*The Puppet Queen*
Summary: An odd couple- Ginny/Tom. Tom is thinking (gleefully) about ruining Ginny's life and turning her, his cherie, his cherry, into a stone, his little china doll. This is when Ginny is 11 and then like, 20. None, but the Chamber stuff really happened, but Tom can still imagine............
Disclaimer: Verily disclaimed. ~
She's so naïve that I laugh. She simply is the picture of a doll, a china porcelain doll. White skin with freckles dabbed on by an artist's brush, wide eyes surrounded by enormous lashes.......... The first time I saw her I wondered if I laid her on the ground her eyes would close like that battered baby doll at the orphanage.
It had been the favorite doll in the orphanage. It was old, and falling apart, but you could see someone loved it very well. Once, at midnight, I'd taken the doll, and I'd undressed it and redressed it in a lovely ball gown I'd transfigured and I'd laid her on ground. Her eyes shut as I leaned her back, those blank glass eyes. The hair was black, and falling out, but those eyes- those were hers.
She is so unassuming- her greatest downfall. She's a danger to those around her for she can be controlled so simply. Just give the girl a book and she'll give you her soul.
"Oh, Tom! I've missed you so!" are words I probably will hear if I ever show myself to her. She thinks she can escape, the poor little dear. She dreams of me still. Sometimes she cries, tear trickling between her lashes, eyes getting red and her nose too, and I just watch......... she doesn't tell anyone.
I can see her picture of me in a dream. I'm on a horse, a huge white one in....... armor of all things. And she's in this flower and silk dress like she was some fragile Hermia instead of Lady Macbeth she is.
I remember what she said when I'd taken possession of her and made her write those messages in chicken's blood........... "Help me Tom; I don't know what's happening to me!" Help me........ I fear I may die of laughing. Such a fool, only eleven.
She's no longer eleven.
When she was eleven I thought she was a fool. She WAS a fool, but.......... I cannot help but wonder what she was compared to what she IS. What she is is an angel, but one so pityingly helpless you'd think God had abandoned her if there was such thing as God. I suppose the best comparison I can make is that of a cherry. She was a seed at eleven, nothing more then potential.
Her growth was stunted for awhile. I kept her from the sun and brought her into the darkness. Then when I was gone she started to blossom. She flowered and was ready to bear fruit- fruit of dreams, fulfillment of her dreams.
Of course I took back my doll.
Slowly I have drunk her dry, like a hypothetical parasite. I left her with nothing more then her core, a stone, a cherry pit.
Cherie, cherry......
She is nothing.
Even now I look back to my favorite picture of us. I was at the height of my power through Ginny. Light flickered- disheartened fighting against the shadows. My doll was on my lap. Her head turned at just the right angle to come under my chin. Hair the same texture of silk was everywhere. I folded her hands to sit in her lap and she sat on my lap with her knees folded. I whispered sweet menace into her ear as she stared, unseeing into the shadows. Her eyes were blank and she was too pale to be healthy. I could imagine thousands in front of us filling the cavern to the brim dancing and pleading. Servants would come up with bloody wine and I could devour crimson cherries one by one. If anyone faltered they could die- blood running through the cave- people laughing, drinking- and me at its head.
I'd signal and dancers would run up, tripping on their translucent clothes. They'd twirl prettily and I'd watch. Then one would smile a 'come hither' smile out of the corner of her mouth at a servant before turning blank- faced to me and I'd feel humor. I'd gesture her forward and she'd scream and fall to her knees and then the very man she'd been smiling at would drag her forward to my feet and slice her pale throat. Blood would stain the throne like it was a sacrificial alter and Ginny would watch the fountain.
She'd been in her little schoolgirl uniform at the time. So flawless and faultless. So hurt on the inside now and feeling ever so weak.
That was the night Harry Potter had come. We'd only had an hour or more so, I knew that. I'd inhaled too sharply and she collapsed against me drained of years for the moment. I'd taken her in my arms and laid her on a bed of cursed flowers, bloody roses every one. Silly little girl she was.
