Post by artemis1979 on Mar 25, 2008 12:43:46 GMT -5
This is the very first songfic I've ever written. It was about 3:00 AM, and the song "I Feel Everything" was stuck in my head. So I did what I always do when I can't sleep--I started writing. Please read and comment, but please keep in mind that it's my first (and only) songfic and I was seriously sleep-deprived when I wrote it.
The sound of footsteps echoing dully through the ceiling makes me pause and glance upwards. Thick wooden beams, crisscrossed with cobwebs and stained with the wavering light from a candle, show no sign of movement... perhaps I only imagined the footsteps? Sighing, I return to my work. Bottles of various shapes and sizes stand on the packed earth floor around me, an army of multicolored glass soldiers. I have spent the entire day organizing them, sorting the potions from the wines and ordering them according to purpose and flavor. It is mindless, menial labor, but I needed some task to occupy my time and keep me out of my lord’s way. This chore was the perfect excuse to stay hidden and avoid provoking his anger.
Like a prima ballerina,
I tiptoe, tiptoe around you constantly....
I remember last night and I shudder; never had I seen my lord so angry, least of all with me. He was so, so angry... I had been too frightened to follow him up into the house after we Apparated into the cellar, instead curling up in the corner to sleep. This morning I still feared to venture upstairs, so I busied myself with sorting, all the while listening for sounds of movement from my lord. There, footsteps! I hear them for sure now. He is moving. I have hidden long enough; time to emerge from my solitude. I can only hope that the past few hours have lessened his rage. I stand, weaving my way through the forest of bottles towards the wrought-iron stairs.
Make my way up the spiral staircase,
hope to God you had a good day....
I emerge into a kitchen bathed in setting sunlight. The room is empty, as I knew it would be. The footsteps had come from the direction of the drawing room, so that is where I go. Around the table, through the door, across the foyer. When I reach the door of the drawing room I knock and I listen; silence. I push the door open and step inside. I see him sitting in a chair, his back to me. I approach him.
“My lord....”
“Bella,” a hiss issues from the chair. My heart leaps into my throat. He is still angry with me... I can hear it in his voice, I can feel radiating from his form. Desperately I draw closer to him, reaching out and resting my hand on the back of the chair.
“My lord...,” my voice cracks.
“Get away,” he snarls, but it is he who shoots out of the chair, flying across the room to throw open a window, as far away from me as possible. Tears well up in my eyes.
When you’re furious,
when you start to freeze,
when you can’t be touched,
I feel everything.
“... please,” I beg, not knowing exactly what I’m begging for. Please look at me, please talk to me, please forgive me. Time halts; we stand there, saying nothing, until the sun all but disappears over the horizon.
“All I asked,” he murmurs softly, his voice quiet but simmering with repressed emotion, “was that you retrieve the prophecy. Everything depended on my hearing the prophecy.” His white fingers tightened on the windowsill. “But you failed... you all failed,” he whips around, seething. “A year’s worth of planning, for what? For nothing!” He pants heavily, his eyes glaring.
And when you despair,
when you cannot breathe,
when you wouldn’t dare,
I feel everything.
I open my mouth, but my defense dies in my throat. An owl swoops through the open window, dropping a letter. His pale hand snatches it out of the air. He opens the letter, reads it; whatever it is, it’s good news. I watch his body relax ever so slightly.
“What is it, my lord?” I whisper.
He glowers at me once again. “Nothing,” he snaps. “Now leave me.”
“But--“
“Go.”
I take a step backwards, then another, trying to keep the tears from streaming down my face. He glances back down at the letter, no longer interested in watching me. I turn, stumbling through the door into the foyer.
When you’re in ecstasy,
but you’re not with me,
I feel everything.
The door slams shut behind me and a choked sob wrenches out of my throat. I stagger past the main staircase to the first door I see--the bathroom. I slip inside, slumping back against the door and sliding to the floor. There I lose all control, sobbing harder than I have ever cried in my life. For eleven years I had served him, performing whatever task he demanded of me, no matter how difficult.
On a tightrope, on a wire,
I’ll attempt to jump through your ring of fire....
Jostling with all his other so-called servants, trying to prove that I was his most faithful, most loyal, the best partner for him. It was more than just wanting to impress him, to work with him. I... I loved him, wanted him, needed to be close to him.
I’m waiting all the while,
for a glimpse of something to bring us higher...
I had spent over a decade in Azkaban because I refused to deny him, years of waiting for him to rescue me. Was it for nothing? Was all my loyalty and servitude to be forgotten in a single day, all traces of our relationship burned in one fiery display of his infamous temper?
