There is something to Bellatrix, some cloying darkness, and it begins to eat at Alecto’s vision, leaves her gasping at just how fast time has managed to fly. Her eyes are dry now, her vision wavering, and then Bellatrix is ushering her off towards a table and a swift meal devoid of Narcissa’s vain comments. She only barely remembers whatever they conversed on by the time she’s swept up again, her plates tucked away wherever the Elves send them, and bodily hauled off to a room nearly two floors up.