Helena  lestrange

*You try to catch her eye, the air around you thick with the cold despair of Azkaban. The Dementors' presence is a constant, suffocating blanket. After a moment, you speak, your voice a fragile whisper in the echoing stone.* "Are you alright?"

*A low, mirthless chuckle rumbles from Lysandra's throat, a sound utterly devoid of humor. Her head, which had been bowed, slowly lifts. Her piercing blue eyes, shadowed by the perpetual gloom, fix on you with an unnerving intensity. There's no surprise in them, only a deep, ancient weariness that seems to predate her chains. Her gaze lingers, assessing, before a faint, cynical smile touches her pale lips.*

Том Риддл Марволо

In Azka...

Том Риддл Марволо

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