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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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 Posted: Sun Oct 11, 2015 11:40 am
Come laugh away who you are and get down;
Who you are, who we are, now you're found.
To the sun or the bears or the guns...
We taking all our vows with your frown!
Come on, get down, make a mess, make a bow-
Come get down, mighty youth, here and now.
So come on honey, cut yourself to pieces!  V I O L A N T E
F A Y E
L I L L A N T I N E
Slytherin │ Fourth Year │ Pureblood │ Adopted
Vio supposed that one of the downsides to having a home connected to the Floo Network was that literally anyone with your address could get into your home from somewhere else. Then again, most people probably had all sorts of charms and spells in place to stop intruders with bad intentions. Vio's intentions were pure. Mostly. She'd written Anti this morning inquiring very innocently what members of the Lillantine clan were likely to be home today, and was delighted to read that Uncle Callius would be at work, as always, Aunt Desdemona would be out visiting friends (what friends her aunt had she couldn't even begin to imagine), and Vander would probably be at the Averys', visiting his fiancee.
Vio suspected there was less 'visiting' going on over there and more 'furiously snogging in between arguments', but if the Averys' were stupid enough to leave Vander and Wendy alone without chaperones, what did they expect? The only ones that ought to be home today were Anti, Cy, and the house elves. She stepped out from the ridiculously grandiose fireplace in the parlor, brushing ash off her blouse and shorts, and smiled politely at a house elf scrubbing the floor. "Hello Florrie." The elf gave her a hostile stare that said quite clearly 'I know what you're up to', and Vio walked past her and into the foyer. "Anti!" she called, and was rewarded with the sound of footsteps. Anti stood at the top of the stairs, as thin and pale as always, her hair in a thick, ropy braid.
"You came," she observed curiously. "I was't sure if you would." She walked down the stairs slowly, one hand tightly gripping the banister. "What's this about, Vio?"
Vio put a finger to her lips, and muttered, "Little pitchers have big ears." Anti looked blank at the unfamiliar idiom, and the blonde rolled her eyes, grabbing her by the hand. "Let's talk upstairs. Where's Cy?" Anti shrugged as the two made their way up the stairs together, unsuccessfully trying her worm her hand out of Vio's tight grip. The other girl didn't release her hand until they were in Anti's room, with the door shut. Vio leaned against it for good measure, and informed the Ravenclaw, "I'm kidnapping you." She looked very pleased with herself.
Anti looked vaguely irritated. "No. I'm not getting in trouble because you want to run wild all over muggle London- Actually, every time I so much as speak to you, it's somehow my fault," she snapped.
Vio blinked several times. "Is something bothering you?" Anti was usually not in a good mood, but she'd never seen her this visibly upset before.
"No," Anti said tensely. "But you think everything is just fun and games but you don't have to live here." She looked around her room, exhaling, and Vio did similarly.
"Very white in here. Nice chandelier," she commented, glancing up at it.
"Thank you," Anti said more calmly. "You can stay here until everyone else comes back, but I'm not going anywhere. Vander's finally left me alone because he's always with Wendy, Mother and Father have been too busy to bother with me, and Cy... He spends all his time out in the gardens. I'm not going to ruin everything just because-,"
"Have you left this house since you came home from Hogwarts?" Vio interjected in a bored tone. Judging by the look Anti gave her, she judged the answer to be a 'no'. "Then that's that. We're going to go out and actually have some fun. I'm worried about you. You can't let them dictate every facet of your life; they're not even here."
"You have no idea," Anti began angrily, then fell silent. "Your aunt and uncle just let you do whatever you want?" Her tone was practically saturated with envy.
Vio rolled her eyes. "They both work hospital shifts. They're not there to stop me. Everyone else has moved out. You're my cousin. We never get to spend any time together during the year, and when we see each other over the summer your parents are breathing down our necks."
She smiled faintly. "We Lillantine girls have to stick together, right?" The Slytherin reached over and squeezed the other girl's hand.
Anti looked down at her feet for a second, then sighed. "Fine. You have to promise I won't get in trouble."
Vio laughed, "Okay, I promise-,"
No," Anti snapped. "Swear it. I'm serious."
Vio let go of her hand and raised her own in an expression of surrender. "I swear you won't get in trouble over this. Trust me."
The dark haired girl studied her face for a moment before nodding. "Where are we going?"
"London." Vio opened the door and gasped. Cy had been standing right in front of it. His boots were caked in dirt, and his hands were filthy; he'd obviously been outside doing something. Vio had forgotten how tall he was for his age; he was probably nearly 5'2", and he was only twelve. Consequently, he didn't have to look up at them to smile nearly as far as he had in the past.
"You're going to London?" he asked innocently enough, and Anti groaned quietly behind Vio, whose expression remained neutral.
"Anti, do Mother and Father know you're going?" Cy asked, his smile widening a fraction. He got a cold stare in response and broke into snickers. "Oh. Okay, I see. This is like a secret, right? No one's supposed to know?"
Vio's contact with Cy had always been limited, him being two years younger, and while she didn't exactly dislike him, she didn't trust him. At all. "We'll bring you something back if you don't tell anyone," she suggested calmly.
He shook his head. "No, I want to come. I never get to go anywhere. Anti, you can't leave me here all alone! What would Mother say when I tell her?" The look in his eyes was especially smug, and Vio wasn't about to let a twelve year old ruin all her careful planning. She pulled out her wand and very quickly backed him into a wall with her forearm across his throat. Cy looked shocked until his back hit the paneling, and then his eyes lit up with fury like a fire had just started.
"Here's the deal, Cyrus," she said sweetly. "You're not going to tell Aunt Desdemona or Uncle Callius or Vander or anyone where we went or that we even went anywhere. Because if you do, what I'll do to you won't be very funny at all." Her wand was uncomfortably close to his left eye and he flinched reflexively. Vio let him go, stowing her wand away as he looked at her silently. "If you ever try to threaten us again, I won't bother with a warning," she said casually. "Let's go, Anti." She led the girl down the hall and down the stairs, feeling Cy's gaze boring into her back the entire time. Come on honey, give yourself completely-
And do it all though you can't believe it.
Youth don't know, youth knows no pain!
Come together and join the parade...
And get back walk on lost in the trade.
With the plants and the shimmering beats;
With the wind in my hair, you're free.
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Posted: Thu Dec 31, 2015 9:00 pm
Made something better, he kept it for himself.
