomorrow, it ought to have resumed. Is he feeling grumpy again?
I was about to cry out for our wonderful house elf to come to me at this divine hour, saying, "Misstress, Dorey brought something to eat." She seemed worried, but she handed me something to consume, and I furrowed my eyebrows as I remembered something: "You shouldn't be here, Dorey. Uncle would be outraged."
"Dorey is worried for the mistress. Dorey can heal some of the wounds of the mistress," she stated to me. I mean, I wouldn't turn down the opportunity to breathe at last without inflicting so much misery on myself. I made it obvious that I didn't want to involve Dorey in my own mess: "Thank you, Dorey. Please only heal those that are not visible to uncle." Uncle doesn't have to know that I had assistance.
She gives me a pleased nod and begins bandaging my wounds. Once she had done so, she fed me because the chains prevented me from moving my arms. Knowing that the house still contains a good spirit in spite of the awful things that have happened made me feel incredibly thankful.
I couldn't resist but whisper to her, "You might as well depart this place, Dorey." Being aware that I could let her go and allow her to relish an even more idyllic life was filling me with remorse. "Dorey could not do that! Dorey wants to be here with mistress!" She said.
I said gravely, "There's nothing left for you here."
"Dorey prefers here with mistress!" It was a clear reference to me throughout every line. All it did was make my heart ache. Not even she could be saved from this hellhole by me.
I quiet my racing thoughts and emotions. I grinned and added, "Dorey, go to my bedroom on Christmas morning. When you see a package with your name, I want you to receive it and cherish it."
"With pleasure, Dory will take the mistress's advice!" she exclaimed. After that, I asked her to return to the kitchen and to stay away from the basement for a while. If we are discovered, it will be an issue. She tried her hardest to stitch up my wounds and injuries, but I could not allow her to fix my arm and fractured ribs since I knew my uncle would notice. I had to put up with it until he decided it was enough punishment and allowed me to return to my room.
I wonder if I could go to the upcoming gala with him. Even when he straightened me out, I was positive that I wouldn't remain as submissive as he would prefer me to be. I would not just let him boss me around, but I would still do my best to project a respectable image and be courteous.
My mind would not shut up, even though I wanted to get some sleep. It simply wants me to think excessively about matters over which I had no control.
I was still watching the events unfold in my perspective with my eyes firmly shut, leaving poisoned scars across my entire body.
With my eyes closed, I suddenly spotted how luminous the blackness had become. The basement door was cracked open by someone. I waited for Dorey to say anything since I knew she would address me by my title in this house, but instead of that, tranquility descended and shrouded me in an unknown presence. It suggests a sense of familiarity and anticipation of recognition.
I was taunted by it and found it impossible to resist seeing my uncle's expression, although what it painted was fairly abstract.
Bluish eyes.
It was promising distinctive and exceptionally lovely in the middle of the night.
He grinned, pleasure gleaming in his eyes, "To think that you would welcome me with such a spectacle."
It was not the same as before, when all I could do was imagine his presence in the distance or hear the sound of his voice. It was like he had just materialised out of my thoughts during our first exchange. When I looked at the door, I saw that it was closed. The light I'd spotted before emerged from out of the isolation, where I could have previously produced the chamber's entrance.
My sense of reason held firm despite the peculiarity of the circumstances.
"Get the fuck out."
His smile grows even wider as he studies my appearance. He likely believes I'm the worst person alive.
"You look divine, darling."
He chuckles heartily at my display, so I guess I looked perturbed by his remarks. Only crazy people like this monster with the blue eyes would, of course, enjoy viewing me like this.
"Trust me, I could envision a more desirable position for you," he replied. I became even more enraged upon realising what he had done.
"Stop invading my mind."
Then he drew nearer to me until I was able to taste him, the scent of chaos at its center and the dark forest becoming moist over the storming night, violently fragrant but without scent. It was death in all its vibrant glory.
