Love is weak. A feeling, a simple feeling that represents all that the good stand for, merely demonstrates a lack of strength. With love, so much consequence is at hand. So much to lose, not enough to gain. Yet, so many in this world choose to embrace that tender, bittersweet feeling that demonstrates all that I lack.

I lack love. I lack warmth. I lack any sort of emotion that could possibly compare to love. Yet, I used to desire. I used to desire warm hands, warm hearts, and purity. I, too, used to be weak.

My mother failed to show me the comfort I so longed for. She failed to provide the nurturing all children need. She was the single most impacting person in my entire life. And I despise her.

Many comment on my uncanny resemblance to my mother. Many say that I inherited her good looks and impeccable manners. Yet, they know nothing of what I have faced. They know nothing of what she's done. And, they know nothing of what I intend to become.

When I hear mention of our similarities, I think of death. I think of murder. I think of revenge. For, how could they compare me to the one person I loathe above all else?

She was cruel. She was diligent. She was repetitive. She was not a mother. She was a woman with children. There is a difference. More than one could ever know. There is, indeed, a remarkable difference.

With such a mother, how could a girl possibly grow into a compassionate woman? She couldn't. With such a mother, only a cold, lonesome future lies ahead.

Love, tears, laughter, fraud. I lack all the essential components to a bright future. I am real. I am truth. I am glory. I've strived for power and now, I have come into it.

I performed my duty in life. I walked along a narrow path, a path many turn away from. A path many are too scared to face. Yet, I embraced it. I welcomed such a path with open arms. This path, my future, was my choice. Unknowingly, she dragged me down such a path. She is the reason I chose such a path. She was the reason I fell into the dark.

It was because of her teachings, her insistent ramblings, that I fell into a cold, hard relationship, not so unlike her own. Unintentionally, I've become my mother. I am as hard, as cold, and as ruthless as she. Yet, she has not captured my essence. Nor, have I captured hers. Entirely.

I have borne no children. I've been too afraid, too frightened, of what I might become. With a child, with a soul of my own to protect, what sort of mother would I be? If I were to be like her, if I were to mother a child just as my mother raised me, I could no longer live. I would choose death over becoming her.

When I was a young girl, I longed for normality. The Black household is everything but. We lack sympathy, virtue, and understanding. We lack patience and morality. We lack all that I long for. Or should I say, all that I longed for.

I no longer desire such things. I no longer desire a child. I no longer desire a mother, to be honest. I no longer desire love. I no longer desire laughter. I no longer desire at all.

For, I gave up on life in itself. I gave up on wanting. I worked and I fought and now, I have. I have power. I have resistance. I have survival. I have all that I need in life.

And I don't need her.

A/N: A short, little drabble about Bellatrix and her upbringing. Hope you enjoyed.