By: Natilie Sawada
"Am I shaping my deeds to a well made plan?
Patiently doing the things that I can?
Or, am I a wrecker, who walks the town
Content with the labor of tearing down?"
-Builders and Wreckers
The world is shimmering, Draco thinks. Torchlight bouncing off each fragment of glass as it flies through the air, crashing to the ground—creating a symphony of destruction.
It is beautiful in its horror, he thinks.
The annihilation of something so dear—that always seemed so eternal, is so glorious in its own right. So horrible, so hideous…so splendid in its downfall.
Draco almost can't bear to look at it.
All the splendor, all the magic—reduced to wood and stone. That's all it ever was—wood and stone. Illusions shattered like the painted glass of the windows as they shimmer to his feet.
The screams of insane joy…the crash of silver goblets and cups as they clatter to the floor…the nearly silent hiss as every beautiful candle is extinguished for good…the wave of sound as sheets of glass explode.
This is the music of destruction, he understands.
Isn't this what he has worked towards? Isn't this what he has planned?
This is his orchestra, this is his piece. He has created this music.
It is something he has been yearning to hear for years. Something he has worked tirelessly—has given up so much for. This is the symphony which he has composed!
…and it is absolutely hideous.
He's gotten what he wants, hasn't he? Finally gotten what he wants?
Then why does Draco feel so hollow?
This is the end of the means. This is the horrible magnificent music of his efforts. This is the surrealist painting of his labors: shimmering, shimmering, shimmering like the broken glass: like snowflakes silently falling as they go…
And it is glorious.
So glorious and wretched and ugly and repulsive that it makes him weep.
So he stands and watches as it falls around him.
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