"I'm afraid I have little oversight over that. I couldn't even if I attempted not to hear it. It was so resounding that what you're thinking rebounds off that pretty head of yours," he said as he spoke to me, "I wasn't reading your mind, girl. It was reverberating out to me, extending the cruelty from your perspective of me."
That was excellent. It meant that regardless of whether he was stuck someplace inside my thoughts, he couldn't actually read anything if he chose to. It felt more like my thoughts were vibrating with such intensity that they could be heard where he is hidden.
We have this understanding despite the vagueness of my question, "How did you get out?"
"You called out to me, darling." I experienced a flood of overwhelming emotions that ranged from pain to dread. I was overcome with the miserable sensation that I was going to have terrible days.
With clenched teeth, I said, "You could have overlooked it."
My hate-love relationship with his deep blue eyes was at the forefront of my gaze that had been fixed on the floor, more precisely on his polished shoes.
He added, "I couldn't...it was too much," with such depth that I was able to sense the momentary suffering behind his eyes. It was as though he could actually feel what I was feeling, as if he had been there before. "I was unable to imagine how you're still—"
—alive?" I mocked.
"No," his grasp was still holding my chin, demanding not break our eye contact, making me study all variations in his state of mind, "I was aware you would survived. I simply assumed you would be more broken, but instead, you seem like a warrior gleaming brilliantly from war."
Though I was unable to comprehend the motivation behind those statements, I could sense it. The way we synchronise so well in practically everything drove me completely insane. While alarmingly similar, we are unique.
"I have no idea how your presence can be of value over this scenario. Therefore, you are free to leave now," I murmured, managing to finally remove myself from his grip.
"I wish I could, but our conversation was long overdue, and it seems like you really do not want me out of there yet," he stated, which was the truth. I just wish that my vulnerable state did not need me to speak to him or share this space with him; at this point, I might as well be naked.
"Look, I don't know how the fuck did I just dragged you in my head, but I'm assuming this is actually not particularly detrimental to you." I began.
He raises his eyebrow at that, "Why is that?"
"Because you are not real—more accurately, you are dead yet existing like a conscious ghost," I say, staring at him dead in the eyes.
His gaze sharpened and I knew that evoked something in him. Whether on purpose or not, we've connected even though we both recognised that we weren't supposed to in this situation. I'm worried that I may sense our bond becoming so ingrained that I can't fathom it dissolving.
He rolled his eyes at me and remarked, "I hate how transparent we can be altogether." I could absolutely relate to his sassiness.
It was a conundrum that didn't reveal much but spoke within my soul loudly enough to make the wheels in my skull whirl. "Technically, I am deceased. I was a part of my soul—a fragment that was taken away, a weakness exhibiting humanity that couldn't mingle with such a pitch black wretched state of my present soul."
Something just chimed along with those words of his, even though I knew that the majority would find my way of thinking far strange and probably exaggerated.
I urged firmly, "Speak of your name."
He flashes me an extremely solemn look, believing he could truly comprehend my thoughts and grasp the significance of that order.
"I presume animosity runs through your veins from my own being," he continued, almost nodding in agreement with my current thoughts.
I was chanting, "Tell me I'm wrong—that my subconscious was playing with something trivial," insisting that this time, my assumption would not be accurate.
This is sickening, I could feel my stomach contorting, the callousness in my brain growing more audible, imploring me to stop this madness, that this must be some kind of twisted joke. "Tom...Tom Riddle was the name I was given, known as the Dark Lord at this very moment."
What an abominable—fate is.
I wonder personally, "If I die, would you too?" as I finally let go of my will to thrive. I slouch back against the wall.
"I'm afraid we're bound through, to the point that we can be as one," at which point he sat down in front of me. "Yet murdering yourself would do no good for the living as killing me would not cause any damage to my present existence. I told you—I was practically ripped out and became part of you." He said. The bile could be spewed out of my mouth. I felt like smacking myself to get out of this nightmare.
This can not be true.
My heart was accelerating, my senses were razor-sharp, my emotions were elevated, and my mind was rushing, but there was no end in sight to the refuge I so much wanted.
What a bitch fate is.
