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The Humanity In You, The Darkness In Me	By : screamguy Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 2744 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter Five: Listen to the echoes in the Mind

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Night Path
"She treads with grace down paths unknown

wisps of a mind unseen, unshown

held captive by the numinous dream keeper

she is halted in time

unable to elude her own subconsious's designs
Awakes again, dusk follows dusk

cries out to emptiness an existence unjust

caged in terror while she sleeps

she toss and turn, but never weeps
What doth her mind behold?

Insubstantial phantoms

we cannot observe

the ghosts that plague are only hers

but whom art her antagonizers?" - ScreamGuy *copyrighted*

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The night was chill and solemn, as unforgiving as a harsh blade; and like the spiral of fear it numbed. Darkness was a silent, neutral observer to the miniscule creatures that pattered below her eternal watch. Far below the wisping clouds and pregnant mist amongst many of humanity's slight victories and compromises there lay a particular battle of wits that was beginning to play out on the stage. The outcome was yet uncertain, many netherworldy creatures perhaps at this very moment, high in the ethers, watching intently from lofty towers; placing their bets to wager the result of this particular play.

Far out into the gloom of isolation, beneath the pine trees dark and moaning; there walked a peculiar sight that remained unseen. A figure that was slight of form and short in stature was walking confidently over the snow. Shrouded from head to toe in a fur cloak that was both white and black yet never simultaneously, the figure moved antiforward, voicelessly erasing their tracks as they continued to move on.
No one could have discerned the figure from the snow and the stagnant night if they had wanted to, the auror's chameleoned cloak being far more than adequate on making her insubstantial to naked or magicked eyes. Her diamond shaped face was masked by a heavy cloth that drew into the warm, magicked recesses of the fur hood. Her eyes were covered by very large rounded goggles with a frame that was chameleoned as well, lenses a luminous green that had the ability of revealing forms of her foes, to see as plainly in night as day; and the convience of being able to zoom in or out, over hills and through obstacles.
Every so often as she took a cautious step back, being careful not to trip; she would reach her gloved skeletal hand into one of the several velvet pouches she kept hidden inside her robes beneath her cloak, and fling a pinch of Instant Darkness Powder behind her. The effect was instantaneous, creating a thick smog like cloudiness which made it impossible for anyone to discern her from the feral wilderness. The murky black had writhed out in small ringlets, encircling her and conjoining with the preceding Instant Darkness Powder she had tossed miles behind her to create the effect of a large, gloomy shadow that drowned out any light in it's path and continued to expand.
From above the Instant Darkness clouds would be unnoticable were a witch or wizard to ride overhead on a broomstick, since night had already befallen; but at ground level it was a very clever ruse. Trickery coated upon trickery gave her an almost impregnable defense against those that would be seeking her this night .
The auror halted in her tracks for a moment, rummaging through several vials in one of her numerous pouches until at last it seemed she had the particular one she sought. With smug half grin of self satisfaction she pulled out a crystal vial filled with a strange, bluish green liquid. The top crested and foamed very lightly, miniscule bubbles swaying to and fro inside the liquid which was airily transparent.
This happened to be a potion she had invented during her younger years when she was transferred to Durmstrang. Isolated amongst her peers she often found herself brewing potions, a fine antidote to being void of friends. She had named the brew 'Amosmia Impalpable'. 'Amosmia' - which stood for the lack of ability to smell, and 'Impalpable' for the other said effect which made the user become physically invisible. And the potion did just that, more specificly, it stripped the user of all identifying scents so that if they were being tracked by animals or other said creatures of admiral olfaction they would be completely untraceable, by scent and by sight.
Azriel's deft, little fingers popped the stopper out with ease, and pulling back the thick cloth that masked her face she swallowed the potion down. At first it appeared nothing had happened, but then; the outline of her form began fading rapidly as she disappeared from sight.

