HP -- Why I Will Marry Lucius Malfoy If It Kills Me
Title: Why I Will Marry Lucius Malfoy If It Kills Me
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Lucius/Narcissa
Rating: G
Word Count: 235
Warnings: none
Summary: Narcissa explains.
Author's Note: Uh... lol.
WHY I WILL MARRY LUCIUS MALFOY IF IT KILLS ME
I lie in my bed, looking at my white hands folded on the coverlet.
I will marry Lucius Malfoy if it kills me.
He is a man made of concentrated silver, of coalescing moonlight, of mercury. His hair is composed of silk, his eyes of steel, and he moves like a tomcat assured of his domain. He is the most beautiful human being ever to come into existence.
He flashes blinding smiles when he is pleased and doles out thin, cold, patronizing ones when he is not, and they are worse than any outright disapproval I can imagine. His silence is louder, his stillness faster, his submission more powerful, than any man I have ever met. And I have met so, so many men.
None of them are like Lucius. None of them haunt the mind, linger on the tongue, and recline casually in the heart like Lucius does.
I slip out of my bed and go to the mirror. As I attempt to gauge myself impartially, I bite my lip. Just before I begin to chew on it contemplatively, I realize what I am doing, and I stop short.
I will not mar myself. I cannot. I have to be wonderful. I have to be radiant. I have to be unblemished.
I have to be perfect, because he is.
I will marry him if it kills me. You can take my word for it.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Lucius/Narcissa
Rating: G
Word Count: 235
Warnings: none
Summary: Narcissa explains.
Author's Note: Uh... lol.
WHY I WILL MARRY LUCIUS MALFOY IF IT KILLS ME
I lie in my bed, looking at my white hands folded on the coverlet.
I will marry Lucius Malfoy if it kills me.
He is a man made of concentrated silver, of coalescing moonlight, of mercury. His hair is composed of silk, his eyes of steel, and he moves like a tomcat assured of his domain. He is the most beautiful human being ever to come into existence.
He flashes blinding smiles when he is pleased and doles out thin, cold, patronizing ones when he is not, and they are worse than any outright disapproval I can imagine. His silence is louder, his stillness faster, his submission more powerful, than any man I have ever met. And I have met so, so many men.
None of them are like Lucius. None of them haunt the mind, linger on the tongue, and recline casually in the heart like Lucius does.
I slip out of my bed and go to the mirror. As I attempt to gauge myself impartially, I bite my lip. Just before I begin to chew on it contemplatively, I realize what I am doing, and I stop short.
I will not mar myself. I cannot. I have to be wonderful. I have to be radiant. I have to be unblemished.
I have to be perfect, because he is.
I will marry him if it kills me. You can take my word for it.