Victoire’s stomach churned violently, threatening to empty its contents over her feet. It was difficult to breathe, to think straight, with her blood running like fire. Even through the haze of temper, Victoire could sense her foolishness. She had burned everything, had done so willingly. And now she let her frustration get the best of her. She let her anger boil until she wanted everything to burn with her because in those precious moments she could feel[i] something[/i]. It was selfish. It was wrong. But Merlin, she knew from experience that it felt unbelievably [i]good[/i] to let her temper loose. There was an almost addictive rush to a sharp tongue and cold fury. The thought terrified her. Terror bled into frustration bled into rage. Victoire wondered if a person could drown in their own head.

He called her on the move of her hand; she flushed with both anger and shame. Her fingers clutched tighter, desperate for the comfort of her wand. For as long as she could remember, her magic had been a safe haven. And though her wand had a temper all its own, it had always soothed her. Her wand did not respond with calm, but with what could only be described as chaos. Her fingers stung and numbed, sparks and humming and smoke curling along her flesh. She released the wand, skin cringing at the burn.

Eyes stinging, she tried for a steadying breath. Everything was a mess and it was her fault; what good did it do anyone for her to be here? Her wand hand grasped the pendant around her neck, blistered thumb tracing a worried path along the back of the gold feather, desperate to fidget. She had the very strange sensation that she was about to be ripped apart in every direction, shattered and flung apart to every corner of the world. She wanted to scream that she hadn’t changed at all, that she had always been this pathetic, monstrous thing, but her anger was giving way to exhaustion and what did it matter anyways? 

“Yes, well, you know better than anyone that I’m a shit person,” Victoire remarked in resignation. Her exhaustion was a welcome relief from the terror of rage. She couldn’t meet his gaze. It was one thing to live with herself and her disgust; it was another thing entirely to see it in those she loved. “So, congratulations, you dodged a hex there. Good night.”

Merlin, she sounded almost light there. She didn’t know how she managed it. Victoire slipped past, determined to at least make it home before she was sick.