unceasing

Alecto Carrow Twenty-two. Twin. Seamstress at Madam Malkin's. “She was fury, she was wrath, she was vengeance.”

[harrowingcarrow-blog]

N A M E :  Alecto Sicaria Carrow

B I R T H D A T E :  October 24th, 1994

O C C U P A T I O N :  Bounty Hunter / Hired Gun

A F F I L I A T I O N : Mafia 

Background

Alecto was raised primarily by her father, and to say she was raised is a bad way to put it. When she was eleven, the neighbors caught sight of her father hitting her - he’d long ago taken to physical abuse alongside his daily verbal abuse - and called the cops. Alecto was quickly removed from the home, only to be placed in foster homes where she was overlooked and punished for her violent tendencies. Those who sought to adopt her were always turned off when they learned of her ‘aggressive’ nature, mistaking her sharp cheekbones for beauty, not a warning. She always tried to escape the foster homes, to try to find her brother and get back to him at least, but she was just moved farther and farther from him. By the time she was old enough to simply not return to the foster home without anyone caring if she did or not, she’d given up on trying to seek out her brother.

It was hard on her own, barely eighteen and she relied more on the money she earned walking the streets than she could get anywhere else as a temp custodian or flipping burgers. She had no degree, having dropped out of high school when she decided it was easier than being told come the end of her senior year that she wouldn’t have the grades to graduate. Part of her had settled on the idea that she was going to be forced to continue a life of prostitution and drug dealing and whatever other illegal and sordid measures could get her enough to buy a can of soup, and she thought that would be the life she led until she inevitably ended up dead somewhere at twenty-five. Drugs never interested her, not even after all she went through, but she saw the way the people who sought out hookers like her tended to treat the women like breakable dolls. It terrified her, but starving and dying in that way was even more terrifying. 

She was nineteen when a break came for her unexpectedly. While with a man in a run-down motel, their door was broken down and a bounty hunter came in to take the man she was with. She was absolutely fascinated by the idea that someone could make a living like that, seeking people out for whoever asked. Without hesitation, she attached herself to the bounty hunter, and forced him to teach her the ins and outs of the trade so she could break off her own six months later with her first very own gun. She came to find she was good with them, able to remember the models and how to assemble them with ease, and her ability to concentrate her focus on the tiniest detail helped with her physical aim and her ability to find breadcrumbs when people tried to go off the grid. She did whatever job she could take for a while, dedicating her whole life to the trade, and it wasn’t even for the money anymore. 

Her first job for the Mafia was just for someone low-level taking care of some personal business, but she did the job well and efficiently. The next time he asked her to do a job, he didn’t want her to bring the person back to him. He wanted her to kill them. It startled her, but she knew better than to go against the Mafia. It was the first time she used her aim to hit a fatal spot, not just a place that would incapacitate. It didn’t feel good, but it didn’t leave her wracked with guilt, either. She was a worker and this was her job. She continued to do jobs for the guy, and then a few of his friends, and then continued as her good reputation was shared with higher-ups within the Mafia, and she found that they became her primary clientele. So long as they paid well, she wasn’t planning on switching anytime soon.

Personality Traits

+ analytical, cunning, devoted, succinct, witty, realistic

- temperamental, dependent, self-deprecating, worrisome, judgmental, secretive

Relations & Connections

Amycus Carrow - twin brother

OPEN, message me!

[regulusregno-blog]

Nurmengard. Cold, bleak. The sun does not shine here, the wind does not blow except to bite and claw, cut open flesh as well as a blade. He had heard- a mutter in an ear, a word that might not be trustworthy- here, they (who were they) would be here.

So he had come.

There was nowhere else for him to go. (where, where else- he could not go to the Order, he could never go back to them he-)

Severus. Amelia. Andromeda. One of them, any of them- he needs. He needs to see someone, maybe anyone, anyone at all.

The polyjuice is fresh, he had taken it only half an hour past- there were four left, glass-stoppered and a crimson like blood, lying in his bag. The face he wears now is worn, the fingers thicker than his own, less bony, everything about him not quite right, but more right than his own body would ever feel.

He’s walking, he thinks. He doesn’t know where he’s going. The sky is dark. He cannot breathe. He cannot breathe. He’s walking, and it might be to anywhere, to nowhere.

