Helpless

The lifeless body on the table sprawls,
the gliding snake approaches for its meal,
and, frozen in her chair, within her halls,
Narcissa sits like stone. She does not feel,
much less betray by look or movement slight,
her horror and revulsion. Voldemort
presides at table, rules this endless night,
a beast who spreads decay, who kills for sport,
a toxin, like that maleficent plant,
the venomous tentaculum, that stings
and poisons all it touches. Lucius can't
protect us any more from hideous things,
but what can I do? Little does she know
the night will come when nerve will find her heart
and fortune steer her steps. Her eyes gaze low:
her hope disintegrates and falls apart.