lucius-malfoyus
“Don’t pretend you don’t love teasing me, making my cock twitch for you. You love it when you tease me and push me to my limit until I destroy you and fucking break you. Don’t be coy, we’re both as guilty as the other as you well know.” He smirked, biting her shoulder once more, harder this time, making sure he left a mark. “Mmm, bed indeed.” He said casually, reluctantly he pulled out of her and stood from the bed, stretching and rolling his neck. He cast a spell on them both cleaning them and dressing them both in their night garments. Then he crawled back up the bed towards her, he gripped her hip roughly and manhandled her up the bed until she was laid on her pillow. Grinning Lucius dipped down and kissed her hungrily, making sure to suck and bite her lower lip fleetingly. Just as quickly as he began he was finished, tucking her into the blankets and then lying himself down on his own pillow. “Goodnight then my love.” He said, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tightly in his grasp against his chest as he did every night, a smug grin plastered across his face.
Her lip was between her teeth as he spoke, her eyes sliding shut as he bit her. She twitched, her grip on his hair pulling harder as she squirmed. He was not playing fair, she knew he was only building her up. A grunt escaped Bella’s lips as he pulled out of her, and her head rested on her hand she watched him. Her sigh was pointed as he stretched in front of her, catching every movement he made. Bella laid still as he cleaned and dressed her magically, her hands feeling the texture of the silky sleeves for a moment before he caught her off-guard. “Lucius!” she exclaimed, a small whine in her tone as she settled once more. Though it didn’t last very long since he kissed her almost immediately after. She groaned into his mouth, then pouted as he pulled away. “Goodnight, bad bad man…” she retorted, a small smirk on her lips as he held her. His constricting hold soothed her, though it took a while before she relaxed enough to be able to sleep
She growled at him as he resumed using her, feeling the throbbing between her legs grow harder with each passing minute. Bella blinked up at him each time she gagged on him, as if she didn’t know what the bottom half of her face was being put through. He knew what to say to make her groan around his cock. Each of the images he painted for her had her eyes rolling to the back of her head with how hard it made her clench between her legs. She managed to nod, eager for tonight already, even in the middle of it still longing for him to make her his. Her efforts doubled, even working harder than the hand in her hair, bobbing her head even as he bottomed out in her throat. She lived for the look on his face when she took him by surprise, when she managed to shock him with how desperate she was for him. Bella needed to show him how deeply she wanted him, how much she needs him. She groaned once more around him, making sure he’d feel it.
Lucius growled lowly, a long drawn out growl as she began working him harder. It never ceased to amaze him just how desperately she would service him, it filled him with both joy and lust simultaneously. His eyes darkened as he watched her, his hold on her hair tightening as she began to push him closer to his edge. “Oh fuck yes, that’s it, service your Daddy. Fucking make me come down your throat, fucking suck my cock dry. I want you to fucking pump me down your throat until nothing is left. Let’s see if you can break Daddy’s resolve and get your reward hmm? Show me how badly you want my cum.” He challenged her, raising his eyebrow at her as he continued to watch her intently.
She was sure he could see how hard her hips twitched as she continued sucking him off. Bella could only hum in agreement and nod her head desperately as he spoke, growling hard each time she held herself down as deep as she could go. One of her hands went to his balls, massaging them and squeezing them as she continued on him. She narrowed her eyes at him, making sure that he wouldn’t dare look away as she moved slowly, sucking on his cock as hard as possible with every upstroke, making sure he felt every tiny movement of her mouth. She stuck her tongue out, lapping at what wouldn’t fit in her mouth. Bella picked up her pace, sure to catch him without warning each time she went faster. Soon she was properly fucking him with her face, grunting and groaning around him, her ass in the air as it begged him to use her.
Her enthusiasm only encouraged him to be even rougher with her, not that he needed much encouragement to begin with! His grip on her hair was unrelenting as he thrust his hips upwards, making sure to get as far down the back of her throat as was possible. He grunted deeply, harsh noises leaving his mouth as he lost himself to her. His eyes watched her closely, raking over her body and then back to her face, barely blinking as he didn’t want to miss a second of the show she was so expertly providing.