One little foot in front of the other,
don’t you know I’m afraid of thunder....
The feelings rage in my head, a buzzing battle of emotions: love, annoyance, despair, anger, fear, regret....
When you’re furious,
when you start to freeze,
when you can’t be touched,
I feel everything.
And when you despair,
when you cannot breathe,
when you wouldn’t dare,
I feel everything.
When you’re in ecstasy,
but you’re not with me,
I feel everything.
The buzzing stops eventually, as do the tears, and now I just sit slumped up against the door. A dull pain throbs in my abdomen and chest. Is it my heartbeat? Is it supposed to hurt like this?
There’s a fine line between love and hurting,
and knowing when to walk away....
I’m in too deep, I realize. I’m too attached to him. None of the others have this problem. Cissy has a husband, Cissy has a son, Cissy has others to occupy her affections. Rodolphus, poor fool, means nothing to me. He’s a house, he’s a family fortune, he’s nothing more. My lord is my life, the one who gives me a reason to live. I’ve been skirting around him, trying to keep him happy.
Like a prima ballerina,
I tiptoe, tiptoe around you constantly....
But it hasn’t been enough. I will make him realize that I’m the best, I decide. I will fully dedicate myself to him. I was his closest follower, his most devoted student. I’m the most in tune with him.
When you’re furious,
when you start to freeze,
when you can’t be touched,
I feel everything.
And when you despair,
when you cannot breathe,
when you wouldn’t dare,
I feel everything.
He holds us all at arm’s length, he doesn’t trust any of us, and no one fully trusts him. Everyone fears him. Some respect him, yes, but only out of the fear they feel for him. I respect him for who he is, for what he wants to be.
When you’re in ecstasy,
but you’re not with me,
when you can’t be touched,
when you can’t be loved....
I will make him trust me. I will prove I love him... somehow. I will love him and serve him, and in his darkest hour he will turn to me for help. He will realize how I care for him, how I long to serve him.
When you fall apart,
when you have no heart....
Yes, he will come to love me in time, I tell myself and smile. He will trust me, and I will be his favorite once again. My eyes droop; I’m exhausted. I slowly drift off to sleep where I sit.
Later, I feel myself sliding slowly backwards... someone is opening the bathroom door. In my half-conscious state I feel a hand run underneath my shoulder while another slips underneath my knees. I feel myself rising into the air, feel my body being carried and then lowered onto a soft surface. I feel I feel a hand run through my hair. I feel a cool fingertip trace the outline of a tearstain on my cheek.
I feel everything.
The sound of footsteps echoing dully through the ceiling makes me pause and glance upwards. Thick wooden beams, crisscrossed with cobwebs and stained with the wavering light from a candle, show no sign of movement... perhaps I only imagined the footsteps? Sighing, I return to my work. Bottles of various shapes and sizes stand on the packed earth floor around me, an army of multicolored glass soldiers. I have spent the entire day organizing them, sorting the potions from the wines and ordering them according to purpose and flavor. It is mindless, menial labor, but I needed some task to occupy my time and keep me out of my lord’s way. This chore was the perfect excuse to stay hidden and avoid provoking his anger.
Like a prima ballerina,
I tiptoe, tiptoe around you constantly....
I remember last night and I shudder; never had I seen my lord so angry, least of all with me. He was so, so angry... I had been too frightened to follow him up into the house after we Apparated into the cellar, instead curling up in the corner to sleep. This morning I still feared to venture upstairs, so I busied myself with sorting, all the while listening for sounds of movement from my lord. There, footsteps! I hear them for sure now. He is moving. I have hidden long enough; time to emerge from my solitude. I can only hope that the past few hours have lessened his rage. I stand, weaving my way through the forest of bottles towards the wrought-iron stairs.
Make my way up the spiral staircase,
hope to God you had a good day....
I emerge into a kitchen bathed in setting sunlight. The room is empty, as I knew it would be. The footsteps had come from the direction of the drawing room, so that is where I go. Around the table, through the door, across the foyer. When I reach the door of the drawing room I knock and I listen; silence. I push the door open and step inside. I see him sitting in a chair, his back to me. I approach him.
“My lord....”
“Bella,” a hiss issues from the chair. My heart leaps into my throat. He is still angry with me... I can hear it in his voice, I can feel radiating from his form. Desperately I draw closer to him, reaching out and resting my hand on the back of the chair.
“My lord...,” my voice cracks.
“Get away,” he snarls, but it is he who shoots out of the chair, flying across the room to throw open a window, as far away from me as possible. Tears well up in my eyes.
When you’re furious,
when you start to freeze,
when you can’t be touched,
I feel everything.