And then- movement. Light. If only a flicker of it. He stops, and his gaze flickers to the source of it, to the girl illuminated by it.

Alecto, he thinks, blankly. And then- emotion, suddenly, he does not know why. She is filthy, the soot about her, the dirt, the blood, the hair matted and she looks haunted, hunted, her eyes are dark and they are not the eyes he used to know and- Alecto, he thinks, suddenly giddy, laughter in his throat, bubbling there, bursting to be let out and he’s dizzy with it, with the sudden, hysterical urge to laugh and- it might not be laughter at all, if he let his mouth open, it might be laughter but it might be the choking, wretched kind that came in gasps and. Who would know.

He takes a breath. Takes a breath, swallows it down. Swallows everything down.

“I’m not an enemy,” he says, and his voice is even, his voice does not sound like his. The hilarity is still there, the hysteria, just underneath the surface, waiting, and he does not know if he can make it go away. 

[harrowingcarrow-blog]

When she hears a voice break through the darkness, she cannot help herself from starting at the sound of it. Not because she recognizes it, or because it sounds particularly terrifying or scary, but because it’s the first voice she’d heard since she apparated there and her body collapsed into a heap onto the floor of the ruined prison as unceremoniously as possible. She hadn’t realized her body could still curl itself up and bend into something so small, but it had, and it demanded not to be forced to unfurl and witness what the world had become. She didn’t even know what the world had become, other than black. It was all she saw, all she knew dragged through the streets outside the prison, all she had in her heart.

Enemy. What a useless word for a useless thing. What was the point of enemies when they never lived up to their name half the time? Enemies weren’t meant to be made out of childhood friends; enemies were meant to always fight against you and not half the time against you and half the time with you. Enemies weren’t meant to turn against themselves, too, and break off to ally with their other enemies. Enemies and allies...she’d never realized how similar the words were, how incredibly fluid they could be. War was a hard time. It was harder when she couldn’t tell if there was one or three sides. What group of people were going to rise from this crushing defeat on all sides to form another faction that was fighting against everyone? 

Then again, perhaps enough had already been risen that day. 

“Then leave me alone,” she snapped, one hand moving to grip her knee tightly as it took all she had not to unleash a curse onto the intruder just for daring to see her and speak to her. She wasn’t in a condition to be seen or talked to, or a condition to do much of anything. 

[devoted-carrow]

Where Alecto wasn’t shocked, her brother was like a drop of water, suddenly falling into a deep freeze, just to shatter on the ground like the most delicate of mouth blown glass figures. He couldn’t handle what had been revealed. His heart wasn’t able to deal with it. Rabastan? A traitor? Someone whom he adored with every fiber of his existence, someone he’d looked up to, who had been moon and stars to him, who could have very much created the colours of this world because Amycus hadn’t felt like he’d been living until he’d met the man. Granted, they had known each other since childhood, but there was a difference between knowing and the biblical knowing. And now that image was shattered. By Rodolphus no less. Another one he’d been answering to, who was a father figure to him, who’d replaced Michael in many ways and who had so much power that Amycus couldn’t help but want to learn from him. Now both Lestrange’s were fading and merging before his eyes. When he blinked next both were gone. No trace of either one of them. Later on, he wouldn’t be able to say how he’d not been killed in those minutes between their disappearance and his sister’s call for help. Because he’d been working in a trance, searching for her to bring her out of here. The flickering image of Rab, bowed down over the cauldron and Rod, standing above him, hands bloody, refused to be shaken off.

And this was how he ended up a jumping black menacing cloud of smoke dealing out cuts and Death alike. A man who’d lost all senses, a machine killing whomever approached. He exploded a wall near an Order member, caught a Janus member and cut off his legs first, piece by piece, wandering upwards to his hands to slice them in strips, before even thinking to utter one Unforgivable after another. At the end a green flash came for the half dead man, before Amycus finally allowed the call of his name to get through to him. He blinked once. Twice. The red haze cleared from his eyes for the moment, pushed back to show some of his humanity returning. 

