😈
The world was bleeding out.
Screaming.
U N R A V E L I N G.
But Dorcas had no fear over what she had just done.
Smoke ascended over London as nighttime declined and a steady dawn filled the sky. She was forced to retreat from the blood filled streets after kindly taking to the creatures who turned heads and snapped necks in the dark. She fed on the shadows where her aching identity was concealed, but the shadows weren’t impervious to the loose rays of sunlight exploding in the sky overhead now that it was all over. Sirens were racing across town and Dorcas knew if the sun rose any higher she would surely stick out like a sore thumb with the encrusted blood of those who perished splattered across her chest, face, and quivering hands now guilty of M U R D E R.
There was no command telling her to retreat. None for saving her own hyde. Maybe since she wasn’t really one of them, they hoped to find The Order Member dead somewhere on the scene. That would have certainly made things a lot easier, but even in her current state, the mad woman still had an even madder mind entirely of her own and it was PURELY SELFISH. Tonight she killed to see another day and if she had to do it again and again, she was fully prepared to pay the price.
The brunette hadn’t stopped running until she reached a wall and propelled herself over the eight or so feet of stone meant to keep someone or something out. Clumsily towering to her height of five foot three, she became aware she was now standing amidst a garden belonging to a very large and well-decorated house. No, this wasn’t a house…. it was a manor. Lestrange Manor to be more exact, though she was not immediately aware of her whereabouts. An internal instinct must have somehow driven her back to her creator, the very woman responsible for the predicament Dorcas found herself in.
She gathered herself up, moving along the perimeter of the property before further adventuring into the yard and toward the house. Her dirt-stained cheeks matched the rest of her ensemble, which was seemingly dirty and tattered. Her pockets were weighed down by the wand she stole, a shard of glass she pocketed as potential weaponry, and a few straggly rips of her conquest’s shirt. There was no plan or reason, except maybe—just maybe—when they saw the many opulent gifts she returned with, then they would accept her as one of their own with OPEN ARMS.
Dorcas halted on the balls of her feet when she realized an unbeknownst figure stood in the early morning light blocking her pathway inside the house and back to Bellatrix. She merely tilted her head to the side, allowing the curiosity to boil over the rims of her jaded and electric eyes before confidently taking a step forward to greet the individual she felt no fear for, only the utmost urgency to speak with. “I’m back! And look what I’ve done!” She announced in a cheery, soprano-like tone. “I did exactly as The Dark Lord asked of me, and for him I would do it again and again,” she happily beamed as she squared herself around to face him. “But why does the fun have to come to an end? I don’t want this night to ever end!” Dorcas pouted eccentrically, as if she had something to be proud of.
