She saw the satisfaction brewing in Walden’s face and her hard smile turned into a sneer. She fought back the urge to hit him again, instead focusing her energy on her wand, her grip tightening as the ropes further wound their way around his body, constricting themselves tighter and tighter. She imagined each and every coarse fibre of the rope winding their way into his flesh, rubbing it raw.
The fact that she had him here, at her mercy, gave her a thrilling sense of power that she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. She was starting to discover the reason that Bella liked torturing so much; she could practically feel the power running through her veins. She could see the discomfort written all over his face, and she almost wanted to add invisible constrictions to those already in place. She could feel the sick delight enthralling her; each moment the thrill of having someone at her mercy became more intoxicating.
She watched in amusement as he spat venomous words at her, trying to intimidate her. His efforts were almost comically negated by the fact that he was squirming to break the ties. Giving him a quick once over, she noted the sweat gathering at his brow, each breath more shallow than the last.
She twirled the blade in her hand haphazardly as she regarded him, thinking carefully of what to say next. Nostalgic? That was a possibility; she did long for the days when things were simpler in her life. His voice took a grave tone at the remark, warning her that it would be better to let sleeping dogs lie. Narcissa could only shrug, snickering to herself. ”Oh, but Wally," she mocked, "it is so fun to go finding secrets. They give so much power. I’m sure that you would be the first to agree with me that in this world, power is everything."
Stepping back from the executioner to examine him from afar, she could see him trying to loosen the ropes. She knew that he would probably be numb to pain, and while tying him up had merely started as a means to restrain him, it seemed that the ropes, in and of themselves, were a type of torture. After everything that had happened, it amused Narcissa, allowing her to enjoy being in the position of control for once.
As he looked at her in disbelief, her mouth set itself in a firm line, her grip tightening on her wand before she looked Walden in the eyes, her own filled with spite. ”Incarcerous.” Her clear voice filled the damp air as invisible wires bound themselves around Walden. She wanted to see him squirm and suffer, feel constricted and helpless, just like she had.
"Oh, yes." She continued, "my oh-so-sheltered life has given me all sorts of knowledge. Including the terms figure of speech and hyperbole. You should try reading some time instead of killing things. Might do you some good.” Putting her wand back into its slim holster that was fastened to her arm, she gripped the knife once again. ”Oh, I plan on leaving several scars. And let’s be honest, there’s nothing about that face that appeals, so what would a few scars be?”
Taking the knife, she was about to make another incision, this time in the thin layer of flesh below his throat on his collarbone, but before she could even touch him, he fell limp in the chair, his head falling to his chest, groaning loudly. For a moment, she was worried, but then she remembered her task. The tone that followed was slightly less sure of herself, but still came off as derisive. ”Come on, Wally, the fun hasn’t even started yet. What kind of man can you call yourself if you can’t take even this much. Your own mother could have done better than you and look how she turned out, killed by one spell.”
Her grasp around the knife tightened as she steeled herself, trying to get herself ready for what would come. Somewhere, she had lost her resolve and she needed to get it back. Perhaps it was because she knew that this could easily be her husband or herself sitting, tied in a dungeon, helpless to what would befall them.
Frustrated by her own perceived weakness, she lunged forward towards the executioner, plunging the knife not into his chest, but into the wood that rested just above his shoulder. The blade easily slid into the hard wood; she was sure that Walden could not turn his head without exposing some of his throat to the thin blade. ”Still think that I’m the innocuous Pureblood wife that everyone thinks I am, Wally?” Her voice was slightly strained as she looked at him, pulling the knife out, not without some effort.
