Wednesday, March 8 * Morning
"I am Bellatrix Black Lestrange, and I stand before you an innocent woman."
She sat down sedately at the table next to one of her solicitors. Her carriage was upright, every line proclaiming her breeding. Bella's hair was sleek and smooth for the first time in years. Her silken robes were pressed; her manicure, spotless.
And equal parts rage and confusion pulsed through her veins.
She wasn't catatonic, nor was she dreaming — but she found herself helpless to move or speak of her own will. She was a puppet, pulled by strings she couldn't see.
As her hearing unfolded in front of her, she was unable to do anything to further her cause.
Bellatrix hated everyone and everything.