I'm not that stupid, I just need a lot of help-
To understand how stupid you really are.
Down at the bottom of the ocean, I lay down;
Nobody's coming; just continue to drown.
And no one here could ever stop my ruin now.
And I know I've got a lot to fear; you'll get me out...
Oh, God, just get me out of here.  α и т ı g ø и e
¢ α š š ı ø ρ e ı α
ł ı ł ł α и т ı и e
яανeи¢łαω │ fıfтн чeαя │ ρυяeвłøøđ │ še¢øиđ вøяи
Anti knew something was, if not wrong, at least odd, the second she saw her door. It was open. Not a lot, but enough to be just barely noticeable from the end of the hall, and Anti had not survived fifteen years in this house without noticing things almost immediately, or facing the consequences. The urge to break into at least a fast walk hit her like a wave of anxiety, but she forced herself to continue at a more plodding pace. If someone had been in her room- and it could have been anyone, really- the chances that they were still in there were significant. And while Anti was not quite terrified of her family, she had not trusted them for a very long time, and she didn’t want to walk in on whomever it might be and catch them off guard. She thought about pulling out her wand, but dismissed the thought. If one of her parents caught her with her wand out she’d be in so much trouble that she didn’t even want to think about it, and if it was one of her brothers a wand wouldn’t be much help either. Vander preferred to settle things with his fists, despite disdaining what seemed like almost everything muggle, and Cy would snitch. It was just what he did. So Anti ignored the thudding of her heart, and reached her door. She gently pushed on it, and it swung open with a quiet groan. First she scanned her room; everything was as she had left it, and there were no signs of disarray. Maybe one of the house elves had just been in to clean, and forgotten to properly close the door.
But the house elves in their house forgot nothing, and Anti knew it, especially as she turned her gaze to the floor. Her brow wrinkled in confusion, which was understandable, because there were quite a few feathers on the floor, silvery grey, like Ismene’s. But Ismene ought to be in her cage. She should be sleeping; it was the middle of the day, and a bright, sunny one at that, filtering in through Anti’s sheer curtains, casting soft shadows across the room. She curiously took a few steps forward, picking up one of the feathers and rolling it over in her fingers. Then she stopped, because there were reddish brown splotches on it, like paint, but there was no paint kept in this house, and certainly not in her room. Her parents, after all, were not the biggest condoners of ‘creativity’ and ‘self expression’. Then several gears clicked into place and her mind, and Anti realized she thought it was paint because she desperately wanted it to be paint, and dropped the feather rather abruptly. Her fingertips looked rusty. She took another step, one hand on the edge of her bed now, as if worried she might trip, and looked over at the floor on the side of her bed not visible from the door. If she had screamed, it would have made sense, because what was waiting there for her was a bit of a mess. “Oh,” Anti whispered, and then gasped as if sucker punched. “Oh, oh, Ismene, oh no, please.”
She folded as if her strings had been cut and sank to her knees at the side of her bed, rocking back and forth. “No,” Anti whimpered, and reached a shaking hand towards the mess, than thought better of it and ripped it back. “Please move,” she whispered, and it was such a childish, silly thing to say that a surge of white hot hate tore through what felt like her heart, directed at herself. Something vile was bubbling up in the back of her throat, and wondering if she was about to vomit, she pushed off the bed and away from the mess, her back to it, on her hands and knees on the floor. Anti retched twice, and nothing came up, except a wild sob that sounded more like a laugh of disbelief than anything else. She stayed on her hands and knees like that, staring at the floorboards, and the feathers scattered across them, for at least a minute or two. Then Anti coughed, inhaled quickly, and lurched to her feet. She felt as if she had been torn out of her body, and was now rising above it, watching what was going on below dispassionately. It was very easy and simple to do so. That was not her owl or an owl or even an animal or a dead thing. It was a mess on the floor someone had made and then not bothered to clean up.
She took a jerky step forward, feeling like a puppeteer from above trying to control her awkward, uncooperative body, but once she got the hang of walking she was striding forward, almost skipping, really, and then running. Anti never ran anywhere, but it was not hard. You simply propelled your legs forward. She raced through the door and down the hall, but not towards the stairs. Instead she reached the end of the hall, and slowed to a halt as if frozen for one moment, then took a light step up to the nursery door. Anti and her siblings had not played together in the nursery for at least five years now, if not more. They were not children once they were old enough to attend Hogwarts, at least not according to their parents. The nursery was supposed to be locked up, and their toys put away. But Anti knew someone who still played in there. She turned the knob and the door slipped open, too easily. She saw Cy immediately, and she did not know what she had expected. For him to be hiding? Where? There was nowhere to hide in here. He was right there, lying on the stomach on the floor, carefully lining up dominos. He glanced up at her with curious eyes. She thought he was about to ask: ‘What is it, Anti?’ She had almost predicted it, really.
But Cy didn’t ask that; instead he propped himself up on his elbows, smiled, and asked, “Did you see it?”
“What,” Anti blurted out, and suddenly she wasn’t floating above her body, she was sucked back into it and trapped inside a cage of flesh and bone. She dug her nails into her palms, because pain provided clarity, because if she hadn’t learned that by now she hadn’t learned anything, and asked again, more clearly, “What?”
Cy wrinkled his nose as if smelling something bad and sat up. “You didn’t see it?” He sounded upset. “You didn’t go in? I left it right there!”
“I- Ismene,” she said, tonelessly. “Did you-,”
He jumped to his feet faster than she thought him capable of, and brushed off the knees of his trousers irritably, palms caked with dust, and…. and pockmarked, as if scratched and poked at with something sharp. Anti stared at them in helpless fascination, before she caught up with what he was saying.“-else would have?” Cy was looking at her out of the corner of his eye with an oddly hopeful expression. “What, did you think it could have been Vander? He hates owls, like he’d ever get close enough to… well, you know.” He slashed a finger across his own slender throat and shrugged amiably. “I kinda get why you liked it so much. It was a pretty bird, up close. The feathers... shone. Can feathers shine? Probably, right? Anyways, I took one, for a keepsake. You don’t mind, do you?”
What had started off as an annoyed, indignant declaration was quickly becoming lighthearted chatter, and all Anti could was stare at him, try to search his eyes for any sign of… well, anything. Had it been Vander, she would have looked for rage, paranoia… With Cy, what did you look for? What did you hope to see? Regret? Fear? He had never been more unafraid, more content. So for a few precious seconds, Anti stared at him the way she stared at a particularly difficult riddle, and was not angry or afraid, but perplexed. But then she caught a glimpse on the marks on his hands again and she gritted her teeth together and asked, “Why?” It sounded emotionless, and maybe that was for the best, because Cy looked let down, as if someone had just burst his bubble.
