@greernotdear
This was not how her day was supposed to go.
Bellatrix had woken up at precisely six in the morning. She’d had breakfast - her usual fruit cup with a side of egg whites. She had taken a shower, dressed herself elegantly, and had attended her first class as usual.
Perhaps that was just it; the monotony of predictability had caused her bored brain to misstep until she found herself skipping afternoon Herbology in favor of smoking a cigarette on the Quidditch bleachers, crying.
Bellatrix never cried.
But she was crying now.
Bellatrix did not smoke.
But she was smoking now.
And her eye! Oh, how awful that twitching had become; like a minor irritation that grows steadily worse until it is positively maddening, her eye had begun twitching one week ago. Now, like clockwork, there it went again. Every hour on the hour for fifteen minutes, on and off, did it twitch.
She released a sob. She could not stand it anymore.
