MoomnlightMalfoy
The ink bled like venom across the page, each word a thorn meant to pierce the hearts of those who would one day read it. He wrote not as a man, but as a shadow, a ghost of love and hatred intertwined.
He spoke of Madonna, the woman who was both his salvation and his curse. She was the flame he could never hold, the truth he disguised beneath another's face. To Zelda and Aamon, he offered no tenderness-only the weight of his resentment. *"Hatred binds us,"* the lines whispered, *"and though I am gone, revenge will walk in my stead."*
The diary dripped with metaphor: justice as a blade hidden in moonlight, vengeance as a storm that would not be silenced. He claimed that law was a hollow shell, incapable of truth, and that some other hand-unknown, unseen-would deliver the reckoning he could not.
Zelda's trembling fingers traced the jagged script, her breath catching as the meaning unfolded. At first, the words seemed like riddles, but the deeper she read, the more the venom seeped into her bones.
Her father's confession was not only of love but of loathing-towards her, towards Aamon, towards Madonna. The promise of revenge was not a metaphor she could dismiss; it was a curse, a prophecy written in ink.
Terrified, Zelda dropped the diary, its pages fluttering like broken wings across the floor. The room seemed colder, the silence heavier. She realized that their father's death had not ended