“... please,” I beg, not knowing exactly what I’m begging for. Please look at me, please talk to me, please forgive me. Time halts; we stand there, saying nothing, until the sun all but disappears over the horizon.
“All I asked,” he murmurs softly, his voice quiet but simmering with repressed emotion, “was that you retrieve the prophecy. Everything depended on my hearing the prophecy.” His white fingers tightened on the windowsill. “But you failed... you all failed,” he whips around, seething. “A year’s worth of planning, for what? For nothing!” He pants heavily, his eyes glaring.
And when you despair,
when you cannot breathe,
when you wouldn’t dare,
I feel everything.
I open my mouth, but my defense dies in my throat. An owl swoops through the open window, dropping a letter. His pale hand snatches it out of the air. He opens the letter, reads it; whatever it is, it’s good news. I watch his body relax ever so slightly.
“What is it, my lord?” I whisper.
He glowers at me once again. “Nothing,” he snaps. “Now leave me.”
“But--“
“Go.”
I take a step backwards, then another, trying to keep the tears from streaming down my face. He glances back down at the letter, no longer interested in watching me. I turn, stumbling through the door into the foyer.
When you’re in ecstasy,
but you’re not with me,
I feel everything.
The door slams shut behind me and a choked sob wrenches out of my throat. I stagger past the main staircase to the first door I see--the bathroom. I slip inside, slumping back against the door and sliding to the floor. There I lose all control, sobbing harder than I have ever cried in my life. For eleven years I had served him, performing whatever task he demanded of me, no matter how difficult.
On a tightrope, on a wire,
I’ll attempt to jump through your ring of fire....
Jostling with all his other so-called servants, trying to prove that I was his most faithful, most loyal, the best partner for him. It was more than just wanting to impress him, to work with him. I... I loved him, wanted him, needed to be close to him.
I’m waiting all the while,
for a glimpse of something to bring us higher...
I had spent over a decade in Azkaban because I refused to deny him, years of waiting for him to rescue me. Was it for nothing? Was all my loyalty and servitude to be forgotten in a single day, all traces of our relationship burned in one fiery display of his infamous temper?
One little foot in front of the other,
don’t you know I’m afraid of thunder....
The feelings rage in my head, a buzzing battle of emotions: love, annoyance, despair, anger, fear, regret....
When you’re furious,
when you start to freeze,
when you can’t be touched,
I feel everything.
And when you despair,
when you cannot breathe,
when you wouldn’t dare,
I feel everything.
When you’re in ecstasy,
but you’re not with me,
I feel everything.
The buzzing stops eventually, as do the tears, and now I just sit slumped up against the door. A dull pain throbs in my abdomen and chest. Is it my heartbeat? Is it supposed to hurt like this?
There’s a fine line between love and hurting,
and knowing when to walk away....
I’m in too deep, I realize. I’m too attached to him. None of the others have this problem. Cissy has a husband, Cissy has a son, Cissy has others to occupy her affections. Rodolphus, poor fool, means nothing to me. He’s a house, he’s a family fortune, he’s nothing more. My lord is my life, the one who gives me a reason to live. I’ve been skirting around him, trying to keep him happy.
Like a prima ballerina,
I tiptoe, tiptoe around you constantly....
But it hasn’t been enough. I will make him realize that I’m the best, I decide. I will fully dedicate myself to him. I was his closest follower, his most devoted student. I’m the most in tune with him.
When you’re furious,
when you start to freeze,
when you can’t be touched,
I feel everything.
And when you despair,
when you cannot breathe,
when you wouldn’t dare,
I feel everything.
He holds us all at arm’s length, he doesn’t trust any of us, and no one fully trusts him. Everyone fears him. Some respect him, yes, but only out of the fear they feel for him. I respect him for who he is, for what he wants to be.
When you’re in ecstasy,
but you’re not with me,
when you can’t be touched,
when you can’t be loved....
I will make him trust me. I will prove I love him... somehow. I will love him and serve him, and in his darkest hour he will turn to me for help. He will realize how I care for him, how I long to serve him.
When you fall apart,
when you have no heart....
Yes, he will come to love me in time, I tell myself and smile. He will trust me, and I will be his favorite once again. My eyes droop; I’m exhausted. I slowly drift off to sleep where I sit.
Later, I feel myself sliding slowly backwards... someone is opening the bathroom door. In my half-conscious state I feel a hand run underneath my shoulder while another slips underneath my knees. I feel myself rising into the air, feel my body being carried and then lowered onto a soft surface. I feel I feel a hand run through my hair. I feel a cool fingertip trace the outline of a tearstain on my cheek.
I feel everything.