I paid my worship to my life source, my savior. I'd kissed her lips slowly, but she was gone already, locked into her elegant little mind. I still have her trapped in her dirty little world even now.
Lusting after Harry Potter, the icon, in love with me if there ever was such a thing as love. She'd have forgiven me the world in an instant I knew, but I didn't care. Even now when she is steps from being Harry Potter's wife- a status she's dreamed of since she was ten.
Let her.
Let her have what she's always wanted, because I know she'll always be mine. Innocent little Virginia Weasley trying to hide for the big bad past?
Can't hide forever dear.
You'll be mine in the end I whisper at the back of your mind.
Kiss me in your dreams love, I'm still here.
Love me.
Hate me.
Curse me.
Want me.
Need me.
Bite me.
Beg me.
Still here love, have you in my arms, hold your heart.
Think you can run, then run. It's your dream my fleeting darling. You can hide anywhere, I won't come looking. I don't need to. I'm there all along.............
She sleeping now, I can feel her wherever she is. She's everything I've hated in myself. Muggle loving, dirty. I feel as if when she dies I could be free, but I could never kill her, break my doll.
If I opened up that pulsing vein in my wrist I could sooner be free.
But why hate yourself when I could hate her? When I could hate what my cherie represented? I could kill Harry Potter's heart with her, break his will. He's holding poison too close to his heart.
Besides, I could always use a puppet queen.
Imagine- I'm on a stage and she is attached to strings. Her head is limp and her feet dangle onto the floor trailing a clean patch in the dusty theater. The faded blue cushions on the chair add dust to the air and when the sodium yellow lights shine down they become blurry.
We're alone.
Slowly she is dragged in a torturous circle, strings pulling her white bejeweled hands into the air. A golden ring winks from her ring finger, all that's left of Harry Potter; he'd died in an attempt to reach her.
Her dress was white, an innocent color. It was slit up her thigh and tied by a rusty iron cord. The bottom was stained red from the blood of her lover and it made the scarlet polish on her dainty fingers burn like the devil's eyes.
The strings twirl her, helpless mignonette. I lazily throw my hand into the air and she is dragged that way. She twirls like a falling bird, descending from the heavens. The thick light pools off her hair and her white skin like a beacon.
Her eyes are closed and she's breathing faintly. Slowly the sinful mouth, painted as blood red as her hair opens and she shrieks. Her arms pinwheel widely and she falls as the strings lose their tautness. She's inches from me with her arms tied into the air and I capture her tainted mouth.
She falls.
On the ground she lays, broken, eyes open and glassy. I can see her pulse in her throat so I know she's not dead, but she is not able to resist me any longer. I pick her up and her head lolls back so I kiss her throat and her shoulders......
And then the image fades out and I'm in agony. It takes effort to breathe. I look and I find the tenuous yet unbreakable connection with Ginny and I can't let her go........... She haunts me in my half-conscious state and I know with her I'm going to win.
She'll be my freedom and my savior and then my puppet queen. She'll never need a throne- she can sit in my lap. I can kiss her hair and watch as her friends are brought before her staring, unseeing eyes, and watch as she gives their death orders.......
When she wakes I can let Nagini lick away the tears from her face and tell her it's a dream........
She'll trust me.
She ALWAYS trusts me.
And then I'll make her my wife, always and forever, until I get tired of my most darling plaything......... everyone grows out of their toys..........
~
Blank eyes staring
Look around
Strings drag your body off the ground
Faded blue cushions
Add dust to air
Black bows imprison your fire-light hair
House lights are gone
Stage lights dim
You twirl about at my every whim
Blood mouth painted,
Movement's sage,
You're the Queen of the Haunted Stage
Dressed like innocence
Bride in white,
Married to me- the phantom of the night
Helpless marionette
Slowly twirl,
You're only a pretty dolly, girl
Open your mouth
Try to scream
Darling, you can't, you're my puppet queen
Summary: An odd couple- Ginny/Tom. Tom is thinking (gleefully) about ruining Ginny's life and turning her, his cherie, his cherry, into a stone, his little china doll. This is when Ginny is 11 and then like, 20. None, but the Chamber stuff really happened, but Tom can still imagine............