He stepped out of the dark clouds, waving them away as he came to stand beside Alecto. His first impulse was to grasp her hand and so he did. Reassuring that she was still there, keeping him at least at the brink of being sane. “I’m here,” he uttered over the chaos and confusion around them. Amycus acted on instinct reading er face, her actions and understood without her saying a word. Because he’d seen Bella in here too and maybe just her would be enough? So he waved his wand beside her, clearing away the bigger stones and hurdling them at their opponents if they dared to attack. Even the flames were redirected to burn anyone pointing their wands at them. Please, he thought, just one - please just her!

[harrowingcarrow-blog]

Alecto couldn’t tell if it was the smoke that was suffocating her or something else, but there was a moment of panic when the entire world froze and she wasn’t sure if Amycus would hear her and respond. What if Rabastan’s death was enough to completely derail him, to the point where even she couldn’t bring him back? That thought alone made her blood run cold, and she was filled with a dread unlike any she’d known before. It was enough to make her forget why she was now standing over rubble, nails bleeding as they grated against the broken stone. A world where Amycus was so far gone that he didn’t care about her anymore - what was she to do then?

Then his hand grabbed hers, and the tightness in her chest released only enough for her to move more easily and direct a curse at an opponent trying to come in and attack those who were digging at the crushed wing. If she could have continued to hold Amycus’s hand, she would have, but she needs both free to help her focus and strengthen her spells as she focused entirely on moving the rubble. If she should be struck down at that moment, so be it; there were too many others defending, or too busy trying to dig at the rubble no matter what their side, but her to let herself be too concerned with the threats that lay behind her back. There were enough knives there at the moment for her to be certain there was no room left for anything else to get through and harm her. She had to keep going, had to make sure she used the best spells and make sure the broken pieces didn’t shift in a way that might crush Bellatrix even more, and she had to ensure that when they got Bella out, she’d be able to proudly tell her all the spells she’d uttered with precision that made them infallible for once.

She couldn’t fathom that idea that Bellatrix might be dead beneath it all. If they were all trying so hard to get her out, she couldn’t possibly be dead, she had to know that so many people were putting everything they had into getting her out. Of all people to die just when their leader returned, and it was the woman most deserving of sitting at his right hand. Who was to replace her? Who could possibly replace Bellatrix Lestrange, or even try to live up to her shadow, let alone the woman herself? Anyone who saw her cast a spell knew that the wand she held would one day be considered a channel of legendary magic, of fierce magic, of magic that didn’t seem like it could belong to any mortal. She couldn’t be dead. And if Alecto had to slit someone’s throat over a cauldron and give her own flesh to bring the woman back, she would. “Amycus!” she shouted suddenly, her train of thought only broken when she saw a flaming piece of wood come flying toward them. She reached out to grip his arm, trying to pull him down as she didn’t have time to think of and execute a defensive spell against the object.

[mvlcibers]

“Well, I don’t quite like it either,” he clipped, the monster plopping down at the back of his skull, arms crossed over its chest and lip jutted out in a fiery pout. It was part of him, the fire – or so the monster insisted – it was silly, to dislike something that was so innately part of him, and yet he could not help it. Self-hatred had been a normality for as long as Nikolai could remember; no matter how loudly the monster protested, he would not waver in his outward protest. “Disliking fire doesn’t make you sane; it just makes you… opinionated,” he shrugged, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt, or what remained of it; he’d always felt as it a certain distaste for fire in others reflected immediately upon a dislike of his personality, in short. It was ironic; only he was allowed to dislike himself so much. 

Nikolai glanced out the window, focusing upon the nondescript faces that passed; no matter how uncomfortable he felt in Alecto’s presence, she was right. No one else would have the patience – or the obligation – to deal with such an issue, and were he to go anywhere else, he would be reviled. She was used to his particular affliction, no matter how much she disliked him and his affliction, and for that he was grateful. Discretion and indifference were not so different where Alecto was concerned; he was glad to take either where he could get them. 

“How much will I owe you?” he asked, desiring to do the number-crunching ahead of time; nothing was more embarrassing than holding up a line whilst he slaved away over a few difficult calculations. “I’d offer to buy you a coffee later, but I reckon I know what the answer to that’d be already. Sort of impossible to set coffee on fire, though – for the record.”