Silence stretched out, time stilled, our breath intertwined as we both try to calm down our hearts. We both knew there was no escaping this reality.
Time paused, silence stretched out, and our breaths entwined as we both attempted to calm our contending hearts. We both understood there was no getting around this reality.
"You're his ineptitude—the only foothold of what remains on his humanity...he split his soul." The realisation of just how bleak and frustrating the future seemed to be struck me at that moment. Right now, my train of thinking was unquestionably endangering the globe.
It was reckoning.
"Multiple times if I may add," he replied, basically agreeing to it.
Damn. Shit. Fuck.
I let out a sigh as it dawned on me. He has since been a component of the world's adversary that is bound to me. We have only one fate.
"There's no concealment how we hate each other, seemingly like two sides of a coin. I need to hear where you fall in this mess," I inquired. We might as well make a deal if there's no getting out of this nonsense. In any case, I wouldn't allow him to be in charge; only I am capable of being in control. I might as well seal him in any manner I can if he refuses to cooperate.
He said, sighing as well, "You know, our thoughts are identical. I can not transcend my boundness to you, participation is the only answer." It's likely that he has no other option. Now that he is practically a part of me, he experiences the same things as me. To be certain that he wouldn't desert me, I still need to know. Even if he managed to get away from me, it wouldn't stop him from betraying me and moving towards our own destruction in order to maintain his current identity.
"I wouldn't be convinced of your dearth of enthusiasm." I responded.
I was intrigued and paying close attention when he continued, "You know, I loathe my present self as much as you despised him. I am a history that he killed, a past that has disagreement with his current objectives." He was staring right at me when he said this.
"Are you implying world's doom was not originally your plan?" I inquired.
"Ruling the world is such a tempting move, but eradicating it along the path strips all the pleasure away. The past me which is the present me in view of you—"
"—Just identify yourself as Tom."
"—Fine. Tom wanted to prove to the world that he fits in, mold themselves into what I desired these individuals to be mold in order to correspond to me. The Dark Lord, known as Voldemort, arises from my given name by itself, on the other hand, wants maximum submission, a domination that does not thrill Tom. I resent the world, but not to such an extent that I wanted it to perish in my own fingertips."
His declaration completely altered everything. A villain who isn't really one at all. Even though he is ominous and undoubtedly sadistic, something had inevitably driven him over the brink of brutality.
It is a given that the world is not an inviting place. Humans with such potential purposes are occasionally one step away from the role of protagonist or antagonist. He is the dimly light if there is still a portion of Voldemort that remains not fully corrupted and if that part of him was influenced by my soul's link.
The one and only light that softens his miserable spirit.
"I'm guessing we are contemplating the same thing." I said.
He nods his head in approval, "A truce, an alliance of comradity towards the end of your goal—to end, what should not have been started. The Dark Lord's existence."
Though I knew there was more to the commitment than we could provide, I still wanted to exhale in relief. This entails that we will put our faith in one another, battle together until the very end, and divulge our suffering with very little privacy. It was like an invasion to our life that we must learn to co-exist with.
I proceeded out, saying, "That's the arrangement. No bargaining."
He then chuckled at me, "I couldn't ask for more imposing ambition. Although there are tasks to be put forward and requests along with it."
He was saying that there are certain duties we have to do for one another—we owe it to each other another.
"If our requests are within our capability, then we can deal with it." I said.
He laughed and murmured, "Well then, seal the contract, darling."
I study his face for a minute, and then I whisper, "I swear on this."
Then he clasps my hand and says, "As do I."
It resembled an unbreakable vow. I understood that our inner flame is far more than that—it's like a frame inside a frame. Even if we may disagree, we must work together to overcome the modestly more manageable inconveniences that come with achieving a seemingly lofty goal.
I said, "Go away, immediately." I refuse to spend any more time with him; I'm worn out.
Naturally, the weirdo did not move and chose to take refuge close to me this time. In this case, why is he fussing to stay with me?
I said with greater force, "I said, you can fuck off now." I was attempting to be tolerant; I assume he has to earn it through hardships.