She walked it seemed, for an eternity, the cold brittle flakes of snow frosting the edges of her fur cloak and coating her sholders with it's dust. The ageless stranger Time, appeared to stretch out for eons, twisting and turning as she trudged on and on as if there were no end to it's crafty mechanations. Azriel Shade had sought the source of the darkness everlasting, a chasm so loathsome and dreary it could scarcely be imagined - which had consumed all who had stood in it's wake. She had sought it with such fervor all of her life, as does a creature that has seen sights so wonderous, so unbelievable from a waking dream that they are forever incensed with the mad desire to behold them once more.
She didn't know how, or the reasons why she sought Voldemort with such undying zeal. Possibly, she did not wish to know the answer to this unspoken imploration of the self. Perhaps she averted her gaze from this uncomely thing, this; enlightenment; as one does to a nightmare most unsightly. For there are instances where one does not yearn to behold what their reflection may tell them, in fact; they are repulsed by it, and the awful knowledge that accompanies is as equally despicable. Perhaps deep down, thriving in the core of her being, hidden behind her bravado and concealed by her infinite contempt, there lay many harsh truths about herself that had been kept from the waking eye. And there they had festered, decaying over the years, growing and warping into something most unpleasant that she would neither recognize nor reveal.
Memories, wispy truths and forgotten falsehoods bobbed to the surface of her mind only in her dreams, only in her nightmares. When awake the memories supressed were like phantasms that stalked close to her and never let her be, yet like a blind man she was unaware of them in the cognizant realm.

When she slept the phantasms that tormented her were given life, their corporal bodies filling out with the breath of awful visions, terrible visions that no human eye should ever behold. But these revelations were fleeting, lasting only the duration of her dreams, and when she awoke she never could never recall what it was that she had found inside herself while dreaming. Only cold sweat, only a terrible feeling of ominous things that had yet to pass. And the recollections merely floated away, turning to ash before she could latch onto them.

She wondered...
This man, this..... monster - that she had wandered the edges of the world to find - was he worth the price of her blood? Was his confinement, and the judgement of his wrong-doings; was this an agreeable exchange for the years she had spent crouched over tomes submerging herself into the realm of magical defense and dark? Was he an agreeable exchange for her life? She had reflected on this worrisome subject many a sleepless night. And what bothered her most about it was that, as sharp her mind was, the answer seemed to elude her with the strangest of ease.
She wasn't accustomed to being the one without the answer for once in her life. And honestly, she rather despised the feeling.
The auror never had been much for self -reflection, usually she was far too busy with her training or projects to let the idea of it cusp, let alone seep into her consiousness. And also, something else. Like a creeping mantis that was dodging her every step, so did her dark past hang over her head. In each moment of her triumph it shriveled away to slink back into the dusk, only to be reawakened;
, thriving in the instances of her failures through her life. For every moment of happiness that existed in her memories, the unspeakable past that hung over her like a dark cloud never relinquished it's grip, fragments and family a grim reminder of things that were not to be spoken of, yet were always lying there in the back of her mind, just waiting, patiently for the day that she would finally meet them face to face.

She trudged through the snow, her leather boots crunching the gritty snow beneath her. She couldn't see the stars, but she knew they were there, and she derived a serene sort of comfort from them. Azriel inhaled deeply, the frigid cool air filling her lungs to completion as she closed her eyes.
She knew that where she was going, the path she was taking. The possibility of failure was plausible, death was plausible, yet she could no more resist this call than a dementor could resist the kiss. Confrontation was inevitable, predestined. And it could result in her demise, in her death. It was logical. She knew without thinking that Voldemort was one of the most powerful wizards to have ever lived. Therefore, it was reasonable to deduce that she could very well die tonight, were she to make it to her predetermined destination.
But regardless of her morbid understandings, somewhere inside herself she felt that whatever the outcome, she had to go through with this. If she walked away from this now, she would betray all that she had struggled to accomplish. That was why, although she may have been willingly resigning herself to her own exectution, she would not relent, regardless of the consequences.
As she walked the memories of her past rushed back to her. In this place of echoes there was only sadness to be reaped, only pain to be had at what she recalled. Yet she was unable to stop herself from being brought there nonetheless.