[harrowingcarrow-blog]

There is a momentary, just momentary, pause when she hears his quick response. I don’t quite like it either. The words she’d never been able to utter about her own self, about the black venom that ran through her fines and set her lips into scowls and made her cheeks ache if she dared to try to smile. For years at Hogwarts she was chastised about her aggressiveness, her bad temper, told to control herself more, especially as she got older. All that happened as she got older was that it grew stronger, and still they told her to control it, to keep it restrained, as if she could. If they only understood how impossible that was, how much it was that her body sometimes felt like nothing more than a vessel for a dark storm that swirled and flashed inside her chest, how much it could fucking hurt... She didn’t quite like it either.

The pause was over just as soon as it began, and she went back to working on the sleeves, hoping to get the quick fix out of the way before someone might walk in and suddenly command all of her attention for alterations. Her shoulders lifted in a disinterested shrug at his correction to what she’d said, though she still preferred to think it was the sane who avoided fire. At least let her have that in common with them. When the conversation shifted back to business, she was almost grateful. “A galleon and five sickles,” she muttered automatically, just barely avoiding getting poked by the needle before it dove back into the comfort of the fabric only to be exposed and loop around again a second later. 

It wasn’t even worth it for her to let out a scoff when he mentioned coffee. The only way she drank it was black, and she didn’t trust any cafés or restaurants to brew it properly, so she nearly strictly drank just in her own kitchen. And she firmly believed coffee was meant for mornings and mornings only, to help one wake up before dragging themselves through the day. “Regardless of whether you scorch or not, the coffee would still taste awful. You don’t have to pretend to be cordial. Just pay me.”

[herquill-blog]

The woman’s words were more shock than anything else, enough for Hestia’s usual expression to falter for a moment, a confusion, a pulling together of how one could speak in such a way, if it was a joke, a purposeful thing to see how Hestia would respond, but none of her explanations for the statement believed it to be the full true emotions of the other. However, on another aspect, the woman had no reason to lie, no one truly does, not here. “You may change your mind if we catch him together,” Hestia offered, “Petting a cat behind the ears can change a life.”

There was a great shift in the value the two women perhaps found in others, though it wouldn’t be spoken, it could have been seen quite easily if they knew the other. Hestia was a family woman, born to what could have been a tribe, though all Muggles except for her father and sisters, a great contrast with the aristocratic pureblood families, though just as large and present, though with no titles and no great houses, no power within a name as her father gave them a new one after his marriage to a Muggle woman with three sisters who each already had a litter of children in the houses next door and parents who held a great sense of staying together, especially as they moved to this country as adults. A life, as Hestia knew it, wasn’t worth it without a family, and if she did know more than the woman before her, Alecto’s outlook on attachments would have been seen as quite sad, also perhaps a mission to insure that the woman was able to have a friend, done even as she didn’t know all Alecto created in her wake, and forgiving far too easily, even afterwards, as it could help her forward, in Hestia’s outlook of it all.

[harrowingcarrow-blog]

It was an unfortunate side effect of being Alecto Carrow that kept her from always realizing that her words could come as a shock to someone, or more importantly, that her words could be misconstrued on purpose. She strove to take everything at face value, and if someone said they wanted something or someone dead, she opted more often than not to believe them. She said she wanted the cat dead because she truly did want that nuisance out of her life in the most permanent way possible (she could only hope it didn’t choose now to be the one cat that really did have nine lives), but when the other woman replied, it became clear that Alecto’s intentions and feelings toward the feline were not fully understood. How could one live a life like that, not understanding someone else’s anger and annoyance even when it was spelled out? Anger was, frankly, the only emotion she could ever find herself fully understanding and empathizing with in others.

“I would rather snap its neck,” she stated, blunt in intention, though her bluntness always shot out of her mouth like a freshly sharpened arrow. Beating around the bush was never something she found interest in, but there was some bit of satisfaction in being almost purposefully and exaggeratedly crass in front of someone like this. “I want no part in seeking out that cat.”

[kol-calamity-blog]

I Need Entertainment

ANONYMOUS TIME!!!! (or ask in character!)

HYE have you ever?

FMK fuck marry kill

KHC kiss hug cuddle

NML a night, a month or for life?

AMA ask me anything

HON hot or not?

WWY well would you?

WYR would you rather? 

TOD truth or dare?

TOT this or that?

WIS who I ship? (with myself, or with others – specify) 

or anything else hilariously entertaining you can think of!  