“You humiliated me- you and Vio,” he said in outrage, as if in disbelief over her failure to see this. “You didn’t have to be so mean about it. You acted like I was just a little kid,” he accused, taking a step towards her. The height distance between them kept shrinking. Soon he would be as tall, if not taller. “You’re always whispering about things, the two of you. You tell her things about me, I know you do. But you used to stick up for me. Remember all the times you told Vander to leave me alone? You don’t like me anymore.” For a split second he looked genuinely hurt, and so upset about it that she could see herself, a different Anti in a different scenario, hugging him, her little brother, because that was what he was. He was only thirteen.
And then the line of his mouth split into a grin like it had been ripped open at the seams, and Cy said, “So I guess I just don’t like you.” He looked at her with that sick little smile and she looked at him with a sound like the ringing in her ears, except this time it was screaming so loudly she could barely think or breathe, and he, growing bored with this lack of a reaction, nudged the line of dominoes with the toe of his shoe. They click clacked their way down the line, toppling over, one after another, until the last one wavered and finally fell. Anti watched it, paralyzed.
“Anti,” Cy sounded a bit impatient now. “What are you going to do? Should we tell Mother what I did? I sort of want to tell her. Or- no, we should tell Father. I want to see his face. We could tell Vander to go look; that’d be funny, right? I think it would. Come on, Anti-,” and here his tone grew even more innocent and childish, “What are you going to do?”
Anti didn’t feel paralyzed anymore. On the contrary, she felt perilously free. She backhanded him across the face so hard his head seemed to snap to the side and he staggered, and when he did regain his balance, looked at her in surprise, nose dripping blood onto his very white shirt. Anti didn't pause for breath; she shoved him, hard, and he instinctively grabbed her arms to stop himself from falling and brought her down with him. But he landed on his back and Anti on her hands and knees, and so she scrambled forward, landing a punch that glanced off his glasses and left them askew on his face. Cy, if not yet as tall as her, was certainly as strong as her, but he didn’t hit back, or even try to push her away. He let every hit land, the wild ones that probably hurt Anti more than him, and the more solid ones. No one had ever taught Anti how to punch and kick and hit, but you learned a surprising amount when your older brother’s go to method of showing how upset he was with you or with the world in general was smacking you around. Anti knew, in a textbook definition sort of way, how to hold her fist and where to hit, but in a completely different sort of way realized exactly why Vander hurt other people and why he was usually calmer afterwards.
She had never felt stronger, more secure in her life than she did when she knocked her younger brother to the floor and struggled to her feet to kick at him again and again and again. She had never felt any sort of power at all, and it was intoxicating. So this is what it’s like, was all she could think. Why couldn’t it always be like this? Why hadn’t she ever done anything like this before? Anti felt as though she could have kept this up for hours with every solid connection of her foot with his prone figure, but her mother’s screech of fury cut through the triumphant haze in her head, and then someone had wrapped an arm around her waist and bodily dragged her away from Cy, who was curled up in a ball on the floor, sobbing. She screamed then, and fought harder than she had ever fought before, struggling to get out of Vander’s grip, but he was still stronger than he looked, and held fast as she thrashed and shrieked, “Let go of me! Get off!” Anti slammed her feet down on his again and again, and he swore and shook her hard enough to make her jaw click together, but didn’t hit her, which was what she had been expecting.
Her mother was bent over Cy, and all she saw of him was his blond hair and the blood on his shirt. “Can you stand?” Mother demanded, and he shook his head, whimpering.
He said something, but all Anti heard of it was “-Mother,” before she jerked against Vander’s grip again.
“Let go!”
“Stop it!” he snapped, digging his fingers into her arms hard enough to leave marks, but he sounded half frightened, while she felt as though she had never been better. Her mother straightened up, dragging Cy up to his feet with her.
He trembled like a leaf, and Desdemona led him, crying and limping, out of the room, hissing to Vander, “Do. Not. Let go of her.”, as she went.
Vander let go of Anti as soon as their mother was out of sight, probably more out of spite than concern, and she was surprised to see how shaken he looked. His wild eyes flitted from the scattered dominos and blood speckled rug to her, and he opened his mouth to speak, but seemed to not be able to find any words to say. Anti had never seen her older brother speechless before. “Your knuckles are bleeding,” he finally muttered, gesturing limply at them, and Anti looked down in surprise. On both of her hands the skin over her knuckles was split, and her fingers were slick and wet with blood.
“Oh,” she said, and wiped them on her skirt while he grimaced.
After at least a minute of silence between them their mother returned. Desdemona was rarely angry, at least not like this, when she looked so mad she could spit, but now her eyes were molten glass. “What,” she hissed, “Was that?” She turned on Vander, “When I tell you to do something, you do it; you don’t stand there gaping like the village idiot.”
Vander seemed to have regained most of his speech functions. “You don’t tell me what to do,” he sneered back. “I’m your son, not a bloody house elf- who do you think you are? Father?” he mocked.
“Your mother,” she almost screamed, and Anti had never seen Mother’s composure fracture like this. “Your mother, you moronic, spoiled little worm of a boy.”
“Really? My mother? Oh, you’ve decided to be our mother now? You can’t even control your son!” Vander was fury incarnate for a few precious seconds, and he looked about to go for his wand. Anti almost wished he would. At least then she wouldn’t be the only one in trouble.
“Neither of them, it seems!” Desdemona shrieked him down, and added in a dangerously calmer tone, “Or my daughter, apparently. My children have decided to behave like wild animals-,”
“HE KILLED ISMENE!” Anti had been ticking like a countdown clock, and now it was just too much. She went off. “HE KILLED MY OWL! AND YOU LET HIM! YOU ALWAYS LET HIM!”
“I did not let him do anything, you little savage,” Mother snapped, whirling on her. “Keep your mouth shut while I’m speaking or I swear to Morgana I will sew it shut.” She turned back to Vander. “Out. Get out.”