Bella grunted around him, her nails creating even harder gashes down his thighs. She blinked up at him, groaning loudly as their eyes met. Her hips twitched, silently begging him with her eyes to come in her mouth. Bella whimpered, her head bobbing up and down as hard and fast as possible even despite his grip. She needed him, in every way possible. She needed to break his resolve, he needed her own release. It was driving her mad.
His legs twitched as her nails assaulted him, he growled deeply, licking his lips as the pain only added to his ever growing arousal. His self control was a curse sometimes, he wished he could just give in, just let go, get lost to the high he so craved, but he couldn’t. This cliff edge that he found himself on was so very intoxicating, maddeningly arousing, and he wanted to walk along the tightrope across the cliff for as long as he could manage. Torturing her in this way was also maddeningly arousing and he wanted to continue that for as long as he could physically manage. To see how desperate she was, to feel how desperate she was, it was delightful beyond a way which words could describe.
Bella rubbed her thighs together, her eyes rolling to the back of her head, she needed him to use her. She needed him to grip her hair and slam into her once more, she was going to lose her mind if he didn’t soon. Her nails dug in deeper, wanting to feel him twitch for her once more. Bella lived for all his reactions to her, to see just how badly he wants her. She’ll never get enough. Her efforts didn’t waver, begging him as she groaned and whimpered around his cock, blinking innocently up at him.
“Oh fuck I love having you like this; watching you choke on my cock: making you take it all.” He growled lowly. “I should keep you like this until you pass out. Then fuck the back of your throat until I squirt my thick sticky load down the back of your throat. You’d like that though wouldn’t you? You dirty little slut, you’d like me using you like the fuck toy you are for me, even after you pass out, wouldn’t you hmm?” He grunted, his eyes boring into hers.
His words kept making Bellatrix roll her eyes shut while she shuddered. A long, loud, drawn out groan left her mouth. She was sure he could feel it. Bella nodded, groaning out “mmhmm” as their eyes met once more, in response to his questions. She didn’t let up her motions on him, she couldn’t now. But she did manage to gain enough concentration to do something she very rarely does. she projected her voice into his mind, knowing he was too far gone to do any sort of Occlumency, not that he’d need to be in the first place.“Daddy please, pretty please you’ve got me desperate and dripping for you, i need your thick hard cock ramming into me again, please use All of me, use your little toy in every way. I need it”
His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he heard her voice deep inside his mind. The way she moaned for him, it was one thing to hear it externally: but this, deep inside his mind was something else. It was all encompassing, totally and utterly overwhelming. He gasped and grunted as he fell undone around her: his fists tightening on her hair as he roughly fucked her face, forcing her to take all of him whilst he rode out his high. He couldn’t think, all he knew was that he needed to keep forcing her deeper and deeper - riding the high for as long as he physically could. He couldn’t speak, just grunts, growls and groans left his lips as he became completely and utterly lost in his release.
Bella gagged on him, her own eyes rolling into the back of her head as he came for her. The sight of him had shudders of pleasure ripping down her body, she could feel her arousal dripping down her thighs. She growled for him, her need for him making her twitch between her legs. It took all of her to not rub her clit as she watched him. She instead dug her nails into his flesh, adding more scratches onto his thighs, using whatever composure she had left to continue speaking to him in his mind “just like that Daddy, I love watching you like this, I love it when you moan for me, when you fuck my face like that, my cunt is so wet and sticky for you Daddy, I need you ramming into it, it needs your cock to wreck it daddy please… I need more”
This projecting herself into his mind business was going to be the death of him, perhaps of her as well, it was too much, so enticing, so overwhelming. He could hardly be held responsible for his next actions.
He groaned loudly as he heard her filthy thoughts once more. Mere seconds later he’d ripped himself out of her, picked her up and forced her onto all fours. Before she could react, he was inside her, slamming into her roughly, riding out his release and simultaneously building his next.
She gasped as he left her mouth, taking the precious second between this and what he’d do next to breathe as much as possible. She grinned at him madly, her eyes full of evil anticipation. Bella would definitely have to do that more often-she loved how wild it had made him.
Her limbs moved as he wanted, she’d learned long ago that it was best simply let him manhandle her how he wanted. Bella screamed, only able to gasp and cry out for him as he fucked her from behind, “Yes! Fuck—Daddy—its…fuck…” was all she could say, the previous concentration shed had now impossible. All she could feel is her own quickly approaching release.