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Azriel tred delicately through Shade Manor, slippered feet padding against chilled marble floors ; hoping she would not wake her mother. She was fifteen years old.
Wearing a white and black horizontally striped corset that was sewn from the finest silks there was to be had, over a floor sweeping black skirt, she peered cautiously around a large white stone pillar in the massive hallway. Her pale blond hair was pleated in a french braid that hung past her buttocks and swayed softly with the warm breeze blown through enormous arched doorways. Her mother had forced her to wear her hair in that style...
'It's befitting of a lady your age,' she would quip whenever Azriel made the slightest rebuke. Her mother hungered for control of Azriel, since she could not subjugate her own life . Dressing and forcing her daughter to be what she desired her to be was Madjrilla's method of unconsiously coping with her own highly regulated existence.
Intially Azriel had tolerated her mother's manipulative mannerisms, but when she began to grow older, she rebeled quietly in her own way. She had cut her hair short with a pair of scissors on one occasion when Aunt Violet had been visiting with a prospective suitor named Elwood the Third. The young Shade was disgusted by her mother's obvious insistence that she be married off at fifteen to some pimple faced eighteen year old who rumour had it enjoyed pulling out his wanker and brandishing it like a weapon to total strangers .
'But oh Azriel - he's heir to a massive fortune, not to mention a pureblood;and his parents ARE prominent supporters of You - Know - Who.... '
That was foul in her opinion, and Azriel would have none of it - the entire time they had been there she had first cut off her hair with the scissors right in front of Mr. Tallywacker the Third while she sat in a hunched position on the back of the couch, grunting ape-like as she strew pieces of her hair 'round herself in a circle. She had then stared distantly out the portal window in the drawing room, absent mindedly painting lines on her face with a piece of charcoal while she hummed in a bizarre manner akin to a meditating monk.
Aunt Violet's face had posessed a pinched look about it as though someone had came up behind her and fisted her in the ass, Elwood the Third gaping open mouthed as Azriel grinned psychotically at him with dilated pupils, inquiring as to whether he would desire to see her collection of muggle circumcision tools. Confused, he had replied he didn't know what a circumcision was, and Azriel had responded cheerfully with a deranged smile that she knew exactly what they were and that she would be more than happy to tell him, hell - she'd even show him how they worked ;which was when her aunt had promptly interrupted and excused Elwood and herself from the drawing room.
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When her antics got completely out of hand, Madjrilla decided that it would be for the best if Azriel were sent away during summer holiday to stay with one of the finest duelists in Europe
who was famous not only for his adeptness with the wand but also for his bizzare solutions of gentling the most uncontrollable witches or wizards.

At the time Azriel knew instantly then that she'd finally won the ungoing battle against matronly evil, at least temporarily.

Concerning the behavior trainer, his reputation preceded him extensively. He was extremely well known, although not as famous as the Harry Potter, but only since Harry Potter's 'great defeat' of Voldemort occured shortly after the duelist's own battles against Voldemort's followers and thusly, the world had forgotten him, recollecting only the baby that had done nothing to earn the title yet was called "The Boy who Lived" the world over. Perhaps some would have become embittered by this exchange of hands, but to the half English / half
French duelist it was more of a relief to be finally left alone, for a short duration if not eternally.
The thirty year old had begun dueling at a young age. The reason initially had been that he'd grown up the youngest in a household of four older brothers and he'd had to defend himself against their constant barrages of wedgies and the such. When he was a boy he'd been rather short for his age, usually he was the shortest boy in his grade. On top of that he wore spectacles which did nothing to further endear himself to his peers, as the children do not especially like things that remind them of intelligence, which then remind them of authority figures that they naturally despise. So needless to say, he was picked on quite frequently when he was enrolled in wizarding school.
He graduated school when he was thirteen, and then went on to travel abroad training under the most eccentric wizards, traversing deep within the jungles of India to learn techniques unknown to modern wizards for thousands of years. He had achieved enlightenment of the art of dueling within three years during his time of silence, his knowledge extending far beyond what any other wizard had ever known. He
was reputed to have single handedly rediscovered the once lost documentations of the histories of Chi throughout the ages
and had faced and survived duels with many of Voldemort's Death Eaters before Voldermort fell from power
- which Azriel found admirable that he would put his life on the line for something he believed in -
but of course her mother scoffed airily at such a thing, wrinkling her nose in disgust that he would commit such an act of outright defiance during the time when the Dark Lord had ruled.
The only reason that Madjrilla had chosen the older wizard was that the success rates of all his cases were 100 percent. Sending her daughter to a blood traitor was loathsome and contradicted every bit of bigotry that her mother believed, but she was unable to make Azriel behave as she wanted. Desperate, she was willing to try anything to get her daughter to comply as she had when she was young and tolerant.
Little did her mother know that the supposed punishment was in reality a reward, as Azriel admired him.The young witch had read his book that he'd written on his life experiences, and even snuck out once to one of the conventions he'd been speaking at in a crowded auditorium near France. So it was that her mother had no idea, to say the least; of what mischief that could be wrought by this.