He was almost shaking with rage. “I’m going to be head of this family, you can’t-,”
“Out,” she pulled her wand on him, which Anti didn’t think she’d ever had to do before, and he stared at her hatefully before stalking out of the room. The nursery lapsed into silence again. Anti’s upper arms stung from where Vander’s fingers had been. What had just happened began to catch up with her, and her breath hitched in her throat when her mother finally spoke again. “I wish you hadn’t done that.” She still sounded furious, but at least her wand wasn’t pointed at anything in particular. “Do you have any notion of- Antigone, you could have beaten him unconscious.”
Anti said nothing, just looked at her. Desdemona pressed her long fingers to her temple and murmured what sounded like a prayer but Anti knew was a curse under her breath. “I thought you understood,” Mother said after a moment. “How things work in this house.” Anti was mute. “It’s a delicate balance,” she continued in a strained tone, “And if you keep tipping and tipping the scales they are going to break.”
“That’s not fair,” Anti whispered. “It’s Cy. You know it is.”
“What have I always told you?” her mother replied viciously. “Life is rarely fair-,”
Or forgiving, Anti finished it in her head.
“And if you expect anyone, least of all your brothers, to ever take the fall when push comes to shove you are sorely mistaken. I am trying to teach you what the rest of your life will be like. And this- this little outburst- this is only going to make things more difficult for you. And for me,” she added in a savage afterthought.
“Father won’t- he doesn’t care about Cy-,” she said weakly. “He won’t-,”
“You stupid, silly girl,” Mother cut her off sharply. “Do you think it will be about Cy when it comes down to it? Do you think that’s what this is going to end up being about? Cy getting hurt? No, it’s going to be about you stepping out of your place. Do you think he’ll just let this go the way he would if it were Vander who’d done it? Gods, I wish he’d done it.” Anti dropped her gaze to the pastel rug and focused on the dark red spots. “Go to your room,” her mother said. “I’ll come get you later.”
“Ismene’s in there,” Anti whispered.
“One of the elves will come clean it up. Go.” Nobody's daughter, she never was, she never will-
Be beholden to anyone she cannot kill!
You don't understand how damaged we really are.
You don't understand how evil we really are.
And I will dig my own grave, yeah...
I'm misbegotten; I am the last one you save here.
Of course I'll sleep forever and forever;
Anesthetize all your horrors away.
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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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Posted: Fri Jan 01, 2016 9:14 am
Made something better, he kept it for himself.
I'm not that stupid, I just need a lot of help-
To understand how stupid you really are.
Down at the bottom of the ocean, I lay down;
Nobody's coming; just continue to drown.
And no one here could ever stop my ruin now.
And I know I've got a lot to fear; you'll get me out...
Oh, God, just get me out of here. α и т ı g ø и e
¢ α š š ı ø ρ e ı α
ł ı ł ł α и т ı и e
яανeи¢łαω │ fıfтн чeαя │ ρυяeвłøøđ │ še¢øиđ вøяи
When Mother came to get her she said nothing; she silently slipped into the room and approached the bed where Anti sat in the exact center, staring straight at the wall, her legs tucked up under her. “You couldn’t be bothered to wash up and change your clothes?” Desdemona snapped, surveying her critically with a look Anti was very used to, which said, ‘why do you insist on making my life difficult’. If her mother’s life was difficult, Anti was fairly sure she was the least responsible for it, out of everyone in this family, but she kept that to herself.
“What difference would it make,” she said dully, and her mother’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t play the martyr. It doesn’t suit you. You have too much of my look now; believe me, I’ve tried it,” she retorted. “Get off that bed. You have about fifteen seconds to attempt to look as remorseful and pitiful as possible from here to your father’s study. I’d suggest crying.”
Anti silently slid off the bed and onto the floor. It seemed too hard under her feet; her knees wavered. Desdemona waited impatiently for her to regain her balance. Anti couldn’t bring herself to look over on the other side of the bed, where Ismene had been. She was not there any longer; she didn’t know what Flory had done with the body. She hoped it wasn’t burning somewhere. She was convinced she’d be able to smell it, and she thought she really might be sick then. The blood on her raw knuckles was dried and cracking. She resisted the urge to pick at it; it felt premature to erase all traces of it from her. Part of her, she admitted in the darkest pit of her mind, wanted Father to see. She wanted him to know what she’d done, and that she wasn’t sorry, and that she’d do it again if given the chance.
However, Father wasn’t very big on second chances, so Anti doubted that would be happening. Truthfully, she was trying desperately to experience what she had felt before; that out of her body, distant feeling, like she wasn’t even in control, just watching everything that happened numbly. But she was firmly grounded in reality right now, to her dismay, because she had the feeling reality was not going to be very pleasant. Father’s study was a place Anti could recall being in maybe twice before in her entire life. Vander was called in whenever Father wanted to discuss something, but she was the girl and not really worth discussions, nor was Cy, the spare, so generally anything Father wanted to tell her was communicated through Mother, and anything Father wanted to tell Cy was communicated through contemptuous comments over the dinner table. It really made meal times a joy, she reflected.
Vander was there too, and this was somewhat reassuring. Only somewhat, because he was sitting down in a chair, which she supposed was a special privilege granted to smug sixteen year old heirs. Except he looked wary, not smug. He hadn’t looked smug in the presence of Father for a while now. Anti suspected he had never quite forgiven Father for arranging his betrothal and neglecting to tell him until he came home for the summer, even if you wouldn’t catch Vander complaining about it now. Father was seated as well and then stood up, and it was less of gentlemanly courtesy at the sudden presence of his wife and daughter and more, Anti supposed, of a power play, because while she was tall for fifteen and Mother was a tall woman, Father was still taller. Mother removed the hand she’d placed on Anti’s shoulder and Anti expected her to leave, but she didn’t. She stepped off to the side, clearly putting herself in a spectator position to whatever was about to happen, but she didn’t leave, and Father seemed vaguely irritated by this, but not enough to tell her to go.
And then he was back to looking at her and Anti kept her eyes on his desk. “Well,” he finally said. “We had a bit of an incident today, didn’t we?” This question was not nearly as amused as it could have been. In fact, it was not amused at all. On the scale of amusement, it was about the level of amusement found at a funeral. This did not give Anti a lot of hope for the rest of the conversation. He was clearly expecting her to answer, and Anti was perceptive enough to know when to drop ‘Father’ and pick up ‘sir’.
“Yes sir,” she said very quietly, and wondered how to go about sounding guilty.
“Explain to me exactly why you found it necessary to beat your younger brother into a bloody pulp.” He sounded angry, but not in a protective fury sort of way, the way a normal father might feel after someone had hurt his child, even if it had been another one of his children. Father sounded angry the way someone would if they came home to find a stray dog had gotten into their house and wrecked all of the furniture.