He could watch her like fall apart for him like this for eternity, in fact, he rather planned upon it. She was so intoxicating when she was lost to him like this. Having such power over her, having her completely at his mercy, so unable to think upon anything but him was maddeningly delightful. He often wondered if he’d lose himself to madness as the enjoyment of it all overtook him.
It was as if the entire world just ceased to exist and it was just him and her, here, lost in this entanglement of each other, their pleasure completely and utterly interwoven and inseparable.
“Yes, take it, take it for Daddy, look at you, such a desperate little slut.” Lucius groaned, as he began to spank her hard, his hand sure to cause handprints as he continued to work against her. His thrusts were unrelenting: he was purely feral in this moment: just completely lost in their tryst.
She could only grunt as he spoke, her knuckles going white as she gripped the sheet. Bella couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, nothing mattered but Lucius and her. Nothing else existed. Nothing except his approaching release, and indeed her own. It would scare her in the beginning, how deeply entranced he made her when they were like this. Now though, it only spurred her further, to get him to lose his resolve, to have him need her like this, use her like this.
“D-daddy—please—I—close—please—” her speech was slurred, her eyes rolling into the back of her head; unsure if she could even form a better phrase that that, and not caring—not as long as he understood how desperate she was for her release “Please—w-w-ith…y-you” she managed, her body shaking as she awaited his next move.
I hate to be the one to tell you that he definitely makes her wait and edges her because she was bad yesterday and wasn’t supposed to move and did THREE times and he still let her come. So this time he’s like nah!! So let’s just assume he doesn’t let her come and then he loves on her and gives her appropriate after care and then either dresses her or doesn’t mine is vague so you can decide for her Anyway I absolutely must time skip this. So time slippity skip skip.
Keep reading
The silk sheets felt like a shroud.
She lay perfectly still, watching the dust dance in a stray beam of sunlight. It was rather selfishly streaming through her window, waking her from a fretful sleep: but a sleep nevertheless. She had since begun counting the seconds until the house elf would inevitably pop in and fuss until she was dressed and presentable. Ready for inspection with Field Marshal Malfoy! She rolled her eyes before she could stop herself.
Today was the day the two halves of her would collide, and she was certain the impact would leave nothing but ash, her ashes to be exact.
Her thoughts quickly tuned to Oli, as they so often did. The way she laughed so freely, without checking who was listening or worrying how she was laughing or how she looked. Every memory of her felt like a deep lung filling breath, like a heartbeat of freedom pounding against the stifling decorum of her upbringing.
Everything had to go well. She had to be on her best behaviour. For Oli’s sake: if her father was upset he’d take it out on Oli, banish her, forbid them from seeing one another and keep her here prisoner. Esme didn’t want that, she couldn’t bear to even think of it.
‘Don’t let them see your thoughts,’ she told herself, finally swinging her legs out of bed. ‘Don’t let Mother see the tremor in your hands. Don’t let Father see the defiance in your eyes.’
She’s heard it her whole life, it was all she’d heard. So, she knew what Lucius expected: a perfect little Malfoy daughter. Sickly sweet, refined, composed and compliant. But as she caught her reflection, the same pale hair, the same sharp jaw, she realised she wasn't just bringing Oli to meet her parents. She was bringing a match to a powder keg. Everything had to go perfectly, no sparks, not one. or it would end everything.
‘If Father thinks of Oli as a threat,’ she thought, ‘He truly has no idea. No idea that the real rot is festering right under his very kingdom.’
She thought of Phoebus and her heart sank. Oh the whispers they shared in the dead of night when the Manor felt less like a home and more like a museum. He was the shadow to her flame, the one who held the secrets that could actually bring the Malfoy name to its knees. On the surface he was the picture of a perfect son everything Lucius could dream in an heir.
As Lucius fretted over her prattling on about proper standing and breeding: Phoebus was getting deeper and deeper into waters so dark, even the family portraits would recoil.
She was the lightning rod, soaking up her father's cold indignation so that Phoebus could remain in the shadows, untouched.
“Let them obsess over my polish.” She breathed against the glass, "As long as it keeps their eyes off the dark waters rising around him."
The distant, sharp clack of her father’s cane on the marble, made her jump, pulling her attention. she wondered how much longer she could hold this weight.
If her parent’s looked too closely at her today, if they saw the truth of who she really was, what she was hiding, the whole charade would collapse. Phoebus would be standing right there, defenceless in the debris: all because of her failure.