His name was Alsdaire De'Fortescue, a tall thin man with square spectacles and a white goatee. By day a cold and methodical wizard, who spoke little and expected much from those he taught, to an eccentric degree. If you could not handle the pressure, his motto was don't step up otherwise you will be crushed completely. Not for himself mind you, since he could 'always' handle the pressure - merely pertaining to those he taught.
Alsdaire had never accepted anything less than perfect in those that studied under him, he was excruciatingly anal to the point of obession, and if he found someone to be unworthy he would discard them like an unwanted shoe. However, Azriel found that when he was 'off the clock' so to speak, he was almost a completely different person. He would laugh, smile, crack jokes, and generally posess the demeanor of one who was pleased with life. At first she'd intially thought with the utmost conviction that he had a severe case of obsessive compulsion diluted with a massive case of multiple personality disorder, but when she actually got to know him she realized that he was simply one of those types who took his work very seriously, it being his number one priority.
She had kept this away from herself for so long it was almost as if these memories belonged to someone else. He was the only man who had ever looked at her with eyes that saw her for who she was, not a freak, not a wealthy pureblood , nor a strange yet attractive girl. He'd seen something else in her, the fire that others disregarded, the hungering for knowledge.
In
the beginning it had seemed harmless enough, he'd thought she was exceptionally pretty for a girl her age, although odd in appearance, with her pointed teeth and her long gloved arm; but Alsdaire had been gone away from the world for quite some time, and he had forgotten the meaning of attraction. Watching her, his lust and his fondness of her grew, until they both entwined had exploded into an unrestrainable longing to have her physically and emotionally his. He tried in vain to ignore the way she made his skin quiver without realizing, or how she laughed when she thought no one else was around. Yet he could not bring himself to do this,as he had been from human contact for years and it dawned upon him that he yearned for something that he hadn't possessed in ages.
One evening he broke his oath, unable to adhere any longer as he was driven by primal, wanton desires that made themselves present when his eye beheld the small curve of her buttocks beneath her robes or the lingering scent of her hair. He had taken a vow of celibacy, to remain pure of mind and spirit for his own personal convictions, and yet he had been driven by a mere girl to the precipice of madness. Inside he was shaking like an old man who had been audience to bizarre spectacle and he could scarcely believe his own eyes.
There was lust there in that heart of his, but there was also, perhaps something else. Like a seed it had remained dormant in his flesh, planted there by her fingers, and it had resided there over the weeks they had spent together and still remained over the years that they were to part.
He hadn't meant to be the one to rob the pureblood of her virginity, but people never seem intent upon things that which may be slightly out of their control.
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When dusk approached Azriel soon learned that he would transform into a hungry, unquenchable
man that inhabited the shadows of her bedroom. She'd recalled the way he'd pressed his tongue eagerly in her mouth for the first time, pulling her small frame against him as his fingers fluttered at the strings of her jade corset with the greatest of ease. Azriel had gasped, breathless as he ground his massive erection against the small clove between her legs, his wanton green eyes baring into her golden ones as he smirked with thin lips.
He raised one finger to his lips with a wicked grin, a insatiable hunger dancing in his eyes.
She'd been afraid, but instead of saying or doing anything she'd simply froze in horror, like a player removed from the stage that was observing their own scene.
The older wizard shoved her aggressively against the long dinner table, his former face of restraint long gone, discarded in the cloak of darkness. His wavy white locks shined with a wan light that emanated from the candles, and although his large body held hers down upon the table his touch was strangely soft and experienced.
Groaning he'd bit her neck until scarlet was drawn, and arching his tongue over her flesh he'd traced his way down to the curve of her appled breasts, wrenching his spidery fingers under the fabric and pulling it down with a sudden 'Shrak!' to reveal her plump, perky breasts. Her areolas were huge, pink and delicious to the taste.
Breathing raggedly Alsdaire Hutton kissed his way further downward, discarding the corset with a casual toss. Azriel closed her golden eyes, her body quivering with fear, which soon turned to desire.
This was forbidden, and if the Shades were to be informed of such a tryst the consequences could be disasterous. Which only made it that much more enticing.
He thrust his tongue between her plump lips, grabbing fistfuls of her long blonde hair as he rubbed himself against her lovely body, his spectacles slightly askew on his face. Nimble fingertips that were warm and invasive slithered their way under her skirt, sliding into her cotton panties and fondeling her creamy wet pussy with deft motions. Moaning she laced her arms around his waist, returning his kiss with fervent urgency as he bit down on her neck.
She had never before experienced such pleasure, and such emotion that he was creating within her.