Disclaimer: Verily disclaimed. ~
She's so naïve that I laugh. She simply is the picture of a doll, a china porcelain doll. White skin with freckles dabbed on by an artist's brush, wide eyes surrounded by enormous lashes.......... The first time I saw her I wondered if I laid her on the ground her eyes would close like that battered baby doll at the orphanage.
It had been the favorite doll in the orphanage. It was old, and falling apart, but you could see someone loved it very well. Once, at midnight, I'd taken the doll, and I'd undressed it and redressed it in a lovely ball gown I'd transfigured and I'd laid her on ground. Her eyes shut as I leaned her back, those blank glass eyes. The hair was black, and falling out, but those eyes- those were hers.
She is so unassuming- her greatest downfall. She's a danger to those around her for she can be controlled so simply. Just give the girl a book and she'll give you her soul.
"Oh, Tom! I've missed you so!" are words I probably will hear if I ever show myself to her. She thinks she can escape, the poor little dear. She dreams of me still. Sometimes she cries, tear trickling between her lashes, eyes getting red and her nose too, and I just watch......... she doesn't tell anyone.
I can see her picture of me in a dream. I'm on a horse, a huge white one in....... armor of all things. And she's in this flower and silk dress like she was some fragile Hermia instead of Lady Macbeth she is.
I remember what she said when I'd taken possession of her and made her write those messages in chicken's blood........... "Help me Tom; I don't know what's happening to me!" Help me........ I fear I may die of laughing. Such a fool, only eleven.
She's no longer eleven.
When she was eleven I thought she was a fool. She WAS a fool, but.......... I cannot help but wonder what she was compared to what she IS. What she is is an angel, but one so pityingly helpless you'd think God had abandoned her if there was such thing as God. I suppose the best comparison I can make is that of a cherry. She was a seed at eleven, nothing more then potential.
Her growth was stunted for awhile. I kept her from the sun and brought her into the darkness. Then when I was gone she started to blossom. She flowered and was ready to bear fruit- fruit of dreams, fulfillment of her dreams.
Of course I took back my doll.
Slowly I have drunk her dry, like a hypothetical parasite. I left her with nothing more then her core, a stone, a cherry pit.
Cherie, cherry......
She is nothing.
Even now I look back to my favorite picture of us. I was at the height of my power through Ginny. Light flickered- disheartened fighting against the shadows. My doll was on my lap. Her head turned at just the right angle to come under my chin. Hair the same texture of silk was everywhere. I folded her hands to sit in her lap and she sat on my lap with her knees folded. I whispered sweet menace into her ear as she stared, unseeing into the shadows. Her eyes were blank and she was too pale to be healthy. I could imagine thousands in front of us filling the cavern to the brim dancing and pleading. Servants would come up with bloody wine and I could devour crimson cherries one by one. If anyone faltered they could die- blood running through the cave- people laughing, drinking- and me at its head.
I'd signal and dancers would run up, tripping on their translucent clothes. They'd twirl prettily and I'd watch. Then one would smile a 'come hither' smile out of the corner of her mouth at a servant before turning blank- faced to me and I'd feel humor. I'd gesture her forward and she'd scream and fall to her knees and then the very man she'd been smiling at would drag her forward to my feet and slice her pale throat. Blood would stain the throne like it was a sacrificial alter and Ginny would watch the fountain.
She'd been in her little schoolgirl uniform at the time. So flawless and faultless. So hurt on the inside now and feeling ever so weak.
That was the night Harry Potter had come. We'd only had an hour or more so, I knew that. I'd inhaled too sharply and she collapsed against me drained of years for the moment. I'd taken her in my arms and laid her on a bed of cursed flowers, bloody roses every one. Silly little girl she was.