An elf popped in and bowed
“Oh, Miss, you’re awake, I thought I’d have to.” He squeaked, “Well never mind, let’s get you dressed, you will be summoned by the master and mistress soon.”
Esme jumped as the elf entered but quickly relaxed when she realised it wasn’t her parent’s and she didn’t have to leave yet,
“Will you help me pick a dress, and heels, ones my father will approve of?” She asked softly.
“Oh, um—y-yes, of course! Of course!” the elf stammered, completely thrown.
For a wild moment, he wondered if she had somehow swapped herself with a double overnight. She was afterall a flight risk. He and many of the other elves had spent most of her life trying to coax her into wearing a dress to please her father, only to be met each time with firm refusal. She had pushed back, argued, defied them at every turn, unyielding, relentless.
And now this?
The charms his mistress had woven around the estate were far stronger than anything Miss Esmerelda could conjure. If there had been trickery, his mistress would have felt it. The wards would have stirred.
So it had to be the real her. He would help her. Of course he would. He was bound to.
He bowed low and vanished with a soft pop to fetch the items she’d requested. A thread of caution coiled tight within him: he would remain vigilant and warn the others, just in case this sudden transformation proved to be a trap.
True to his nature, he reappeared a moment later. He pressed the items into Esme’s hands with a stiff bow.
“I will leave you to dress Miss. Call me once you’re ready, or if you need any help at all, and I’ll return at once! If not, I will return to get you once the Master and Mistress summon for you.” He squeaked the last words far louder than intended, his wide eyes darting to the door, as if the walls themselves were listening. With a sharp crack, he vanished before another word could be spoken, leaving Esme alone.
Esme raised an eyebrow at the empty space where he’d just been. She quickly shrugged it off: he wasn't one of her personal elves, but one of her parents'. They likely had him spying on her, or had filled his head with warnings that she was a danger. That would explain why he was so cagey. No matter, she had far more pressing matters to fret over.
She looked down, surveying her ‘uniform’.
It was a long formal A-line gown of emerald silk, trimmed with intricate silver embroidery that swirled and shimmered in the light. Woven into the fabric with magical thread were images of winged serpents—the same ones that adorned her family crest. They were faint, barely noticeable at a glance, but they caused the silk to glisten with an ethereal glow. Whenever the fabric moved, the light caught the thread like water pooling across the surface. She pulled the dress over her head and took a deep breath.
She couldn’t yet face the mirror, her breath hitching as she turned from the stranger in the glass. Ever since she was small, she’d loathed dresses, the more her father tried to force them upon her, the deeper her resentment grew. The way the fabric clung to her hips and the weight of the hem at her ankles felt like a costume, or worse, a cage. She hated how they confined her, tethering her to a version of herself that wasn't allowed to move or breathe freely. This was a lie. She was wearing it solely to appease her father’s rigid expectations, hoping that if he were pleased, their meeting with Oli might not end in the explosion she feared
Yet, as the silver-threaded serpents caught the light, she couldn't look away from the dress. For all her bitterness, the emerald silk transformed her. It carved out a silhouette that was sharp, regal, and, in a cold, traditional sense, undeniably beautiful.
It wasn't pink or fluffy, it was a dark, dangerous kind of elegance that felt almost like her.
She hated that she looked good in it. That it fit her so precisely it was like a second skin. She hated knowing that her father would see her and gloat, feeling he had finally "won." It felt like a betrayal of her true self. As if the girl who preferred leather and dirt was being slowly smothered by a layer of shimmering, watery silk.
She stepped into the silver heels, watching as the serpent threading danced across her feet, echoing the shimmer of her hem. She practiced a few steps, but her feet felt chained and heavy. The more she gave in to her father’s whims, the more tethered she became. Every movement was a performance, a practised mimicry of the grace Lucius had spent years berating into her.
This outwards elegance was a lie, a thin veneer over a mounting panic. She didn’t want to do this: she wanted to scream and cry and rage and refuse. But she couldn’t—not this time. Too much was at stake. She had to conform, and do it convincingly enough that she saved more than just herself. Finally, she leaned against the bedpost, her breath coming in shallow gulps. The weight and unfairness of this charade pressed down on her.
