He wonders for a moment, a little insanely, how it is that Bella can always say the most meaningful things, in situations where they are the most inappropriate. Maybe, his mind adds onto that thought, somehow droll and bitterly amused, maybe Bella already knows, and this is meant only as a jab further at his faltering heart, that somehow there is some sick amusement she is garnering from this situation. Whatever it is, itās working. The sliver of emptiness in his chest grows almost unbearable as she continues to speak, and he wonders how it can be that it has not yet torn him apart physically, that she has not yet noticed. How has she not noticed. (Again with the anger, he pushes it down).
And oh, it seems like it just gets worse the more she speaks. āTo be remembered long after youāre goneā. There is the sudden strange urge to laugh bubbling up in his throat, and he almost does, has to catch himself before his vocal chords can shake themselves loose and start into a hysterical sort of laughter that he doesnāt think heād be able to recover from. What a truly strange mood that he is in today, and he thinks that to himself before realizing that it really canāt be helped. It was perhaps some sort of mix between feeling drunk, utterly empty, with a grandiose dose of temper and ire to go along with it.
āOur legacy?ā He questions, and wonders vaguely if she is talking about the legacy of them as people, individuals, or if she speaks of the Death Eaters and their cause as a collective. Probably the latter, considering the doodle on the glass. But in truth, he doubted theyād go down well in history. Not that it would matter, his name would be missing from the annuls anyway. He didnāt have to worry either way.
As if realizing his thoughts, the mark on his arm aches, curled across his forearm like a sleeping disease unsettled by some stray thought. He reaches up a hand without a thinking, fingers tracing the same pattern on his skin that has been left to condense on the window pane. Once upon a time (once, not long ago) it had been a mark of honour (he realized now it was nothing more than a brand of slavery). His fingers tighten, before they fall back to his side.
"What if I leave nothing behind?ā He asks instead, honestly curious, and using it as an excuse towards not replying to her last words. Braver than you know. The phrase spins across his thoughts again, gently mocking in their dulcet tones- and if Bellatrix wasnāt mocking him before, he almost wants to believe sheās mocking him now. It would feel better than this, at least. He tamps down the bitterness, the shame welling up, the guilt almost painful to breathe past, and after heās completely sure it wonāt suddenly pop out in a fit of emotion, heĀ wonders exactly how damned he is. If there was a Heaven, then not even Regulus would be able to beg forgiveness from it. He was too much of a sinner for that.
(but heāll still remember her words, repeat them to himself before the end, before the last light extinguishes and he drowns in the darkness)
