LESTRANGE, bellatrix druella

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WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES I SEE YOU
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BELLATRIX DRUELLA LESTRANGE !
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IN MY DREAMS YOU WILL BE NEAR[/center][/b][/color]

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I WON’T LET YOU DISAPPEAR
BUT I’M HERE ON MY OWN
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FULL NAME:

NICKNAMES:

AGE:

BIRTHDATE:

GENDER:

BLOOD:

MEMBER GROUP:

YEAR

ORIENTATION:

AFFILATION:

WAND:

PETS:

CANON:

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I AM CRYING OUT FOR YOU
IN THE CENTER OF MY HEART
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LIKES:

DISLIKES:

STRENGNTHS: [LISTTaunting, Dueling, Non-verbal magic, Occlumency, Cruelty, Dark Arts[/LIST]
WEAKNESS:

GOALS:

BOGGART:

PATRONUS:

ERISED:

OVERALL PERSONALITY:

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YOU USED TO HEAR ME BREATHE
WHEN YOU TOUCHED ME DEEP
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HAIR DESCRIPTION:

EYE DESCRIPTION:

HEIGHT/WEIGHT:

BODY TYPE:

DISTINGUISHING FEATURE:

SCARS/MARKS

FACE CLAIM

OVERALL DESCRIPTION:

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CAN YOU HEAR THE SOUNDS?
CAN YOU FEEL THE HEAT?
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BIRTHPLACE:

RESIDENCE:

PARENTS:

SIBLINGS:

IMPORTANT RELATIVES:

IMPORTANT PERSON:

OVERALL HISTORY:

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I HAVE LEFT PARADISE AND
I DID NOT EVEN SAY GOODBYE
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OOC NAME:

AGE:

GENDER:

EXPERIENCE:

OTHER CHARACTERS:

DID YOU READ THE RULES:

HOW DID YOU FIND US:

ROLEPLAY EXAMPLE:

The only thing that kept the psychotic witch clinging to partial sanity was the Dark Lord’s return, his face often appearing in her delusions. Silently, she lay in hell, curled tightly together in the corner of her four-walled world. Chains dug deeply into her skin, staining the stone beneath her body; the leather straps attached to her ankles barely allowing her to remain in her current position. Arms, covered in sweet crimson-soaked cloth, hid her face, her gruesome hands dug deeply through her hair. The witch’s knees hugged as closely as possible to her chest, her lips moving in synchronized accuracy with a memory she was currently reliving. You have done well, my pet . . . Bellatrix jerked up, her back raking against the grimy brick walls of her cell, her eyes wide and twisted with mania. A dark figure had appeared in the opposite corner of her world, running its fingers across the metal bars of her ‘bed’. Ha! It was barely even an elevated mat. Silently she watched agonized by the joy she felt at seeing this figure, despite the cloak hiding all presented features of such a thing. The hooded thing turned to face her, but the face she so desperately wanted to see was missing: darkness manifested by her imagination. Carefully she rose, stretching out a hand, lips parted slightly as she gasped painfully. Her long black hair curled intensely around her head, un-presentable in every way. “My Lord?” she called, stepping toward him with unstable legs. Immediately she collapsed, her knees causing further blood to spill onto the floor. In wonder, the prisoner stared at the figure, just a few feet from her. ”My sweet Dark Lord?” she spoke again, receiving as silent an answer as before. An insane giggle, erupting into a wicked laugh, escaped from her lips as she continued to stare. Pathetically she crawled forward, her hand prepared to stroke the black robes of the man before her.