With a sigh that seemed to drain the colour from her face, she retrieved the black velvet case from its hiding place. As she moved into the light, the diamonds didn't just sparkle; they flashed with a brilliance that blinded her momentarily. They were sharp, unforgiving eyes, so much like his.
Her father had pressed the case into her palms years ago, back when he still loved her, before she became an embarrassment and an inconvenience. She shuddered, the memory of that rare softness haunting her. It was a cruel reminder of how far they had fallen. She was no longer his little girl, or the apple of his eye. Now, she was everything she was sure he’d begged Merlin to spare him from.
This heirloom had passed through the hands of Malfoy daughters for generations, and this performance was the only currency she had left to try to buy back his approval. Tracing the Malfoy crest embossed in the velvet, she whispered a silent plea that his reverence for this ancient relic was stronger than his current loathing of her.
The silence of the room felt like a physical pressure, making her chest ache with every laboured breath. She stared at the velvet case, her last line of defence.
The velvet case waited, like a silent judge.
With a trembling hand, she unlatched the lid. Esme couldn’t help but gasp: there was no denying they were beautiful.
They were exquisite, ancient relics that had survived centuries of Malfoy history. So why had they always felt utterly alien against her skin? These stones knew nothing of her. They belonged to the lineage, not the girl.
She lifted the earrings first, noting the surprising weight as she fastened them.
A large, teardrop diamond anchored the piece, giving way to square-cut emeralds that flared with a vivid, ancestral green. Framed by a halo of glinting diamonds, the stones cascaded into a final, smaller pairing of diamond and emerald. At the base, a cream toned pearl hung suspended, heavy, perfectly spherical, and glowing with a dull, ancient luster.
They were beautiful in the way promises are, polished, enduring, and impossible to ignore.
The necklace came next. It was heavy, sweeping across her collarbones in wrought white gold, shaped with a curling vine that mimicked a serpent with unsettling intent. Tiny diamond and emerald leaves formed its shimmering scales, while seed pearls rested in the center of each leaf, like small, luminous flowers. It tapered to a single, heavy drop at the hollow of her throat, resting there like a serpent wrapped around her pulse, as if it were measuring every terrified beat.
Finally, she reached for the hair comb. It was a rigid lattice of white gold, the filigree so intricate it looked like frozen smoke. Diamonds and emeralds alternated in a rhythmic pulse of light and depth, pinned by pearls that glowed with a ghostly, soft light. Through the lattice, subtle serpentine forms coiled—not just as decoration, but as a reminder of a heritage that often felt to Esme like a noose.
This piece had crowned royalty, and fastened veils for centuries; it had seen thousands of years of obedience dressed as devotion.
She twisted her hair at the nape of her neck, letting a few waves escape near her temples, a small softness to remind herself she was still there. As Esme slid the comb into her hair, the cold metal bit against her scalp, forcing her head high with a regal grace she neither wanted,nor possessed.
The cosmetics tray sat open on her vanity, mocking her. She reached instinctively for the dark kohl, rolling it between her fingers longingly. She imagined dragging it thick along her lash lines, smudging the edges until her eyes looked stormy and unafraid. Until she felt she was suitably protected, her defences sturdy. That was the real her, deliberate, untethered, unbound.
But her father despised such "theatrical rebellion." To him, beauty was a weapon of pure blood status, something to be revered and relished, not a form of self expression. They certainly didn’t have the same definitely of what made a girl beautiful. To him, it was the cold, unyielding perfection of a porcelain doll. Flawless, silent, and entirely under his control.
With a visible tremor, she set the kohl back in its velvet slot. Today, she wasn't allowed to be a storm: she had to be the glass.
She had to play the perfect Malfoy daughter, the flawless heir for a flawless family. Today, the kohl stayed in the tray.
A sheer wash of powder to even her skin, light enough that her freckles still pulsed through. A muted rose pressed gently into her cheeks, followed by a soft neutral shadow, blended until all harsh edges vanished. A simple pop of silver shimmered on the inner corners of her eyes, finished with just a whisper of mascara. When she reached for her lipstick, she hesitated, before reluctantly selecting a dusty rose tint: just enough to highlight her lips without overpowering this “sophisticated' lie. Each stroke felt like sanding down a blade, dulling her own spirit until she was smooth, polished, and perfectly harmless.
