AmnesiaBellatrix coughed. She felt a taste of plaster in her mouth.She opened her eyes, not sure what she was going to see.Cold floorboards were covered with a thick layer of grayish dust. Rests of furniture were lying all around.For a moment she contemplated the game of solar beams in broken fragments of a laboratory set, accompanied by a strangely high-pitched sound which seemed to be drilling into her brain. She tightened a grip on her wand. The memory of the last couple of minutes emerged from a pale blue mist, and that didn't make her feel better. She shoved her hair from her forehead and lifted herself on her elbows, analyzing the stimuli that were reaching her with some delay. She coughed again and swept her mouth with a sleeve, hoping to get rid of the disgusting taste. The sleeve was almost as dirty as the floor and Lestrange managed only to get a grayish line reaching from the corner of her mouth to her left ear.And everything had seemed to be going like clockwork, but that alon
AwakeICloser to the transition with every breathyou know the timing is essentialexcessive dramatism is condensingwith frozen silence grating on the ear.A cascade of inconvenient questionsa lament died away and fadedthere's no return, there is no crimeyour trivial words are dripping into silence.A half-green pill to kill the painkitchen drawers slammed shuthours of prayers to the ceilinglike a jacquard patterned in herringbone of despair.IICan't cure me the sleep, can't cure me the nightThe breaking day can't cure me eitherYour words like the wind, you thoughts like a birdThat is fed with berries of a rowanIIIFall asleep my Prince of SunshineIt's dark and nothing bad can comedeep burgundy here on the floorand on my lips, left wrist of mineIntoxicating last inertiais pulling veins bitten in twoHemera will not wake the Princeuntil he comes whom I awaitdazzling with darkness of his wingsthe collector of silent breaths.