The wizard grinned wolfishly, flopping over her skirt to reveal her now naked sex which was shaved and glistening with her juices. Azriel shuddered as she felt his hot breath on her nude flesh, his fingers still rubbing against her clit which was enflamed and swollen with evident pleasure. She cried out in suprise, Alsdaire shoving first one, then two fingers inside her tight pussy thrusting upward as he continued to massage her clit with his thumb.
' Now Azriel, I believe you Are a virgin, ' he murmured in her ear as his chest pressed aginst her own.
She did not respond, but her silence through large golden eyes was confirmation enough.
He could see the hesitation in her eyes that belonged to the inexperienced, and knew without question that she was .
"Ne'pas inquieter mon cher,"Alsdaire breathed, a short lock of pale hair falling over one green eye.
'I'll be honest with you, at first it hurts, but when the pain is gone, you will discover that the pleasure is worth the cost.'
He pulled his fingers out, placing Azriel's hands on his slightly exposed chest.
'Undress me,' he ordered, closing his eyes as he felt the girl's soft fingertips tracing their way down the spine of his back.
She complied wordlessly, pulling button by button of his white linen shirt until no more buttons remained to be undone.
'Excellent,' he murmured, standing over her as she gazed up at his muscular yet thin frame that towered abover her.

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He was the first man she had ever cared for, and she vowed he would be the last. For until that moment Azriel had not known the meaning of heartache, a thing studied not by wise men but lived by fools. Rejection made her bitter and angry, and she decided then that she would never allow herself feelings for any man or woman. She had grown sick of being the one that others deserted without a care in the slightest. She wanted to be the one who could walk away vicariously in the cruel process that is unrequited love. She wished to be untouchable. And that was one of the many painful occurances that had been woven into one another like a yarn crafted from the most exiquisite woes which made her the rough auror she was now.
Alsdaire was one of the reasons she despised men so. Her father was another, although she would never admit it. Deep down there was still a sorrowful little girl hiding inside herself that felt as if every man would always abandon her merely using her for their own means and then when they grew weary of her or she was no longer useful, toss her casually aside like an old trend.

In thinking this way she intentionally repulsed those around her everafter, no longer trying to adhere to society's pathetic regulations and strict norms; instead she went the way of the loner and the bluntly honest , never to return to the crevasse of compromise.
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The youthful Shade gazed out from behind the pillar like a scout cautiously surveying the land.

Today she had the good luck not to have crossed paths with her overbearing mother, who always insisted on shoving frilly bow adorned dresses - usually a sickening pink; upon her unfortunate daughter.
So needless to say Azriel was in the habit of traversing her own home in the manner of a soldier creeping through the minefields that are infested with numerous enemies just as lethal or deadly to come across.

This would appear rather strange to some, but to Azriel it was a well versed wont that was difficult to rid herself of. Her mother always made sure that however distasteful her daughter was, she would have the finest of things, whether Azriel approved of them or not. Madjrilla did not love Azriel, could not love Azriel. To Madjrilla, she was an unwilling doll to dress and amuse herself with, something to pass the time while Faustus was absent from the manor.
By now Azriel had grown accustomed to her mother's waspish ways, and knew all the secret cubbyholes and passages throughout the manor that she would deliberately take to avoid her alltogether.
The house elves took no notice of her as she frequented their hidden paths, they too knew the awful woman that was her mother; and would have never said so but felt they also were privy to her mother's madness.

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She was getting closer to her destination, but her memories haunting her was an extreme distraction from the task at hand. It wasn't that she was frivilous or flightly, but merely that the memories held inside herself were so distressing it was difficult to not think hard upon them and finding fault within herslef for things she had no control over; regret.

"Blood traitor! Blood traitor!" the face of her beautiful mother shrieked back at her, Madjrilla's red curls bouncing up and down as she
brandished her bony finger like an accusing spike in Azriel's direction.
This was the day she had told them of her intentions of becoming an auror for the Ministry, the words of her confession hadn't come easily, they had rolled out of her mouth like thick porridge on a cold January morning, sluggish and with great difficulty.
Faustus Shade paced back and forth in front of the massive stone fireplace, the flames casting shadows strange and uncomforting upon his long face.
Azriel could remember every little detail of that particular day, even what her father had been wearing. A green velvet suit, complete with a black tie that was pinned to his white linen shirt. The pin bore the crest of the Shade family, a serpent biting the wrist of a wizard; molded in the finest gold.
Her father always had said, 'Never forget your lineage. Never forget where you came from.' It had been one of his repeated phrases meant to be stamped in her mind. As a child she listened to his teachings with a serious attitude, nodding her head once, as she had sat cross-legged on the floor; to acknowledge him like a blindly obediant servant that paid homage to a deranged and vengeful god.
Lineage was important in his world, "if you were not pure of blood then you were not worthy of the wand you wielded." At the time she had eagerly taken it in and catelouged it away in her mind with all the other things she seeped from him like a studious sponge.
The importance of lineage was only reiterated by the large tapestry that hung over the fireplace. Embrodiered into it's magical fabric, the family crest hung there for all who would behold it. An emerald green serpent was entwined about a human forearm, it's eyes glittering with a cold, calculating wit that belonged only to the reptilian. The serpent's fangs were embedded into the wizard's wrist, a slight bit of blood coursing it's way down the fleshy forearm, and curved in an arch above the gothic image was the family motto : "Nos vadum victum nostrum hostilis."