I paid my worship to my life source, my savior. I'd kissed her lips slowly, but she was gone already, locked into her elegant little mind. I still have her trapped in her dirty little world even now.
Lusting after Harry Potter, the icon, in love with me if there ever was such a thing as love. She'd have forgiven me the world in an instant I knew, but I didn't care. Even now when she is steps from being Harry Potter's wife- a status she's dreamed of since she was ten.
Let her.
Let her have what she's always wanted, because I know she'll always be mine. Innocent little Virginia Weasley trying to hide for the big bad past?
Can't hide forever dear.
You'll be mine in the end I whisper at the back of your mind.
Kiss me in your dreams love, I'm still here.
Love me.
Hate me.
Curse me.
Want me.
Need me.
Bite me.
Beg me.
Still here love, have you in my arms, hold your heart.
Think you can run, then run. It's your dream my fleeting darling. You can hide anywhere, I won't come looking. I don't need to. I'm there all along.............
She sleeping now, I can feel her wherever she is. She's everything I've hated in myself. Muggle loving, dirty. I feel as if when she dies I could be free, but I could never kill her, break my doll.
If I opened up that pulsing vein in my wrist I could sooner be free.
But why hate yourself when I could hate her? When I could hate what my cherie represented? I could kill Harry Potter's heart with her, break his will. He's holding poison too close to his heart.
Besides, I could always use a puppet queen.
Imagine- I'm on a stage and she is attached to strings. Her head is limp and her feet dangle onto the floor trailing a clean patch in the dusty theater. The faded blue cushions on the chair add dust to the air and when the sodium yellow lights shine down they become blurry.
We're alone.
Slowly she is dragged in a torturous circle, strings pulling her white bejeweled hands into the air. A golden ring winks from her ring finger, all that's left of Harry Potter; he'd died in an attempt to reach her.
Her dress was white, an innocent color. It was slit up her thigh and tied by a rusty iron cord. The bottom was stained red from the blood of her lover and it made the scarlet polish on her dainty fingers burn like the devil's eyes.
The strings twirl her, helpless mignonette. I lazily throw my hand into the air and she is dragged that way. She twirls like a falling bird, descending from the heavens. The thick light pools off her hair and her white skin like a beacon.
Her eyes are closed and she's breathing faintly. Slowly the sinful mouth, painted as blood red as her hair opens and she shrieks. Her arms pinwheel widely and she falls as the strings lose their tautness. She's inches from me with her arms tied into the air and I capture her tainted mouth.
She falls.
On the ground she lays, broken, eyes open and glassy. I can see her pulse in her throat so I know she's not dead, but she is not able to resist me any longer. I pick her up and her head lolls back so I kiss her throat and her shoulders......
And then the image fades out and I'm in agony. It takes effort to breathe. I look and I find the tenuous yet unbreakable connection with Ginny and I can't let her go........... She haunts me in my half-conscious state and I know with her I'm going to win.
She'll be my freedom and my savior and then my puppet queen. She'll never need a throne- she can sit in my lap. I can kiss her hair and watch as her friends are brought before her staring, unseeing eyes, and watch as she gives their death orders.......
When she wakes I can let Nagini lick away the tears from her face and tell her it's a dream........
She'll trust me.
She ALWAYS trusts me.
And then I'll make her my wife, always and forever, until I get tired of my most darling plaything......... everyone grows out of their toys..........
~
Blank eyes staring
Look around
Strings drag your body off the ground
Faded blue cushions
Add dust to air
Black bows imprison your fire-light hair
House lights are gone
Stage lights dim
You twirl about at my every whim
Blood mouth painted,
Movement's sage,
You're the Queen of the Haunted Stage
Dressed like innocence
Bride in white,
Married to me- the phantom of the night
Helpless marionette
Slowly twirl,
You're only a pretty dolly, girl
Open your mouth
Try to scream
Darling, you can't, you're my puppet queen