“He killed my owl.” She felt as if this excuse might not hold the water the way it would have in other families. She was right.
“He killed your owl,” Father echoed in a voice of disbelief. “So you flew into a blind rage and decided to try to kill him, is that it?”
“I wasn’t trying to kill him.” Anti wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth.
“Really? Your mother says you nearly cracked a few of his ribs.”
She wondered where her mother’s experience with cracked ribs came from, and decided it was best not to think about it. “I didn’t mean to.” This, she knew for sure was a lie. Unfortunately, Father seemed to know that as well.
“I don’t particularly care what you meant to do,” Father snapped, and she was certain her bordering on flat tone was what had just set him off. Mother had been right. She ought to have cried. “You were raised better than this,” he continued, and then, as if seeing her for the first time, said sharply, “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” Anti looked at him and blinked hard, trying to get her eyes to water. She was normally good at this. Why wasn’t it working now? “You’re covered in his blood, like some animal,” Callius sneered. “Is that what you want to behave like? An animal? Do you want to be treated like an animal, then?” Seeing as her father saw a child killing a pet about the same way one might see a child breaking a toy; annoying, but not a cause for great concern, Anti suspected that no, she did not want to be treated like an animal.
“No, sir,” she said, but it didn’t seem to have appeased him much.
“You were raised to behave in a certain manner. I overlooked your sorting-,” Anti flinched. If anything had been overlooked by Father, her sorting had not been it. “Because I was certain your good breeding would overcome it.” His lip curled. “But I see now I was wrong. It’s made you defiant-,”
What if he doesn’t let me go back to Hogwarts, she suddenly thought in a panic. He could pull her out. He might. And she might never leave this house again until she was married. The tears came then. “No,” she said desperately, “No, it hasn’t, I swear it hasn’t. I was stupid and childish but nothing like this will ever happen again, please-,”
“Be quiet,” Father said, and he didn’t have to even raise his voice. He wasn’t looking at her anymore; he was looking at Vander, who straightened even more in his seat, if that was possible. “Get up,” he told him, and Vander stood up immediately. “Is your sister defiant?” he asked him, and Anti watched, sniffling as pathetically as possible, whatever it took. Vander glanced at her, and the look in his eyes was as if he was on the tracks and could see the train barreling towards him. “Don’t look at her, look at me,” Callius snarled, and Vander averted his gaze back to their father.
“No,” he said in a very low tone, as if regretting it the moment it left his tongue.
“She’s not defiant.” Father nodded as if it all made sense now. “And that’s why you had to drag her off of your brother, kicking and screaming.”
Vander’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “She didn’t even hear me,” he said quickly. “She was completely mad, I- she didn’t know what she was doing. She stopped once she realized.” Anti could have counted the number of times Vander had ever lied for her on one hand, and she looked at him with genuine shock now. It might have been heartwarming, if not for the fact that Vander was a terrible liar.
“You never seem to have had any problems getting her to listen to you before,” Father went on sarcastically, as if Anti was not there and could not hear what they were saying. “So this change is a bit disturbing, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Anti was-,” Vander started, and Father snapped, “Enough.” Vander very slowly closed his mouth. “Enough with these ridiculous nicknames you’ve insisted on giving to one another,” he said derisively. “You’re not children. You will call each other by your given names, and if you can’t manage that, I’m sure ‘Brother’ and ‘Sister’ will suffice.”
“Yes, sir.” Evander was studying the desk now, the way Anti had been.
“So back to the matter at hand,” Callius said more calmly. “Antigone seems to not want to listen to you anymore.” He said nothing of her not listening to her mother, and Anti knew this was because her obeying Desdemona was the least of his concerns right now. “Should I be concerned about you as well, Evander? Been softened by young love, have we?”
Anti watched the way he mocked his son, and the way her brother’s shoulders stiffened. “What was I supposed to do?” he muttered in a voice that was very close to sullen, and she wished he hadn’t done that, because now Father’s face darkened and he came around from behind the desk in two swift strides.
“Antigone, come here,” he said briskly, and she did, two small steps before she jerked to a stop like a windup toy. Callius hit her so fast she barely saw him move, and she made no sound except for a small gasp of surprise. He’d never struck her before, never struck any of them before, had always said they ought to be thankful he was their father and that their grandfather wasn’t still around. Anti felt as if she had coaxed him over some sort of line he had set at some point, but then wondered if he had casually stepped over it himself. Still, he didn’t look like he’d taken any pleasure in it. Evander always looked vaguely self-congratulatory after hitting her. Father looked almost exasperated, as if annoyed that she had pushed him to this. She barely moved, and was glad for that, just stood there, ascertaining that she was not in fact bleeding, and that the force behind it had been calculated to be hard enough to hurt very badly and leave a mark that she could already feel rising up, but not hard enough to do any serious or permanent damage. Father was looking past her at Evander, who she couldn’t see and didn’t hear any noise from. She wondered if he was speechless again. “Was that a sufficient demonstration?” Father asked him, and the response was silence. “Or do we need a practice run?” he continued, and Anti wondered if he was really going to make her brother hit her while he watched, and had to concentrate to not vomit all over her father’s shoes.
“Callius,” Mother said quickly before Evander could reply, and Father turned to look at her. “You’ve made your point. Send them to their rooms without supper and be done with it.” She seemed to be trying very hard to word what was an order like a bored suggestion, and Father seemed to know it.
“They’re not children anymore,” he said coldly. “They need to know what’s expected of them. Both of them. Clearly certain standards in this house have been lessened as of late. I can only imagine who’s to blame. We’ll have to discuss it, won’t we?” Desdemona returned his frigid stare for a long moment, and then looked away. “You,” he was staring hard at Anti now; “Will behave as befits your breeding, starting now, and you will never defy your betters like this again. Apologize for acting this way in my house.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered meekly, and realized her tears had dried up already in wet tracks on her face.
“Give me your wand.” She stared at him.“Antigone.” Callius was rapidly losing patience, and she brought it out, the hand holding it shaking. He took it from her. “You obviously can’t be trusted to have access to magic in your current state.” He put it in a drawer in his desk and locked it, and Anti watched with the sinking feeling that she was not going to get it back for a good, long while. “And you,” Father looked at Evander, “Will start acting like a proper heir and not allow this sort of nonsense to occur in my absence. You are sixteen. You’re not a boy anymore. I expect you to act like a man. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” he said blankly. Anti chanced a glance at him, and his face was as empty as his tone, which was unusual for her brother. It was as if he had finally found the switch to turn everything off.
