Contort

PROLOGUE:

THE slits of the viper’s nostrils flared as she inhaled her master’s scent. Slowly, the snake glided across the dusty floorboards, leaving a winding trail behind her. Darkness unfolded within the room she entered; only a single candle gave birth to light while its remnants of melted wax dripped carelessly onto the ground.

The dim light of the candle reflected off of a figure, hooded and cloaked, that occupied the center of the barren room. He sat upon an antique arm chair, cobwebs draped themselves along its back and arm rest. The man was being tormented. Tormented by an idea. A suggestion. A plan presented to him by a trusted follower, Severus Snape.

The cold blooded viper hissed, signaling her presence.

“Nagini,” the hoarse words of her master beckoned.

The snake coiled herself around the feet of her lord’s chair, and then her neck wrapped the width of his ankle. Cold scales met icy flesh. Binding her to him.

The lifeless eyes of a dark wizard locked onto Nagini, his pet, as she twisted her body up his leg and rested her head upon his knee.

The viper’s forked tongue protruded out the slits of her lips and she purred gently as the brittle nails of her master dragged themselves across her scalp.

“Nagini, there is something I must ask of you,” Lord Voldemort cracked an already broken smile.



Inspired by: Dance, dance Christa Paffgen