[harrowingcarrow-blog]

                                  Beware the women with raven hair.

                          The darkness of their soul cannot begin to compare.

                                              @prodigious--skill

[ask-the-consort-deactivated2017]

☾ Town of Salem asks! ☽

Amnesiac: Have you been through any experiences in life you would like to forget?

Arsonist: If you could destroy the entire life of somebody, including their own existence, who would it be?

Blackmailer: Have you ever manipulated anyone for your own personal gain?

Bodyguard: Is there anyone in your life that you would take a bullet for?

Consigliere: Have you ever uncovered a dark secret of somebody you know?

Consort: What was your first time like?

Doctor: What is the worst injury you’ve ever gotten, and what’s the story behind it?

Disguiser: If you could switch lives with anyone, would would it be?

Escort: Is there anyone that you love unconditionally?

Executioner: Is there anyone in your life that you want to see humiliated or killed, no matter what the costs would be?

Forger: If you could alter any person in the worlds will, who would you forge and what would you get?

Framer: Have you ever been unjustly accused of a crime you didn’t commit?

Godfather: Would you be prepared to sacrifice some of your allies for the success of a cause you believe in?

Investigator: Have you ever judged somebody too quickly and paid the price for it?

Jailor: If you could kill 3 people of your choice for whatever reason, who would they be?

Janitor: Have you ever ‘gotten your hands dirty’ for someone else?

Jester: If you were given the choice in your style of execution, how would you prefer to die?

Lookout: Have you ever seen or heard something you weren’t meant to?

Mayor: Have you ever had to take responsibility for a tragic event?

Mafioso: Do you know anyone you would devote your life to serving?

Medium: If you had one chance to speak with the dead, who would you speak with? What would you talk about?

Retributionist: Do you have any loved ones that you would give your life to resurrect?

Serial Killer: Have you ever killed anyone, or thought about killing anyone?

Sheriff: How easily do you fall for lies?

Spy: What is your biggest secret?

Survivor: If you were forced into desperate measures, what would you do in order to preserve your own life?

Transporter: Have you ever narrowly avoided a dangerous situation?

Vampire: Have you ever been in some sort of dangerous group or gang?

Vampire Hunter: Have you ever been involved in a fight with a dangerous group?

Veteran: Have you ever harmed somebody on accident? Did you regret it?

Vigilante: If somebody had committed a crime against you and nobody believed you, would you take justice into your own hands to get retribution?

Werewolf: Have you ever been involved in some sort of animal attack?

Witch: Have you ever been forced to do something you didn’t want to do?

[kissed-by-lightening-blog]

She’s mad, but she’s magic. There’s no lie in her fire.

Charles Bukowski

[itswitchery-blog1]

Hogwarts, Minerva’s Office / Lestrange Manor Spring 1978 / May 21st, 1982

“Sit.” At this point, she gestured for Alecto to take a seat in the chair in front of the desk, and reminded the younger woman that she knew what Minerva meant with the raise of an eyebrow, and replied simply, “Explain.” After a pause with the time it took to place her reading glasses off her nose and the pile of papers, she continued, “And you will say no more on the child, we are speaking about you now.” It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened, and Minerva already worked it out, though she still wished for Alecto to go over the incident a few more times, as many as it took for her to give a reason beyond that of someone being in her way, and that tone of voice was another aspect they would have to work on, for while Minerva wasn’t matching the cadence, others would and others would lash out to a further degree if spoken to in such a way, didn’t mean any of it at all was right. Others simply wouldn’t tolerate it, as Minerva would.

There was still a decision needed to be made on how Alecto would spent her detention once this discussion found its close, and Minerva did wish to be a bit more creative than some of the other professors, simply as she kept in mind that simple manual labor punishments weren’t always going to cut it because at one point or another, it was only a place holder and a repetitive notion and taken less seriously overtime, and some having no affect on what led to the detention in the first place, never teaching the student how to redirect the problem, only aiding them in giving the time to plan on how to not get caught the next time around. Once after a student fell into the habit of destroying classrooms, Minerva made them her assistant for a year, cleaning the classrooms, helping the the birds and other animals they had to take care of, until the rooms he destroyed were in his care. Other times when a student felt the need to swear, loudly and proudly, around first year students, she made her the chief in an operation to stop foul language in the Gryffindor common room with Minerva watching. This amount of time wasn’t available to Minerva with Alecto as her graduation was only months away, but they could work out something, perhaps, if Alecto would agree to it. The idea so far was for Alecto to be an aid in grading papers the first years turned in, sitting in the same classes, only once or twice, to help the students she hexed. 