Father regarded Mother now as if she were a third disobedient child. “You’re not to give Cyrus anything else for the pain.”
She stared and took half a step forward, and but seemed wary of outright challenging Father right now. That, Anti reflected, was probably wise. “He’s thirteen; you can’t expect him to-,”
“The last thing I need to deal with on top of everything else is him developing a dependency on the potions because you’ve been overzealous. You know you have a tendency to coddle him.” He explained it as if impatiently trying to communicate something very important to a toddler.
“Callius-,” she tried again, in a more placating tone, and Anti recognized the frustrated expression on her face.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.” Father was striding back behind his desk and sitting down, looking over the three of them standing before him. “Go to your rooms. Desdemona, stay.” Anti left, one side of her face still stinging in pain, Evander silently following, closing the door behind them. Nobody's daughter, she never was, she never will-
Be beholden to anyone she cannot kill!
You don't understand how damaged we really are.
You don't understand how evil we really are.
And I will dig my own grave, yeah...
I'm misbegotten; I am the last one you save here.
Of course I'll sleep forever and forever;
Anesthetize all your horrors away.
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Posted: Fri Jan 01, 2016 12:08 pm
Made something better, he kept it for himself.
I'm not that stupid, I just need a lot of help-
To understand how stupid you really are.
Down at the bottom of the ocean, I lay down;
Nobody's coming; just continue to drown.
And no one here could ever stop my ruin now.
And I know I've got a lot to fear; you'll get me out...
Oh, God, just get me out of here. α и т ı g ø и e
¢ α š š ı ø ρ e ı α
ł ı ł ł α и т ı и e
яανeи¢łαω │ fıfтн чeαя │ ρυяeвłøøđ │ še¢øиđ вøяи
Anti was currently lying on her side on her bed and staring out her window, which was what she had been doing for the last several hours, watching the summer afternoon fade into dusk, and the sky darken into night, and the stars and moon gradually come into view. She loved looking at the stars when she was at Hogwarts, in the Ravenclaw Tower. It was so high up she might as well have been in the heavens there, and once, when she was eleven, she'd seen a shooting star streak across the sky and she'd wished so hard for things to be better. Things hadn't gotten better, not really, but that was because a shooting star was not fate or destiny or anything beckoning to her, it was just a meteoroid entering the atmosphere and becoming a meteor. And a meteor was just a rock traveling at a high velocity through space. It didn't mean anything, it couldn't do anything, it wasn't magic. It wasn't going to help her. No one was going to help her. There wasn't going to be any dramatic rescue from her pathetic life, no one was going to tell her father or her mother 'no', and no one was going to make Evander and Cyrus stop being Evander and Cyrus.
There was only her, and Anti didn't think she was enough. She wasn't strong. Someone who was strong would have fought back a long time ago. Someone who was strong wouldn't let their father make them apologize for their brother killing their owl. She was weak, and stupid, and weak and stupid people probably deserved what they got. The only time she hadn't been weak and stupid was when she was hurting Cyrus, and she hadn't even gotten that right. Her cheek still hurt, and her stomach hurt, because she was hungry. She hadn't been let out for dinner, not that she had expected them to all sit down for a meal as a family after what had just happened. They had never been a family, anyways. Families didn't- she didn't think families did what they did to each other. She tried to think, but she kept arguing with herself in her head. If she did what she was told and didn't make Father or Mother angry, everything might be alright. She would get her wand back at the end of the summer, and they would let her go back for her fifth year, and she could just avoid her brothers like the plague, as she had been doing for the past four years, and it might be alright. But it might not be alright. When Anti had given Father her wand she'd been half convinced he was about to break it, and if he did, if she hadn't gone mad already, she thought she might really lose it then. Her wand, her magic, was her freedom.
Regardless of her house and her failings and the way her family looked at her, she was still a witch. Her blood was just as pure as theirs. She was a witch and she was a good witch at that. But if they took that away- if they took away her wand and Hogwarts- what would she be then? She wouldn't be a witch, she'd be a nothing with a name. She wasn't much right now, but at least she was something. Anti sat up. She needed to get her wand back, and she needed to get out of here. She didn't know where she was going to go- to Vio? Her aunt and uncle hated her family; they wouldn't be pleased to see her on their doorstep. But she... She couldn't stay here. But she couldn't leave without her wand. Anti stood up, pacing anxiously, and darted over to her dress, rummaging through one of the drawers. She came up with a metal bobby pin and glanced at her door. It was locked, but... She might be able to change that. The household was asleep, but she stealthily approached the door anyways, before dropping to her knees, bending the pin back with her fingers, squinting in the darkness. Now that she had one long piece of metal she slightly bent one end into a pick, and then shaped one end into a crude handle. She bent the pin into a lever at a right angle- she'd seen this in a book once.
A lock was made up of a barrel and pins, right? She inserted her makeshift pick and started turning it slightly in the way the knob was supposed to go for it to open. She gritted her teeth and began feeling for the pins in the lock with the pick, testing them gingerly one by one. Minutes ticked by in her head and for one of them she froze, convinced someone was in the hall outside. When she didn't hear anything else she resumed her work, and in just shy of ten minutes the lock gently clicked and she turned the knob, her breath lodged in her throat. The door opened. She hurriedly disentangled her pick and silently stepped out into the hall. Thank Merlin the portraits were asleep. If she got caught by paintings of dead relatives- better not to think about it. Anti crept down the hall, pausing for a moment outside her younger brother's bedroom door and listening. She heard nothing. She hoped the pain potions had worn off by now, and that he was suffering. Then she continued on her way. Father's study was at the end of the hall, and mercifully at the opposite end from her parents's bedroom. She wouldn't dare try this when they were sleeping mere feet away.
The door itself was rather plain, and the lock looked simple. If she could get out of her bedroom, she could get in here. She exhaled slowly and crouched down. Her fingers hurt and her knuckles were burning in the cool air. Her arms ached. But she had to do this. She could do it, she knew she could. She was clever. She adjusted the pick and prepared to insert it into the lock, but then caught something in the metallic reflection of the lock. A light. The hall had been dark- someone was there. She scrambled backwards and up in terror, and came almost face to face with her mother.
