Coffin Full of Nails

…

Her fingers had become scarred, with the years of life marking them. Her eyes jaded, wary of the world. Her palms were burdened with burn scars, and shoulders bent with the weight of the possibilities.

A jar full of nails perched itself neatly upon her shelf, with several dust coated books stacked somewhat neatly. A lone picture was tacked to the wall, forever frozen. His face is subtle in the tones of grey, and her own is darkened by the harsh whites. The black lines their fates with harsh reality.

She looks around her workshop, eying each and every master piece. She had grown weary of the world of war and domination, where life was ended for the sake of blood. She had no purpose to toil forever in the shadows of the pure and the righteous, and decided the only option then had been to eliminate herself from the equation.

Find life within a world so large and wide she could just fade away. Find another life to claim, because her own had become a ruin of spilt blood.

Sun streams from windows, running through the wide room with its warmth. She sighs, picking up a knife. She has no desire to work today.

Her coffins will wait, and the dead shall wait, and she will wait, and the world left behind shall wait. She's not ready.

The thick scent of coffee and wood shavings fills the room, and she basks in the familiarity of it. She tilts her head back to see the carved name over the large door. Luna.

Luna had done the deed upon her first moment of entering the room itself. To claim a shred of existence for herself. Her lips are highlighted with the shade of blood, a fleeting memory of the past.

("Kiss me, Draco." She whispers, lips twisting into a dark smirk. The scent of smoke fills the air, and he rolls his eyes.

"When you aren't drunk, we'll talk." He mutters almost fondly.)

She flings the knife at a wall, upsetting a small box from a shelf. A package of cigarettes tumbles to the ground, spilling every which way. A ring to clatters to the ground, rolling over the cracks. She sighs.

"How much longer are you going to pretend?" He asks, leaning against the doorway.

She stiffens, but says nothing in return. They both know she can go on forever pretending, filling the moments of eternity with delusions.

He grimaces, before stalking through the room. Her coffins lay unfinished and open, waiting to be filled with death. Waiting to be buried with the cold ground and forgotten.

"A coffin maker? I thought you were done with wars and murders." Draco muses, running a finger over the surface of one. The dark cherry wood gleams softly under his touch, and she can pick out her carvings. He eyes her latest pastime, distaste evident upon his face.

"Don't do this." She frowns, heart clenching.

(He grabs hold of her bloody form, and catches sight of her eyes glazed with the lust of death. "They all died, Draco. Hearts ripped out, guts strewn over the room. Dead."

"Don't do this." He whispers.)

"You said you were done with death after Chang died." He continues, picking the silver blade up from the floor. "Weapons?"

"Protection from the bloody bastards who invade my workshop. Now leave." She hisses, anger filling her. Her face was pale from rage, and Draco catches sight of the jagged scar running across her face.

"I spent three years searching for you." He whispers, suddenly so small. "I never stopped."

She flinched. "I swear I will stab your heart out if you don't leave."

He remains silent.

("I'll give you Potter's heart of a bloody stick," he promises. "I'll even carve your name into it."

"I might consider taking your heart on a stick, dear." Luna chuckled roughly.)

"I never meant to do that." Draco comments, passing her the knife. Her scars are a never ending chasm of the past. Wide and unforgiving.

"Don't lie. Don't you dare lie to me, you bastard." She hisses harshly, turning away.

He grips her arm, "You had been in the way. I had no other choice."

"Ripping my face open and leaving me for dead was your only choice?" She scoffs. "I left your world for a reason, you know."

"I thought you dying had been the only way." He states with little emotion behind his words.

She throws the knife away. "Lovers for two years meant so little to you, hadn't it?"

("Tell me the best lie you know." She demands, moonlight falling over her pale body.

"I hate you." He gives her, biting back a laugh.)

"Luna."

"Bastard."

The past and reality clashed within her, recoiling in mighty passion. Her entire being shook.

"Come home." He pleads, looking down at her. She stiffened.

"Go straight to hell." She demanded.

("I swear to the Gods, I'm taking you to hell with me." Draco groaned out, grasping hold of her long hair.

She bites her lip. "We're already in hell.")

"I made you something." She offers suddenly, and he's confused.

"What did you make?" He allowed her a response, eyebrows lifting.

She wanders barefoot over the wooden floor, sunlight skimming over her toes. She scooped to reclaim her knife, before leading him to the back of her workshop, where the shadows reigned.

A silk white cloth covered the piece, and her eyes narrowed as she whipped it away. "Just for you."

It's a coffin, tarnished with black. She's carved everything onto the sides, with him and her and the piles of dead in their wake. Within the coffin is a resting bed of nails, a dead rose thrown into the coffin.

He swallows. "Nails?"

("We'll damn the wrong to hell, and condemn the righteous to delusions, won't we?" She mused, stealing a cigarette.

"Get your own bloody cigarettes.")

He doesn't understand it, because there's blood trickling out his mouth. He's shuddering with death, a knife neatly planted in his back. "You stabbed me in the back, Draco. I swore you dead."

His eyes watch her, wide with horror.

"Never should have come for me. Should have let me die the way I meant to. Serving death to the final moments," she murmured, pulling the blade free.

She doesn't hesitate, nor does she tear her eyes away from his. The knife plunged deep within her own heart.

("You betray me, Draco, I will end you." She warned, dragging nails down his back.

He scoffs. "Shut up Lovegood.")

So. This is kind of an idea I'm working out for a new story of mine. Luna runs away after Draco leaves her for dead, and becomes a coffin maker. Of course, they probably won't die in the actual story, but who knows?

The theme for this story is a bit of everything. Abuse, manipulations and a combination of everything I've previously written. Maybe even steal some of the plot from my other story, The Nymph and the Bat.

Tell me what you think and stuff.