( Minerva’s methods, for more outrageous students may not have always worked, but they were more long-lasting than that of polishing a trophy. )

[harrowingcarrow-blog]

Alecto’s jaw shifted out slightly, her teeth grinding as she heard the command to sit, but she did give in. She tried to make a show that it was her choice, acting as though she hadn’t realized the chair was even there until Minerva pointed it out with her instruction. The robes that Alecto wore came up too short on her arms and fell only to mid-calf, but she tried to ignore the feeling of exposure as they slid up to reveal even more of her pale skin, or more importantly, reveal how little of her robe there was. She’d unfortunately gotten stains on the couple robes she’d made for herself, and they had yet to come out despite her persistent use of scrubbing potions and spells, and so she was forced to wear one of the robes her father had so generously doled out money for in fifth year in the hopes it might be the last pieces of fabric he ever bought to adorn her back. The only thing generous about it now was the generous lack of comfort it provided her to wear out in public, and just to wear in general, but she tried not to focus too much on the hem or the sleeves as she looked directly at the professor with a hint of curiosity and confusion.

How was she to explain if she couldn’t talk about the person who’d been in the way? The entire reason she was in detention was because she’d hexed another person; to take them out of the equation was to remove the entire reasoning for her being sat there in front of a professor without a clue as to what was going to happen in the next second. It was as if the woman was asking Alecto to make a quilt out of the stitches alone, with no patches of fabric to bring together. It’d be pulling a needle through the air as the thread clung to nothing - pointless. “I feel you’ll be the one who needs to explain more,” Alecto muttered, brow creasing as she realized how much time had passed in silence since the professor spoke and she hadn’t given an answer. She didn’t have an answer to give. Her words only lacked their usual sting because of the unforeseen bewilderment that completely overtook her. What did this have to do with writing lines? Or cleaning a classroom or washing some nasty desks or cleaning out the stalls or owlery or just about any other form of detention she’d been through? “You must have heard a different story if you think it could be told any other way.”

[siffykins]

send me ‘♡’ for a ship aesthetic of our muses.

[zisisadeadblog-deactivated20210]

      alternatively ‘ ♫ ’ for a friendship one.

[lucius-mafau]

“No jewellery. She will think that I have done something far worse and wonder what it is that I am keeping from her.” He, of course, had not done anything terribly wrong, but in his flustered state over attempting to find a present, did not realise how much more suspicious such a statement would make him sound, or that he had just revealed that he had done something at least a little bad. Possibly not the best thing to be revealing to his wife’s good friend. 

In some ways he found Alecto’s blunt assessment of the scarf, and approach to what had been a terrible thing, rather refreshing. So many people had skirted about it, prodding at the edges, which usually left him feeling as though he too had to tip-toe. But here, where it was so plain and out in the open, he thought he could simply nod his acknowledgement and move on. Though it did smart a little to hear the child referred to as a ‘thing’. 

“And you have more than made your point. No scarf; too tricky and we do not need those sorts of rumours, especially not at this time. Is there nothing else that you might suggest? Something in your shop perhaps? I am afraid that I am at quite the disadvantage, not even knowing what the summery colours are, and I am loathe to buy her clothing when we have discussed a trip to Milan, but I also do not want to return home empty handed.” He had noted, and dutifully ignored the way Alecto sounded bored when discussing such things, not particularly caring whether it might have felt like she was working in her spare time by helping him. His need would always outweigh the preferences of another, to his mind, no matter how slight the apparent need might seem.

[harrowingcarrow-blog]

Alecto glanced over at Lucius and lifted one shoulder in a partial shrug, wondering if maybe he had done something that required him to go out buying gifts to try to appeal to Narcissa’s good nature and spirit. No, she figured that would be far more obvious, and that he would likely already be certain about what he was going to buy. When something went wrong, someone often knew the exact repayment that would be needed, like buying a new teapot to apologize for a favored teacup that had been broken, by mistake or otherwise. The payment always had to make up for what was lost and then go an extra step to bring some joy to the recipient. Then again, as dear as Narcissa was to Alecto, details of her marriage were hardly something that dark-haired woman bothered herself with. She would listen if they were brought up, but otherwise barely pried unless it was to ask if Lucius needed any kind of straightening out that she, and some others, would be more than happy to administer should he ever step out of line.

