Every piece of the past she'd built for herself made less sense than the piece before it. She would never willingly become a Death Eater, would she? And if somehow she did become one, she wouldn't take so much joy in being such a loyal and destructive one. She'd sat at the feet of the monster that killed her best friend and felt privileged to do so. Part of her had always been afraid that she could give in to the darkness that lived inside of her if she was given the opportunity and allowed it to happen. What normal person trapped a person in an unbreakable jar for weeks or led a woman out into the middle of an angry herd of centaurs knowing full well the sorts of deplorable acts they had a reputation for committing on human women? Even before the war ended and her fantasy world began, she'd been a little frightening and cold-hearted when it suited her purposes to be so.