Whispers in the Shadows

Sun, 03 May 2026 07:04:37 +0000

The days blurred into a haze of silence after the funeral. The grand mansion, once a symbol of Mr. Malfoy’s unyielding power, now felt like a tomb—cold marble floors echoing with Harry’s soft footsteps, vast rooms filled with ghosts of a life she never chose. At 25, she was a widow, her beauty a cruel irony in the emptiness. Her white skin seemed paler in the dim light filtering through heavy curtains, her pink lips often pressed together in quiet resignation. She wandered the halls in her signature tiny outfits—a sheer white tank top that clung to her massive breasts, the fabric translucent where her milk had leaked through earlier, paired with a micro-skirt that barely skimmed the curve of her plump ass. Her flat stomach peeked out, a testament to her youthful vitality, and beneath it all, her pink fat pussy throbbed with unmet needs, hidden but always present in her mind.