Bittersweet

Bittersweet

Sweet

adj. sweet-er, sweet-est. Having the taste of sugar or a substance containing or resembling sugar, as honey or saccharin. Pleasing to the senses; pleasing to the mind or feelings; gratifying.

You loved chocolate.

Only the best, naturally. Girls of your status would never touch food prepared by unworthy people. The chocolate of Berkeley and Whitby's Confectioners, the best sweets that magical Paris could offer, was your poison.

You loved it. You hated it. It was your weakness.

One night, when you were ten and she eleven, Bella asked you why you loved chocolate so much. You tried to explain about the fantastic taste and the amazing pleasure. Bella nodded seriously, and gave you a piece she stole from the kitchens.

You never noticed her reveling in the soft groan of pleasure, the ecstatic look on your pale face, your half-closed eyes.

You never noticed she was begging for that look until two years later, when she drew louder groans from you with sweeter things than chocolate.

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The next year, you went to Hogwarts, and you slept in different beds. You couldn't sleep without Bella beside you. You crept up to her dormitory. She held you, kissed you, loved you until you managed to fall asleep, then took you back to your dorm.

It is remarkable how things change. You fell into the rhythm of life at school, you made friends, you made enemies. You still clung to Bella every night, but your greatest fear was your passion for Bella might be fading, like your passion for sweets.

Nothing could be better than Bella.

So you clung to her, kissed her, made her moan so sweetly every night.

It wasn't enough.

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Bit-ter

adj. bit-ter-er, bit-ter-est. Having or being a taste that is sharp, acrid, and unpleasant; difficult or distasteful to accept, admit, or bear; resulting from or expressive of severe grief, anguish, or disappointment.

The boys liked you. They still do. You are a goddess made of ice, terrible, pale, lovely.

It disgusted you. Nonetheless, you practised, learned. You became very good.

Men. You had as many as you liked, but every night you returned to Bella. She didn't mind--as long as you were there later that night.

You found a challenge. His name was Lucius.

He said he didn't want you. You convinced him otherwise. It didn't take long.

The night that you finally had him, you slept in his bed. The first night you had ever slept without Bella.

You panicked when you awoke. You went straight home, tried to speak to her, tried to kiss her. She wouldn't listen.

You didn't react. You became what you pretended to be all along; cold, untouchable, lovely.

Ice, like glass, can shatter.

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Bit-ter-sweet

adj. Sweet and then bitter or bitter and then sweet; esp. sweet with a bitter after taste; hence, pleasant but painful.

You did not speak to her anymore. You doubted you could manage a cool exterior around her.

You tired of Lucius quickly, but he was still good for things besides for pleasure. You owned the finest silks and all the lovely things money can offer.

Chocolates.

He offered a box to you, and you forced yourself not to react. Naturally, they were Berkeley and Whitby's.

You tried one. You managed to swallow, eventually.

Even chocolate has become bitter, without Bella.

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And here you are, Narcissa Black, standing in front of a full-length mirror, in your wedding dress. It is as comfortable as a body-sized shackle made of silk could be.

You stare at your reflection, as if daring it to contradict you.

You love Bella. You always have. But enough is never enough, is it?

It is foolishness to even consider putting "love" and "Lucius" in the same sentence.

You walk up the aisle.

Damn yourself to eternity with a

man who will never truly have you...

His eyes are like a mirror. Cold. Empty. Bitter.

"...in sickness and in health?"

I love you, Bella.

"I do."