The Creator gave humans the ability to speak, never imagining it would become their most vicious weapon.
Voldemort had never thought he would say something so cruel.
But when he stood before the Black family tapestry, pondering how to free himself from these complicated feelings,
that was exactly what he said.
He couldn't say how much of it was meant to sever their emotional ties, or how much came from a jealous fit.
At any rate,
the cruel words had slipped out, and like spilled water, they couldn't be taken back.
"Wah... wah..."
Bellatrix began to cry, her voice soft and broken.
She covered her face and crouched on the floor. Her long black hair fell straight down like a waterfall, its ends trembling against the Black family carpet.
Voldemort opened his mouth, but couldn't say a thing.
His toes turned slightly toward Bellatrix, but he didn't go over to her.
"In Azkaban... that's not what you said... that's not what you said..."
Bellatrix's voice was very quiet. He could tell she was doing her best to control her emotions.
But she couldn't.
Voldemort swallowed and suddenly thought that Riddle's emotionless state really wasn't so bad.
"Bellatrix."
Voldemort sighed and crouched beside her. "You're still the Death Eater I trust most, Bellatrix. You know that."
His voice was gentle, yet carried a hint of authority.
Just as he wanted their relationship to be more like that of friends and trusted partners, rather than something more.
"But I like you. I love you."
Bellatrix lifted her head and gazed at Voldemort with burning eyes.
The sight made him deeply uncomfortable, and he had to frown and avert his gaze.
"I haven't been resurrected yet. The Pure-blood families haven't fully backed me, Dumbledore is still alive, and most of the Death Eaters