"Why won't you just kill him? He's just another roadblock to the plan." He replied. Why must he fucking open yet another wound? I had assumed that our talk was over a while ago. I sense a quarrel is coming even though we just had an agreement.
"I do not slaughter."
I thought he was going to criticise me right away, but instead he paused and then roared heartily.
"Yet you kill yourself each time."
This damned link, I shun it. I abhor it.
"Look, killing him now would only exacerbate things. I do not have an organised strategy, nor a solid ally for backing a murder." I replied. Even with the boldness of our topic, he gives me tranquility and peace of mind. My isolation and loneliness were gradually consuming me.
"I will assist you," he stated that I instantly dismissed, "That is a you plus me thing which basically is not a support from the outside to ensure that I could get away with it. Besides, he has too much authority over our last name. He is even my guardian in the papers." I replied.
"I wish I could rip him to shreds."
This time, that made me chuckle.
I questioned mockingly, "Isn't he technically your ally to the dark force?"
I knew he was reciting this because of the agreement, driven by our connection, but it was the most sincere thing he had spoken to me throughout our lengthy conversation. He looked at me and said, "He is my foe as he is yours. If I crave to be bathed with blood for your safety—our safety—then bloodbath it should."
"I suspected you would adore watching me suffer," I said.
He expressed his murderous aura at the thought of my uncle having his way with me. "I would. It was sickeningly appealing to witness you struggle, yet your delicacy is mine to approve. Your uncle is a parasite, vile creature must be extinguished," he added.
"I guess it's a natural occurence—like a cannon event that I could not skip ahead." I responded. I understood that in order to achieve my ultimate objective, I would have to endure this. My parents worked to clean the name of the previous generations, but he tarnished it. I just need one chance to silence him permanently.
I nod absently as he says, "You have to make him suffer until the time comes when we can put him out."
I'm not a novice in this field. I'm not gullible. I must hold his hand for this warfare, but I knew there was a game to be played with his dulcet venoms.
For the long game.
For what I see as the impending war.
He reminded me of a piece in the rear of a jigsaw puzzle that I kept missing. His color differs from the image, but he fits and completes the maze. It still lacks something. Therefore, I have to continue earning our trust and adding the missing details.
Even though I don't entirely trust him, I do have faith in my ability to persevere.
I would be the one who dealt with this freak, if anyone capable. I hate the fact that we agree to a lot of things despite having such differently drastic methods and actions.
He finally left my side and walked towards the chamber's entryway, saying, "You're losing consciousness, indicating that I'm fading back away. I'll reach out when I can. Make sure to call me when necessary. We might not be fully persuaded to trust each other, but we can not deny our fate being intertwined and our goals being aligned."
I had to say, "Don't bother me so much," when he would try to converse with me in my head.
I shot him a 'fuck you' look when he said, "Annoying you is part of the entertainment and is definitely a life-long request of mine," then he chuckled and finally entered the space.
I inscribed his presence in my spirit and recalled the absence that arose when he withdrew to the room—the chamber—that I had made for him.
His composition has an additional element. It indicates that he is a fragment of one of Voldemort's divided souls. The process' name escapes my mind, but it must have involved a different version of him—one from his past—than the one that was separated. Like the other pieces of his soul that have been broken apart, they has to be concealed somewhere.
Additionally, it appears that him yelling his own name is not detrimental to or frighten the present him. It has no sense of impending doom.
He appears to be truly cut off from him.
I just need to figure out how to use our partnership to help me become more resilient on the exterior, strong-willed inside, and powerful at heart rather than to impede my advancement. His brilliant intellect and ability are what I need to assist me.
It was odd to feel as though I could read his thoughts and emotions yet could not do so fully at the same time. It was as if he was trying to internalise the feelings he was experiencing, mirroring people's emotions through behavior, which helps him feel, but it does not completely absorb into him. It was a consequence of an unintended event.
Then it clicked in me—why he felt both full and empty at the same instant. He is a contradiction in an entirely different and more regrettable way than I am.