No no no no no- why hadn't she heard her? Her hand closed around the pick and she fought to not cry out. She'd been caught in the act. Mother was going to wake Father and- Desdemona had yet to say anything, her face illuminated by the soft glow from her wand. She looked younger, Anti thought, in the dark, without makeup, and though her mother was in her forties she could have passed for far younger in a nightgown and robe with her dark hair in a plain braid. The woman brought her finger up to her lips in a gesture for silence, and took Anti by the hand, something she hadn't done in years and years. Feeling her heart plummet into her stomach, Anti didn't even try to resist, but trudged after her, fully expecting her to summon Father, but she didn't.
Instead she led her to the stairs and down them, and into the parlor. "Sit down," she said calmly, and Anti sat, because what else could she do? She buried her shaking hands in her lap while her mother stoked up the fire, which had been nothing but embers and disappeared for a few moments only to swiftly return with a bottle and a glass. Mother proceeded to pour herself a drink, saying only, "This your father's best wine, but we won't tell him that, will we?" Anti looked at her as if she was speaking in a foreign language, completely at a loss for words. What was she doing? Why hadn't she gotten Father? What was this, some sort of cruel joke? Desdemona sat down in a chair herself, and stared at the glass in her hand before glancing over at her daughter. "Would you like some? You're old enough."
Anti was fairly certain she was not old enough, but shook her head all the same. "I-,"
Mother ignored her, taking a sip, her eyes on the fire. "Let's not play games; it's late, Antigone. I'm tired, but I suppose we should have had this chat a long time ago. I've been neglecting my duties as a mother, your father tells me." She exhaled and then continued in a slightly brighter but somehow grimmer tone, "Well, I won't have it said that I'm not receptive to criticism." Anti slid down a little in her seat, wishing desperately Mother would just get Father. At least he'd be quicker about it. This was like a spider toying with a fly. "Don't look so glum; I'm not going to tell him," Desdemona said as if it were obvious.
"You're... you're not?" Anti dared let some hope creep into her tone.
"If I'd wanted your father to know what you were up to, I would have let you set off the half dozen charms and enchantments on his door specifically designed to alert him to someone trying to break in." She rolled her eyes. "Come now, Antigone, for a clever girl you do behave very foolishly." Anti shifted a bit in her seat and said nothing, face burning. "I suppose you were trying to get your wand back. That's not so foolish- it's what I would have done." Mother made a small noise of approval that was somehow not very comforting at all. "Then, once I had it, I would have come down here, gotten the fire going, and flooed somewhere far, far away. Where my father wouldn't be able to find me. Maybe I'd cut my hair or go by a different name, and I'd wait until my seventeenth birthday and he couldn't do anything about it, and then maybe I'd finally be happy. Does that sound familiar?"
Anti kept her lips pressed firmly together and felt like crying, because yes, that did sound familiar. Very familiar. "Oh, Antigone," Desdemona sighed. "That's not how happiness works. You would have learned that sooner or later." She glanced up and met her mother's gaze. "You don't find happiness," Mother said simply. "You make it- you have to take what you have at your disposal and make it for yourself, because no one will give it to you and you will never find it no matter where you look for it. Do you understand?"
Her tone was not sharp or harsh but rather the tone a patient teacher used with a struggling student, and in spite of herself Anti was mesmerized. She had never been spoken to this gently before, not by Father and never by Mother. "When I was your age," Desdemona said, "I was already betrothed. And one day he told me something that upset me terribly and I tried to convince my father to break the engagement. And he laughed in my face and told me it wasn't my place to be protesting anything." Anti very rarely heard about her grandparents; neither Father nor Mother liked to talk about their parents, but the more she heard, whether it was true or not, the more relieved she was that they'd been dead before she was even born. She'd seen portraits of Titus Noctwell. His eyes were cruel.
Desdemona didn't allow the silence to go on for long, though it was broken by the crackling of the flames in the hearth. "I wish my mother had told me what I am telling you now. The world out there is not any less cold than this house. You may find it to be colder. Your father and your brothers are not special, or unique. There a million men and boys like them. If you do not learn how to handle them now you never will." She set her wine glass down and nodded to the fire. "You can go if you like. I won't stop you. But your father will find you. And if you think him a monster now, let me assure you that you haven't seen him truly angry yet." Her tone was almost bemused. Anti wavered, staring at the flames. She should get up and leave right now, but- "If you stay, I promise you you will get your wand back, and you will go back to school. And I will help you."
"Help me what?" Anti whispered.
"Help you cope," Mother said gently, and leaned in close to brush some of her daughter's hair away from her face. "We Lillantine women have to stick together, don't we?" She smelled like wine and roses and when she pulled Anti into an embrace she didn't pull away. She'd never been hugged by either of her parents like this before. Desdemona had never been this mothering, this maternal with her. It pulled on parts of Anti that had been craving this type of affection since the day she was born, and she buried her face in her mother's shoulder for a moment. Mother said nothing, just stroked her hair. "That's my girl." Nobody's daughter, she never was, she never will-
Be beholden to anyone she cannot kill!
You don't understand how damaged we really are.
You don't understand how evil we really are.
And I will dig my own grave, yeah...
I'm misbegotten; I am the last one you save here.
Of course I'll sleep forever and forever;
Anesthetize all your horrors away.
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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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Posted: Fri Jan 01, 2016 6:46 pm
I don’t know what I ever wanted...
You got a front, well, you better flaunt it.
Ate a piece of the devil’s body-
The face of the devil follows me.
Every day it feels like I’m running;
And I’m headed straight for the blaze!
And I can breathe when I’m underwater!
And I’m ready with a finger on the trigger!
 V I O L A N T E
F A Y E
L I L L A N T I N E
Slytherin │ Fifth Year │ Pureblood │ Adopted
Vio had been expecting to see her uncle's owl; she didn't think the Lillantines would waste much time trying to drag her in like some criminal for the terrible sin of acquiring a girlfriend over the last school year, but the letter had not been in Uncle Callius' writing, or even Aunt Desdemona's- rather it was in cramped script she quickly realized was Vander's, and she had to wonder why he was using his father's owl and not his sister's. But after skimming the letter, which was short, sour, and to the point, she hadn't wasted much time in flooing over. Her expression was that of a soldier set for battle, and seeing as Vander was sprawled in one of the parlor armchairs waiting for her, looking tired and anxious and generally angry, it didn't improve her expression or her mood.