She finally forced herself to look into the ornate mirror, what she saw was haunting. Her lack of eyeliner made her eyes startlingly wide and vulnerable - too soft for the thoughts she was hiding.
The girl staring back was a stranger. Gone was the sharp, dangerous edge she loved: that Oli loved. In her place stood a masterpiece of pureblood porcelain.
Her skin was too pale, her hair too perfectly coiled.
The earrings felt heavy, like they were threatening to drag her to the floor, the necklace seemed to have tightened its grip on her neck, its gems glinting with a cold, ancient approval. The clip felt like a hand gripping her hair, all of it keeping her in place, keeping her in line.
She looked exactly like the women in the oil portraits that littered their many homes, hollow, obedient, and hauntingly beautiful.
She looked like a Malfoy heirloom herself: expensive, polished, and inanimate. She practiced a smile, but it didn't reach her eyes: it was just a curated curve of the lips, the same one she’d seen on the stone-faced ancestors lining the halls.
As she continued to stare at her reflection, the stranger in the glass didn't offer any comfort.
The panic hit her then, a cold, sickening lurch in her stomach that made her double over. She clung onto the vanity for stability: her breathing ragged, the emerald serpent at her throat felt as though it were actually tightening.
It wasn't just her parents she had to convince.
Oli’s parents! She’d been so preoccupied with her own parents she’d forgotten about Oli’s. They would be carbon copies of hers, steeped in the same ancient, calcified beliefs, looking for any crack in her porcelain veneer.
To them, she wasn't a girl, she was a merger, a bloodline, a prize to be inspected for flaws. It was already an impossible gamble, they were both girls; they were already balanced on a knife’s edge where a single mistimed breath could topple them.
She would have to perform twice over: once to buy her parents’ grace, and once more to prove she was "worthy" of the very girl she likely wouldn’t be allowed to choose.
The weight of the hair comb suddenly felt like a leaden crown. If she faltered, if the kohl-stained girl beneath the powder peeked through, for even a second, she wouldn't just lose her parents’ favour, she would lose her future.
Her breath came in shallow, jagged hitches, threatening to shatter the very glass she had worked so hard to become.
The irony was a bitter taste rising up through the back of her throat. The heirlooms, the dress, the heels, the stifling elegance, it was everything she rebelled against. Everything she’d spent her life trying to outrun. It was beautiful, but it was tainted: laced with expectations she never asked for, and demands she could never truly fulfil.
Yet, this mask was her only shield.
She had to be perfect, the obedient Malfoy daughter. If she faltered, if even a single crack splintered her composure, the consequences would ripple far beyond her. They wouldn't just punish her: they would banish Oli, forcibly tearing them apart with a cruelty that may as well be a death sentence. They would tear into Esme’s mind with a cold, unrelenting intrusion, unearthing not only her own indiscretions but Phoebus’s dangerous secrets as well.
Her parents had made the threat explicit: they would scour her mind if she failed to satisfy them. They had refused to promise they wouldn’t turn that cold, invasive gaze upon Oli.
Esme could not bear for her love: the light that brightened her darkness to be violated in such a way. Especially not because of her weakness, her failures. To have their intimate secrets dragged into the harsh, judgmental glare of the Manor would taint everything.
Nor could she bear the fallout for Phoebus. If her parents were to unearth his truths, it would trigger a tsunami that would level the entire family, sweeping away every scrap of legacy they had spent centuries building.
She wouldn’t lose Oli, and she couldn’t fail Phoebus. For their sake, she would swallow the bile and play the part until her parents: especially her father truly believed the girl beneath the powder was nothing but a memory. Until Oil’s parents accepted her as a suitable choice for the betrothal.
She would perform with such chilling, hollow perfection that she convinced her parent’s she was no longer a threat. She’d dull her spirit until their predatory radar drifted elsewhere, seeking easier prey.
Until then, she would inhabit this costume. She would be the porcelain heir they demanded. A fortress of cold, polished stone hiding the fight that still burned brightly internally and the tsunami of secrets she kept for Phoebus.
She concentrated hard, staring at the reflection intently in the mirror as she began turning into herself, shutting down her emotions. She forced herself to breathe deeply and steadily until her breathing was uniform and she was composed once more.
“Perfect,” she finally whispered aloud, the word tasting like ash as she looked herself over one final time. Making sure everything was indeed, perfect.