'We shall overcome our enemies.'

The auror recalled being afraid of the crest when she was young, which was in reality quite stupid, and she had know that, since there was no feasible way that an embroidery could ever harm her, but still when her eyes fell upon the crest she had always felt her insides infuse with a nausesous chill. The time she had told them the whole truth had not been an exception.

He hadn't said an entire word during Azriel's little confession, her father merely listening without expression as Azriel
fidgeted, curling a long strand of white blond hair around a glossy nail while she muttered quietly as she gazed at the floor
what a cunt her mother was.
He turned his back to both of them, staring intently into the flames of the fireplace as if he were trying to extract some sort of hidden meaning from them that would somehow explain his daughter's madness. His lengthly black pony tail shone in the light as he remained silent, raising his hand wordlessly to his wife. Madjrilla's eyes were oozing with shock and venom; but she closed her mouth and said nothing when she saw his gesture. Madjrilla knew what it meant when she was given a command to follow, and she always abided by that. She would never do anything to disrupt her comfortable situation with Faustus, and he knew that. He knew it very well.
Their marriage had been one of convienience, Madjrilla Trestle marrying into a wealthy pureblood house; and he Faustus recieving a compliant pureblood partner that would bear him many children and obey his every command. Madjrilla's excessive beauty was an added bonus. However, he had never loved her, and she had never loved him. Perhaps over the long years they had grown used to one another, and were rather fond of each other in a manner that two loathsome creatures can be. But there was no love lost between them.

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Although the hours had passed without incident she still was unable to let her guard down. She was wary,

using whatever means there was at her disposal to locate the exact whereabouts of Voldemort's current lair. Small booted feet treaded lightly on the hard packed snow, a low rubbery crunch as the pieces of ice rubbed together from the friction of her feet. Only she could hear this, as her shoes had been especially enchanted with a derivative of the 'Muffalato' spell.
Her heart thudded in her chest , beating with a little delirium. Could it be the by-product of a bit too much Felix Felicius? Or could it be that she was giddy at the prospect of being finally, at long last; quenched of her desire to apprehend that malevolent wizard who plaugued her thoughts with such tenacity? She would admit, she felt a small flame of giddy happiness flickering within herself, and in all it's enterity it was a pleasant feeling, the kind one gets the night before their birthday, or christmas morn. She flashed the barest of smiles, her sharp teeth slightly cutting into her large, plump lips. She hardly noticed she was so enthralled in her torpid thoughts.
She stumbled anxiously through herself as her mind raced with the possibilities of what could be after she had attained her quarry. The thought of humiliating him was tempting, but she didn't think it was neccessary, as it wold probably lead to things that wouldn't be well regarded.
The pocket of delight inside herslef was about reasdy to burst.
This feeling it was.. euphoric in a word.
Never before had she really felt so alive, so electric! It was as if bolts of the most insane magic were shocking throughout her body - the closer she came to her destination the more intense the pulse became within her, more pronounced was the delirious gleeful madness that seized her.

Laughter. Deranged, mirthful laughter welled up inside her echo in her cavernous mind that entombed secrets deep and buried in the catacomb like tunnels below her consious, and then was belted out as she chortleed maniacally without any form of restraint whatsoever, her eyes bulging crazily in her sockets as she bared her fangs in a psychotic smile of expectacious triumph.
She really needed to stop drinking that Felix Felicius before something really awful happened, as were the consequences of excess consumption of the luck potion. There had been tales of those who in drinking too much of the said potion befell horrible incidents such as nude dancing in the cobblestoned streets until they were run over by a cart, or the gibbering madness that descends and turns one into a drooling imbecile who insists he has found the cure to lycanthropy, which just so happens to be cavorting with gnomes as one drinks grog and dry humps a minister.
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The Humanity In You, The Darkness In Me