Black hair, pale skin and a land of darkness and derilict. The scene of what would, hopefully, end her pain. The mark had not burned for a long time and this place reminded her of the times it did. They were not happy memories, but they weren't bad memories either. They were memories of when she had meant something. Sure, she wore the orange sash of the family draped across her black robes and the marks of respect scarred across her back, but it was nothing compared to the days when the dark lord had lived and ruled a magnificent group. The death eaters.

Flame sighed as she glanced around. The place was abandoned now when once their would have been activity and the silence which pressed upon it was terrible. What had happened to those days? Why had it turned out this way? She only had one person to blame- Potter- and she had no way of taking her anger out on him.

She had not realised but her right hand had fallen on her left arm, across the mark. Once a sign of security, now a sign she did not know how to feel about. Everything it had meant was ruined, she was part of something else now, but still she felt proud of that mark when it spoke against her at all times.