One

She flinched as her mother ran the hairbrush through her dishevelled tresses. The woman was careful to affix a bit of irrelevant pressure on her daughter. Astraea dug her fingernails into her palm. Razor-sharp words ceased at the tip of her tongue. Her mother's words rung in her ears like a painful hex until her eardrums bled. 

       The dress felt too tight against her ribs. 

       "You have to be at your best behaviour today," Walburga repeated.

       "Yes, I will." She answered. It was a conditioned response, one she had taught herself to use from childhood.

When you are born into the Black family, there is no escape from the spite they planted in you. Darkness surrounds you, till its branches reach your heart, wrenching it apart until you feel no more. The curses come more easily, slipping down your tongue impassively. 

It had already reached her brothers. The spark had faded from Sirius's eyes. He rarely smiled, seldom talked. She missed his awful jokes and the wild laughter that followed. It used to keep her anchored. It made her believe that her family wasn't all corrupt.

Regulus cracked a half-smile sometimes. She missed his smile. It was a breathtaking one. The boy who had that smile had to be there somewhere, buried deep beneath the poison that their family had injected. Was it coursing through his veins now?

       "You look just beautiful." Her mother smiled, her fingers under her chin as she gently lifted it.

She saw her reflection in the vanity mirror. The girl who was staring back seemed almost like a stranger, holding onto the few fragments of who she used to be. Her mother had cast a simple incantation, enough to erase any sign of the tears that she had shed in protest.

She gave her a false smile in response. The corners of her mouth hurt. Moulded smiles were never enough.  

Walburga Black left the room, asking her daughter to come down and join them shortly.

She found herself moving towards the stairs. Obedience had been embedded in her bones. The hem of her dress trailed against the ground, gathering the dust from the carpets.

Upon hearing a sound above her, she looked up. Regulus was on the landing, hiding from his mother to smoke a cigar.

      "You look all dolled up," He remarked, letting out a puff of smoke.

She gave him a faint smile. 

Regulus quickly stashed the cigar aside, hearing their mother make up way up the stairs again.

      "Ask your brother to come down," Walburga turned to her son.

The venom in her mother's voice was far from subtle. 

Sirius thought differently. He thought with reason.  He had the courage to grant his mind to wander away into the light than drown in obscurity. Sirius savoured it, Regulus repudiated it, Astraea subdued it.

       "Tristian's mother is waiting to see you downstairs," Her mother instructed.

Tristian Nott, her playmate from when they were children. Their parents had already promised their children to one another.

Her eyes wandered to Regulus, despondent for a saviour. He was equally damaged, The same chains restrained him.

She wanted to resist, cry for help, but when was she ever heard?

Her mother led her downstairs, towards the parlour where the guests were waiting.

Mrs Nott got up to her feet, donning an exquisite smile.

       "Oh my, such a beautiful flower!" She remarked, taking both her palms in her bejewelled ones.

A dry laugh died inside her throat. People rarely found beauty in a wilted flower. She had no petals. The only ones that remained were cernuous, ready to embrace the ground as they fell.

Then again, when did she ever bloom?