"A result of a love potion, I suppose."
How cruel.
It was the last memory I had before giving in to sheer tiredness. For the impending events, I need to rest both physically and spiritually. I have to get ready properly.
. . .
I was startled out of my slumber. It's evident from the absence of sunlight that I have no idea what time it is. The contrary is indicated by the grog-like but revitalising sensation in my bones. Five hours or more must have passed since—
—No fucking way.
It was like a lucid dream. Everything's real though. It did happen.
I met Tom fucking Riddle. Tom, who becomes a part of me. Tom, who shares my ambition for the same objective—he who shall remain nameless—is now identified by his past.
I impart it out before it even has a chance to give me another nasty headache. I was stopped in my tracks by a sound; it was the actual creaking of the basement door, which I could hear this time.
I have another devil to face.
"It seems like you still need some more discipline," I was told. At that point, I understood that, because of the events from earlier, I had to put up a firm front.
I ought to have controlled my expression better. Even though I was aware of this, particularly in front of my uncle, I still feel no need to hide from his disapproval and disappointment.
Yes, you prick should be disappointed. Nothing should turn out the way you had hoped.
"Unfortunately, I require you to recover for the upcoming gala." He responded.
Unfortunately, it also means that I got to visit such a horrific abode. Right now, my life is vacant with good fortune.
I said, a little too cynically, "You may simply head on your own, like always, uncle," feeling like I was about to have my hair torn out since he made me look up to him. Every time he acts this way, I truly can't help but upset him. He is more of a disguised peasant than a nobleman.
He slapped my face and screamed, "I promised that you would appear in that party. The Black household must meet you."
The concept of introducing me to Regulus Black's family registered, but the anguish did not. Oh, please, no. Please don't tell me that this is what I'm also pondering.
"We must speak about your arranged marriage to their only heir, Regulus Black. I believe he is the same age as that of you." He confirmed my suspicions.
Marriage is invariably disastrous, especially in households with only purebloods.
Before we parted ways, Regulus most certainly did not mention this to me. He must have been surprised by this as well, learning about it only after returning.
I remained silent as my uncle worked on the shackles since there was no way I could respond to that in a suitable manner.
Before we parted ways, Regulus most certainly did not mention this to me. He must have been surprised by this as well, learning about it only after returning.
I remained silent as my uncle worked on the shackles since there was no way I could respond to that in a suitable manner.
He seemed to be fine with me being a procelein doll servant when he said, "You will still be punished every afternoon, but you must get back to normal by eating at least. You have to engage and entertain a lot of people at the gala." It gives me the need to strangle him till I break his neck.
I responded, "What a joy," and felt my stomach turn. In this state, how can I possibly eat?
"Get up!" He was already hauling me out of the cellar, so I didn't even have to push myself. Now, in place of the darkness that had reassured me, was now substituted with light that seems to burn my existence. With the amount of sensory stimulation, I might as well convert into a vampire because I can actually feel the pain in my eyes.
I would blind this fucker to oblivion, I vow to Merlin.
I struggled to get out of his clutches and muttered, "I'm not sure I can even stomach eating in your presence. I might as well hurl in front of you, my dear uncle."
He didn't hesitate to use his power this time with a lack of patience, and I fell to the ground with a loud smacking sound. I bit my lip to keep from shouting any louder or letting him know how much it pains me as I was being abused, yet a tiny whine came out of my mouth.
"Cazhvyre!"
At that moment, a voice I had not expected to make out both warmed and froze my heart, making me fear what may happen to the person who had witnessed such a heinous act.
From the maltreatment of his own brother, he must have grown accustomed to hearing a sound of cruelty that still haunts him to this day.
That person standing nearby was none other than Regulus Black, who had a terrified expression on his pale face and wrinkled brows. He looks right into my eyes—a look of bewilderment appears. The door of my tucked emotions was left ajar, wherein all the pain I was suffering from—being tortured and abuse was within clarity of transparency.
Oh dear, how viciously inhumane fate can be.
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