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She was pure.
The Malfoys were wealthier, the Lestranges were more committed to the cause, and the Mulcibers were more talented. But the Blacks were superior. They had wealth, talent, power, commitment - and the political astuteness to not tie themselves publicly to the first wizard who promised to lead them in the creation of a bright new world. Their family tree stretched back to Roman times, yet they had avoided the squibs, weakness, and ugliness that plagued other bloodlines. They were the kind of family he'd imagined himself a part of before the truth had become too obvious to ignore.
She was beautiful.
Her hair was a mass of black silk that contrasted vividly with her creamy skin. Her lips were naturally red and full. She was tall, only a scant few inches shorter than Tom. Her breasts were full, her waist was slim, her hips were wide, and her legs were long.
More than any other woman she resembled the image he'd held in his daydreams before he'd torn the image of that ugly misshapen creature from the filthy muggle Tom Riddle's mind. She looked the way he thought a witch should; with beauty to rival a mythical goddess and confidence greater than that.
She was loyal.
There was no order he issued that caused her so much as a pause or an uncertain look. When he discovered her cousin's treachery and told her to handle the punishment, she made the traitor scream for hours at his feet before casting the Killing Curse.
He put her on a pedestal.
Bellatrix could do no wrong. When he ordered her to torture, her victims lost their minds, and when he commanded her to kill, the bodies piled high. She never failed to achieve the objective when he sent her on a mission, and she had to be stopped from sacrificing herself in his service more than once.
He took her hand and kissed it, and stood her at his right side. His other Death Eaters resented her. It wasn't good for the esprit de corps, but he was their Lord and his will was done. They showed her the deference that was her due, and he merely laughed when she used his favor to get petty revenge on her comrades for old slights.
Then he tore her down.
Her loyalty seemed absolute, but Tom could not trust it. He wanted to break her, make her denounce him. When he had tormented her body and spirit as viciously as he knew how and she still called him Master, he realized his tactics were wrong.
So he allowed Lucius, whom she despised, to torment her. With her sister as a reluctant witness, Lucius abused her for Tom's pleasure. Her skin broke and bled, and her voice grew hoarse from screaming, but she made no move to stop Lucius. Irrationally enraged, Tom violated perhaps the only source of pure love she had left and ordered Narcissa to stroke and lick her. Bella's face showed her discomfort, yet she came when he commanded her to.
He tested her, trying to make her repudiate him.
Tom told her of his idea before he implemented it. She was horrified and she swore her devotion once more, her voice conveying the pleas she was too proud to put into words. But in the end she consented.
Her words pleased him but he didn't believe her. What he proposed was horrifying, the ultimate defilement a pureblood witch could experience. She never attempted to shield her mind from him and now he could read how disgusted she was. Yet she was still determined to do whatever he commanded of her, tempting him to hope.
She vomited when the muggle was led into the room. He was not repulsive, as far as muggles went. He was tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed; handsome even. But there was no magic in him; he was a mere animal.
He could put the muggle under the Imperius Curse, but Tom chose not to. It was more authentic this way.
"Bella," he said softly, tiring of watching the muggle cower in one corner while Bellatrix glared distastefully on the far side of the room.
At his prompt, Bellatrix began to divest herself of her clothing. When she stood nude, nipples already stiff from the coldness of the room, she beckoned to the muggle.
The muggle stared at her, but did not move.
Bella stalked across the room with an impatient sigh. Upon reaching the muggle, she grabbed the collar of his jacket and pulled his face close to hers.
"Enjoy it while you can," she sneered at the muggle, before kissing him.
The muggle enjoyed her kiss for a brief moment before griping a handful of her hair and yanking her head back. He glanced quickly at Tom, fearful. But when Tom made no move to stop him or said anything, he turned his attention back to the woman before him. He squeezed Bella's breasts crudely, as a farmer might milk a cow's udders.
Bella neither protested nor struggled, which the muggle took as permission to be as rough as he liked. He pinched and prodded and slapped, and finally pushed her onto the floor.
She was so adept at the Cruciatus Curse that she could perform it without a wand. She had only to utter one word and the muggle would scream and writhe in agony. But she accepted his abuse and kept her gaze on her Lord.
When the muggle laid panting atop her, his foul seed tainting her, Tom felt a warmth he'd never felt before. She had done this for him, performed an imitation of that vile act that had brought him into the world.
"Avada Kedavra."
There was a flash of green light, and then Bella was squirming out from under the body.
Tom rose from his chair and extended his hands towards Bella, helping her to her feet. He used the strongest charms he knew to cleanse her body even as he marveled at the feelings of corruption inside her. He helped her into her black robes, then he embraced her. She was his.
Failure had never pleased him before.