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notautistic7264 · 1 month ago

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Technically Too Young To Die

tw: depictions of drowning and death

He swore he wouldn’t scream. Swore to himself, for his own sake- clearly, as no one else would ever happen upon him right now- that he wouldn’t struggle, that he would die on his own terms in an honorable way.

That’s what he came here to do. That’s why he was in this god forsaken cave, with a locket on his neck that meant nothing. He stood at the edge of the water, watching it. It looked like a pool of ink, spilled from a giant’s quill. The place was dark and eerie, and truly was fitting for the situation. He backed away, one inch, two, a foot. If the Dark Lord was telling the truth…

He picked up a rock off the shore, flipping it over in his hand, staring at the water. Then, he tossed it, watching it break the surface, sink down, the water rippling, out, out, out. He was tempted to skip it, a small, still childish part of him- though he wasn’t sure if that part of him saw the light very often.

So, he tossed it. It sunk, and he watched, his heart pounding hard enough in his chest he felt it in his ears. Though, anyone looking at him would’ve never been able to tell. And hands. Hands broke the surface. Rotted, grey and corpse-like hands. The disturbance in the once still water seemingly woke them up, the Inferi. Salazar, this wasn’t going to be fun. He watched as they moved, then seemingly calmed, sinking back below the surface.

Even once they were gone, he didn’t move. He just stared at the water, watching the ripples in the inky surface. He stood there, for who knows how long. He definitely didn’t. Eventually, he moved, taking a step forward, then another. Still, he didn’t seem to break out of his stupor. He was grateful for that, in a way. His thoughts weren’t clear, and he knew if they were, he would leave the cave right now.

His eyes landed on the wooden boat floating on the surface, not tied to anything he could see. The place had seemingly already been prepared, the only exception the locket around his neck. Or, the one that should be, but wasn’t. The difference was rather clear, between the two. The one he was wearing gave no sensation besides the cool metal that pressed against the skin of his chest.

It had no dark magic leaking from it’s hinges, nothing to latch onto your soul with, nothing to muddle your thoughts and sink it’s claws into your heart. No, this was just a locket. Nothing more, nothing less, a gold chain and engravings. It didn’t hold a pulsing, dark fragment of a soul. He was grateful for that.

He approached the boat, his movements somehow heavy, as if the weight of the mark on his arm was dragging him down. He was sure it was, often times. Still, he stepped into the boat, sitting down. He wasn’t sure what happened from there. He couldn’t remember any of it. His mind didn’t snap back into place, until now.

Now. Merlin, he was dying. He would die, his life was going to end, his lungs would not draw breath, he would not take another step, he was going to die. He stood at the edge of the island in the middle of the inky black. Or, he stood for a short moment.

No, now, he was not standing. There was unearthly screeching, filling his ears, and maybe they were bleeding, he didn’t know. The bodies of the dead were crawling over each other, grasping for him, dragging him to join their ranks.

Hands, hands, so many hands, and none of them were his. The gripped his skin, rotted nails digging into the surface. And his skin was tearing, ripping like paper under too much pressure from an eraser. And they were dragging him, pulling him, closer to the water.

And he swore he wouldn’t scream, swore he wouldn’t cry, but he was. Hot tears spilled down his face, across his cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried. And his throat was burning, and he could feel screams clawing through him, but he couldn’t hear them.

He was dragged across the rocks, and he struggled. He dug his fingers into the ground, but all he accomplished was tearing off his nails. Rotting corpses dragged him, down, piling on him, tearing his skin, his hair, and iron blood mixed with his tears. He wondered if the blood was pure.

And then, he felt the water touch his legs, soaking his pants, and crawling up to his thighs. And he was screaming, pulling, crying, and the sad part was that he felt like a child.

It happened quickly, and he was submerged.

He was drowning, and he was going to die. His tears disappeared in the water, insignificant drops in a vast lake. His mouth snapped shut on instinct, his eyes screwed closed. He was being pulled down at a faster speed than corpses should be able to manage.

Eventually, he couldn’t do it any longer, and his mouth opened in a silent scream.

Water flooded his throat, filled his lungs, his nose. They pulled at him, and he was dragged down, down, down.

He wasn’t sure when, but he stopped struggling. He wasn’t sure when, but he stopped trying to breathe. He wasn’t sure when, but his heart stopped pumping, and his blood stopped flowing, his mind stopped thinking.

And, he was dead. Regulus Arcturus Black was dead. And no one knew.

#regulus black #regulus black is dead #regulus black hc #depressing shit

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