The "Windows" Series

Have you ever wanted to stare into the face of evil? Look into the eyes of a madman so blinded by his own ego that you are nothing but an autumnal leaf to be crushed underfoot for the pure pleasure of the crisp crunch? One who cares about nothing except his own fulfillment and pleasure?

I imagine that face as beautiful. Delicate features, like moulded porcelain and blown glass. A slim face on the edges of gauntness, yet sleek and unlined. A face with feminine features but a manly strength and character. The skin would be perennially pale, no matter how many summers were spent in the sun, bathing in the purest of spring water. But with perfect lips so tempting to lick, to kiss, to touch, to bite. High cheekbones that look oh-so-fragile, like they would fracture with the slightest blow. Long, luxurious eyelashes framing eyes that peer into the world with so much understanding of its people and the things that they do. Eyes that can pierce the soul, wound the heart and reduce one to a quivering, weeping, mass of broken flesh with a single, hardened glance. Eyes of hate and lust and greed and the innate knowledge of what men will do for power and possessions. Eyes that know the limits of the human being, both physically and mentally. Eyes that know, because they have found this knowledge in the simple task of discovering for themselves. Eyes that enjoy using this knowledge. Eyes that gain pleasure from twisting another's body and mind slowly, painfully, obsessively, to the point of breaking and far, far beyond.

For humans do break. Their minds, their bodies. Their souls.

I have seen this. I have seen a man - his skin but bloody rags barely clinging to the white fat and red muscles of the body beneath - I have seen him scream at the sight of those eyes. I have seen a woman - her unformed child taken from her womb and used in rituals that defile the mouth to speak of - I have seen her face twist in a mask of silent terror at the sight of those eyes. I have seen horrors that would make your nightmares seem like children's fairytales. I have heard sounds that would twist the stomach of a lesser man. And I have watched - silently, calmly, distantly - as those eyes burned in pleasure. Pleasure at the torment of lesser mortals than himself. Pleasure gained from the knowledge of the limits, and the knowledge that he could break those limits if he so wished. Pleasure that inflamed those eyes and made the face to which they belonged seem surreal and unearthly.
Eyes of burning glass, of searing diamonds, of the white glow of molten iron.
The eyes of depravity itself.

I have looked into those eyes. Those eyes that knew no mercy, no pity. Eyes that gave no redemption, no absolution, no release from suffering. Eyes that held onto my soul and ripped it bloodily in two.
I have looked into those eyes. And then I destroyed them.
I destroyed what I hated.
And then I became it.

I am surely my father's son.

Draco Malfoy,
9th May, 1998