“A hat,” Alecto suggested suddenly, eyeing a few hanging on the opposite wall that were far too tacky for Narcissa or frankly anyone who cared about their appearances. She did, however, know where to find some with excellent embroidery and material, and a brim that would help to keep the sun off the pale woman’s face and light eyes without casting too strong of a shadow. “There is a shop just up the street that set out a new selection. Will you still require help there, too?” She assumed he would say yes, and honestly, even if he did not, she would tag along because she distrusted most sales associates in nearly all apparel shops she knew. Besides, she had the time to spare.

[msdorcasmeadowes-blog]

“Well, of course he can. But that’s not very kind. All the shopkeepers here know the cat, and I’m pretty sure most of them leave food or whatever out for the cat. You know, a lot of people forget that leaving water out is just as important as leaving food at. See, you’re right. He can scavenge for food, he can’t really do the same with water. They’ll usually drink like puddles and that’s pretty nasty. They can get sick from that. Maybe you should leave a bowl of water out for him. He wouldn’t bother you as much.” Dorcas rambled as she walked closer to Alecto with a small smile, bending down to pick up the crate that had fallen during the cat’s escape. 

[harrowingcarrow-blog]

Alecto narrowed her eyes at the woman as she reiterated the same type of advice Narcissa had given, though it was far, far easier to be annoyed when the words came off this woman’s lips than her friend’s. “He would still exist, and that is what bothers me. If you like him so much, take him home.”

[harrowingcarrow-blog]

How do you feel about the Dark Lord's return?

“If I knew how to articulate how I felt, I would. A very high price was paid to bring him back. All I know is that he should prove to us that it was worth it and the people who died better not have done so in vain.”

HONESTY HOUR

[postlitany]

100% truthful hour, ask anything and I have to answer with the truth and nothing but the truth.

[lilacwrites-deactivated20161103]

[harrowingcarrow-blog]

Location: Ruins of Nurmengard

Date: May 22

Time: 2:30 am

OPEN

There was a certain sense of being alone that Alecto couldn’t say she’d ever quite felt or understood until that moment. Her wand sat by her side on the cracked stone where she was resting, but she didn’t bother to light the tip of try to bring any kind of brightness into the area that was otherwise pitch black. No, the blackness she was surrounded by was nothing next to the blackness that covered the undead armies now overrunning the places so many called home. Not that she really cared about the others, but she cared that she couldn’t go to where she called home. She cared that she couldn’t go back to Madam Malkin’s. She cared that she couldn’t visit her few friends to see if they were even still alive. She cared that Bellatrix wasn’t.

Perhaps the darkness was good. It meant no one would be able to see the streaks of clean skin where the tears had washed away the soot. They couldn’t see the blood that caked around her fingernails from her desperate attempts to remove the rubble that she knew wasn’t actually responsible for the raven-haired woman’s death. She deserved to be called raven-haired, to be associated with such a symbolic and powerful creature of flight that had feathers darker than the night and could manage to strike fear and uncertainty with a single caw. Yes, the darkness was good now, it allowed her to hide. It was her real home, the shadows, and there was too much of it for the Inferi to ever overtake it entirely. She’d always be able to find a bit of home for herself.

Only this time she was truly alone. Amycus had been hit incredibly hard, so hard that the only pang she felt over Rabastan’s death came when she saw the way it affected Amycus. She’d bring the bastard back if it could keep her from ever having to see that look in her brother’s eyes ever again. There was no going back now, though, that was all too obvious. There was no way for Bellatrix to come back, for the Dark Lord’s return to be stopped, for the betrayals within their ranks to be revealed at a better time... Now she was forced to go to a location where it was open to all, not because she had no loyalty, but because she didn’t trust that anyone else would. 

Hearing someone come nearby, Alecto stirred a little, dimly lighting the tip of her wand just enough to show that she was present and try to get a glimpse of who was there.