Word Count: 1,269

Challenge/Competition: A Creepy Challenge

Prompts: Write a creepy/horror story with the prompts given. Phineas Nigellus Black, Makeup.

Warnings: Murder, torture, rape, incest... rated M for a reason guys.

Disclaimer: I don't claim to own Harry Potter, it's all JKR's.

Note: At this point, Phineas is 19 making Elladora 16. This is really, really dark... you've been warned!

His obsidian eyes glare through the crack in the heavy oak door as he watches his little porcelain doll smile sweetly at that thing she is betrothed to – promised to. The other boy has a darkness surrounding him, a wicked glint in his dark eyes... too dark for his sister; he will ruin all her light and pull her into the darkness.

As his doll giggles softly, his jaw involuntarily clenches. He narrows his eyes and admires her long brown locks, her glittering jade eyes, her alabaster skin… she's far too pretty to speak, to move, to breathe. She's a doll and dolls are still.

When that thing that thinks he owns the perfection makes to leave, Phineas has to make a quick and subtle exit. He hides in the shadows of the corridor and listens to his sweet girl mumble to that monster. When the sound of other boy's slightly uneven footfalls fills his ears, he sticks a strong arm out and grabs it.

Ready or not.

He locks a hand down on the boy's mouth, shushing him violently. His whole body quivers in anticipation of this moment – this carefully planned out moment. No one is home except himself and Elladora, no one will be home for twelve more days. He's trusted Phineas, careful Phineas, sensible Phineas, and perfectly normal Phineas.

Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind as he drags the struggling figure into the room at the end of the corridor he's telling himself that this isn't normal, that he doesn't own, can't own and shouldn't want to own his sister (his doll, his puppet, his figurine). But whatever tiny amount of doubt there may be creeping up on him, his overwhelming sense of possession diminishes it.

He tosses his target across the empty room, observing with a perverse grin as it trembles with fear. He casts his murky eyes around the moonlight filled room – everything's perfectly in place, from the heavy wooden stick to the chair and the ropes, the pile of blades.

"Listen… Phineas-" The thing stutters, recoiling into the corner.

"Sh!" He hisses, his eyes widening maniacally as adrenalin rushes through him and gives him the strength to haul the other boy into the chair and tie the ropes so tightly they most likely (and hopefully) cut off his circulation.

Panting heavily, he sucks in breath through his clenched jaw and leans down shakily to pick up his pile of blades. "These are mine, but I'll let you borrow them," He says breathlessly, swiping the thin and curved knife across the monsters forehead. "Well isn't that pretty?" He grins.

"What are you-"

Suddenly, his hands start shaking in anger. Why is it talking? Puppets don't talk, they obey. Obey. Grabbing the cloth he has, he roughly ties it around the puppets mouth, leaving it to groan all it likes. He grins menacingly, and holds a smaller blade to the puppets cheek, dragging it in a curved line down his face. "That's better," He pauses, switching knifes, "More." And he uses this much larger knife to cut the figurines shirt open, carefully cutting a thick line straight down the middle of its torso. The glistening blood trickles across the fearful thing, causing Phineas to cackle quietly.

Cocking his head, Phineas picks out the tiniest blade he owns. Admiring his artwork, he pulls the puppets arm into his hands and gets to work, carving an M, then an I, then an N, and finally an E. "Mine," He muses… "You see that? Mine. M, I, N, E. She's mine."

The figures features warp in and out of human and puppet, turning from dark and fearful eyes, to little taunting buttons. He blinks rapidly as his entire surroundings warp and twist – he shakes violently with anger, he wants control. He is the puppeteer and everyone will follow his orders, they will. The heavy block of wood calls him from the corner and before he knows it, he's the puppeteer again: in control of everything and anything, on top of the world as the red paint sprays his shirt while he mercilessly beats the figurine.

As his surroundings distort further, there's no distinguishing real from false. He tries to repress a frustrated scream, but fails miserably. The erratic breaths of his lovely, his sweet Elladora fill his ears and he turns around on her, she being the only thing that isn't warping – she's still his perfectly pretty porcelain doll that now no one can touch, that is his and only his.

She freezes, good girl, obey, and he smiles darkly. "Don't worry Ella; I'm not going to hurt you. No one can hurt you now."

The faint sound of her breathing is barely there as her sparkly eyes flit desperately from Phineas to the thing to the door – to an escape. He chuckles to himself, "Oh, Ella, there's no escape! Why would you want to escape from me? I love you." And he pushes himself off the floor, clasping onto her wrist before she has the chance to do anything.

"You don't need to worry about him," He mumbles quietly as he pulls his beautiful puppet along the corridor, back to her room, "He's gone. You're mine. I've saved you from his darkness, Ella! Smile!" But she did not obey. Obey. "Smile!" He demands, much angrier this time.

Lips quivering, she smiles. Good. His pretty little dolly doesn't talk as he pushes her into her bedroom. Good. Obey. He is the puppeteer, her owner, the ruler.

"You're just so beautiful." He takes her delicate wrist, leading her to her vanity table and placing her on the creamy wooden chair in front. Sitting on the bed behind her, he twists her cinnamon waves around his bloody fingers.

"Now… we're not going to tell anyone about this, are we Ella? We wouldn't want more people to get hurt now, would we?" He can feel her trembling in her chair, and see her blinking back tears. That isn't right, dolls don't feel. "Oh… don't cry, I'm not going to hurt you, no! Now, let's see…" His obsidian eyes scan the table, and he finds her powder, her blusher and her lipstick. He takes the brush in his hands, and carefully applies the makeup to her paled face. "That's better… aren't you just perfect?" He says softly, smiling to himself. A porcelain doll.

"Do you love me, Ella?"

The girl sits silently in the wooden chair, eyes cast on the floor.

"Elladora… do you love me?"

Still, she sits silent. Why isn't she obeying? He is the controller, he chooses what happens – this is his game, he can do as he pleases. He orders, she follows. He grabs her and puts her onto the bed, pinning her wrists down as she struggles. "Why can't you just obey me? I don't want to have to upset you, Ella. I just want to show you how much I love you…"

The room starts doing that horrible warping thing, the walls turn green and beautiful Elladora's eyes become buttons, they shine and she's lifeless but it's perfect. He stops blinking, keeping his eyes wide open as he gets his way. Her face distorts between human and doll as he kisses her forcefully, pulling her nightdress off.

Ready or not.

His doll whimpers – it's the only thing she can do because she can't struggle, she can't speak, she can't move. The room spins around him as pleasure hits him in waves… she's his now, officially. No one can take her away, not now he's the master. He can control anyone and anything he wants.

A/N- If I'm honest, I cannot believe I wrote that! It is by far the creepiest thing I've written... Anyway, review with your thoughts please, it would mean a lot!