The moment she did he vanished, leaving no evidence to ever prove he was really ever there. A prison guard had been standing outside her cell, watching carefully as the woman had reached for thin air, addressing a man he knew to be destroyed: or thought, anyway. Harshly, he snapped at her to be quiet, scribbling her name down on a piece of paper she knew to be labeled ‘Mania-Infected Prisoners’, once again. Her head snapped towards him, her eyes wide in both shock and fear. Bellatrix had too much dignity to beg him to remove her name from the bloody list, and instead immediately retreated to her corner: her arms once again covering her face, her hands once again sorting through her wild mane. The guard continued to stare momentarily, shaking his head in disapproval, before leaving her to sulk in her insanity. Once she was aware of his missing presence, the witch sat up, hugging her legs to her body pitifully: a crazy look of desperation assaulting her once-beautiful face. She couldn’t help but ask why her Lord had, yet again, returned for her, only to leave her in this hell. Closing her eyes, the witch attempted to fall asleep: her need for the thing dire. Immediately her sight morphed into the shabby box-of-a-house the Longbottom’s had once owned; her feet carrying her into the pathetic building with her husband and two others close behind. The door had been unlocked and the Longbottoms suspended, paralyzed, into the space around Bellatrix, their eyes full of precious terror. “I know . . .” A twirl of her hair around her wand interrupted her slow, deliberate speech; her voice high and wickedly entertained. ”That you two ‘aurors’ have information as to the where-abouts . . of the file on He-Know-Must-Not-Be-Named.” She smiled: a flash of an ugly set of misshapen and discolored teeth. The Longbottoms moaned, hitting the floor hard as she released them from her spell: their wands already confiscated. The man thought to be bold, refusing to say anything of actual help. The witch rolled her eyes, pointing her wand at the auror. “Let’s try this once more, shall we Longbottom? I know you have what I seek.” Her voice, obviously humored by the scene, spoke quietly: her whispering a result of her inability to remain serious. “No?” Tsk, tsk. ”Crucio.” The wife screamed: an irritating sound to say the least. Her husband lay, jerking violently, on the floor. Despite the pain he was quiet. ”Look!” laughed Bellatrix, her wicked smile back. ”A strong one!” The curse lifted momentarily as she asked once again for his knowledge. When the only response was painful gasping of air, she turned to the wife, bending down to stare into the woman’s eyes. She only stared back, bravery shining despite it all. ”Cruci-.”

The door to her cell opened noisily, forcing the eyes of the witch open, her memory reliving over. She quickly raised her hand to her face, tracing her lips with an extraordinarily shaking finger, only to find that she had been smiling. Her gaze, full of wild surprise and irritation, was set upon the intruders. Before she could think her body had reacted: forcing herself up and leaning as far as the chains would allow her towards the man in white. Her fingers clawed restlessly at the air, attempting to find the flesh of this ‘man in white’, while she roared in anger. She knew why he was here, his wand being pointed at her chest whilst his face was masked in apathy. Her words were scattered thoughts, nothing coherent in the least. Grimacing slightly, the man uttered a spell. The flash hit her chest, and the world turned black. A considerable time later, the world began to sink back into her eyes, she body noticeably strapped down by leather bindings. Rolling her head to the side, she could see the tiny room was dark: lit up only by the small amounts of light reflecting off the white cloaks of the workers. They were bent over, tinkering with something. Bellatrix forced her head back, her thoughts still slow and impossible to understand. Eventually, the panic hit her as she realized that there was a strap around her head, which had been attached to several copper wires. Immediately, her body jerked upward, rattling the wooden table on which she lay. The bindings held fast, which only proved to frustrate the witch as her attempts to escape from the pain she was aware was coming failed. The men finally straightened up, turning to see her. “Ahh, dear Bellatrix.” He walked over to her only to stuff a piece of cloth in her mouth. To stop the screams: how lovely. Her muffled attempts at insulting the men failed as well, her eyes blazing with anger. “Shall we begin?” spoke the other man, staring strangely at his ‘patient’. The cloaked man nearest her brushed back her wild hair, connecting one last wire as she attempted to scream at him. “Yes, begin.” Bellatrix could almost hear the electricity released into the wires, struggled wildly as the machine was turned on. The only machine in the wizarding world, and this was what they took from the muggles? The filthy contraption made her ashamed to be near it.

Eventually, the pain hit her, her eyes twitching uncontrollably as her body writhed in agony. The leather straps held her down quite nicely, for in her current condition she was much too weak to break through them. A blood-curling shriek, muffled by her gag, entered the room, her fingers clawing uselessly into the air. Everything turned dark, a bottomless hole to which she was sinking into. “Stop.” The machine stopped, her gag pulled out as she gasped horribly for air. Once she was able to speak, she glared up at the man her lips curling slightly into a disgusting smile. “Burn in hell, muggle-lover. Burn in hell with me.” The man looked apathetic. “Again,” he spoke, this time with no gag. Her screams echoed through the halls between her desperate gasps of air. Her body twitched in curled in all directions, forced into seizures. When she had nearly passed out, she heard the man call it off once again. ”Bellatrix?” he spoke, staring blankly at her. She only closed her eyes, breathing in ragged, tear-filled gasps. ”There is no Dark Lord. He is dead. You are in Azkaban for the rest of your life. We can do this every week, or you can attempt to retain some sense.” He turned to the man once again, instructing him to turn the bloody machine on. He did, and immediately her screams tore through the walls, the other prisoners listening to her torment.

Liar, she thought. What a foolish muggle-lover you are.

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THIS FORM WAS MADE BY MISTRESS SNAKEY OF CAUTION PLEASE DO NORT REMOVE THIS PART.
SONG LYRICS ARE HERE ON MY OWN BY SWEETBOX.

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