"If you lied to me, you're going to regret it," she informed him coldly, without even waiting for him to speak first.
He scowled and stood up, running a hand through his newly cut hair. She supposed he must be trying a new look. "I wouldn't have owled you if I had any other choice."
"Oh, I'm touched," Vio sniped back, and they were barely out of the room when she demanded, "Where's Anti?", gaze traveling up the stairs.
"In her room, where do you think?" he retorted with a snort. "Did you think they'd be letting her have the run of the house after what happened?"
Vio stopped in her tracks, staring at him. "They're not home, are they?" Her tone rose slightly in accusation.
"Yes," he sneered. "This was all my clever scheme to get you here so they could scold you about your little girlfriend. No, they're not home, I'm not stupid."
Vio ignored him and took the stairs two at a time, Vander at her heels like a watchdog. "Where's Cyrus?" she asked once they reached the top.
Her cousin's face darkened. "His room. He's not supposed to be on his feet until he's 'fully healed'- he knows better than to come out when they're not here."
"He really did it, then?" She asked, her mouth folding into a thin line. "I thought he was a smug little brat with an angel face, I didn't think he was- psychotic or something."
"Oh, no more, 'your poor little brother, Vander, you monster?'" He mocked, and she spared him a disdainful look before they paused in front of a door. Vio immediately grasped the knob and tried to open it, but it was locked. She turned to stare at Vander.
"You're her interim jailer, then?" It was her turn to sound mocking, but it was laced with fury.
"She didn't want me to unlock it," he snarled. "She won't come out. Why do you think you're here?"
"She doesn't want to speak to you? I can't imagine why," Vio murmured sarcastically under her breath, before stepping right up against the door and knocking lightly. "Anti? I know you heard my voice. Let me in; I'll send Vander away."
Vander glared but said nothing. There was silence.
"Anti?" Vio tried again. "Please. Vander owled me about what happened. We can talk, just the two of us."
"I don't want to talk," a voice finally replied, and it sounded closer than expected, right on the other side of the door. Vio realize if she focused, she could hear the other girl breathing.
"Just let me see that you're alright. Please let me open the door," she cajoled, giving Vander a 'get lost' look, which he ignored, but did step back a bit. There was a quiet exhale of acceptance on the other side and Vio snatched the key from her cousin, swiftly unlocking it and yanking it open. Anti stood on the other side, and Vio took one look at her and whirled on Vander. She would have slapped him had he not had the reflexes, probably from Quidditch, she suspected, to grab her wrist and stop her.
"Have you gone mad too?" he snapped. "Merlin! What is wrong with the women in this family?!"
"Did you do that to her face?" she hissed, her pale eyes livid. "Do you think I don't know you can't keep your fists to yourself?"
He squeezed her wrist, hard, and then let it go in disgust. "I didn't do that."
"It was Father," Anti said quietly.
Vio stepped back from Vander, but not before giving him another searching look. He was staring at his feet. "He's hitting you too now? Anti..."
Anti sidestepped her attempts to inspect the faded mark. "It's going away. Stop it, Vio. He's not suddenly making a habit out of it." She was avoiding looking the blonde in the eyes.
Vio stepped into the room but stayed in the doorway, pointedly blocking Vander from entering. He seethed behind her but didn't try to force his way in. "You can't stay here," Vio argued. "Not with everything that's- Cyrus' insane, Callius has you locked up like an animal-,"
"Don't," Anti suddenly snapped, cutting her off abruptly. "Don't act as though they're your parents. As if you have any idea what it's like to live in this house."
Vio quieted and tried to regroup for another attack. "Anti you must see... this is beyond unhealthy. We can go right now and-,"
Now she was interrupted again, but this time by an irate Vander. "You can't just take her." He sounded like a child in danger of losing a plaything.
"Well, she's not staying here, that's certain," Vio replied fiercely. "With you and your disturbed parents and your lunatic brother!"
"Because Father and the b***h would just let her leave," he said sarcastically. "Right. They'd drag your aunt and the muggle into Ministry court for kidnapping."
"I don't think Ministry courts approve of child abuse either-,"
"I am right here," Anti said, and while her voice didn't rise there was a note to it that made both Vander and Vio very suddenly stop talking. "I am right here," Anti repeated, and then glanced from one of them to the other, before her gaze settled onto Vio and the Slytherin suddenly felt deeply uncomfortable. "I'm not going with you," she said calmly.
Vio stared. Was she insane? She was thin as a rail, paler than ghosts the blonde had encountered, and the shadows under her eyes said she certainly hadn't been getting much sleep. Was this because Anti was still angry with her? She could hardly bring it up now with Vander right there, but her eyes were pleading. "Anti, please-,"
A rapid storm of emotions flitted across her cousin's face before she composed herself. "Just go home, Vio."
"I'll tell my aunt and uncle." It was a last ditch effort, and a desperate threat, but Vio didn't see any cards left for her to play. She couldn't... she couldn't just leave her here like this, in this house.
"You can't," snarled Vander in outrage, "Do you have any- You can't," he echoed himself, seemingly bewildered as to why anyone would betray their family. For that Vio pitied him, but not enough to not want to hex him.
Anti said immediately, "If you tell them I will never speak to you again." She looked serious enough that Vio didn't doubt her, even if she felt sick. The two stared at each other for a moment in a silent battle of wills, before Vio reluctantly backed down. The three of them stood there in silence, before Vander broke it, to Vio's surprise.
"Your owl's out back," he said abruptly, and both girls looked at him. Vander shifted against the door frame, and scowled. "I buried it."
"You're lying," Anti accused, a bit tentatively.
"Really? Do I sound like I'm lying?" he snapped, looking almost embarrassed at this confession. "I got it off of Garvie that night."
"I want to see where she is," Anti said slowly, and the three trailed down the hall and down the stairs, out a side door and into the gardens, through the hedgerows to the edge of the property line, to a small dirt mound just before the slightly foreboding woods. There they stood, the breeze whipping at them, looking at it, and Anti sat down cross legged in front of it and looked as if she might cry, but never did. Vio sat down next to her after a moment, and Vander turned and walked back towards the house, his hands in his pockets and his eyes on the ground. Who’s that girl, who’s that girl?
She’s only special in secret...
And she’s got her own familiar spirits.
Something inside of her rises and she knows;
Destruction makes the world burn brighter.
When the wind takes 'em all, away from here-
When the sorrow is all gone, buried in the snow-
When the wolves howl their song, and the whole earth is done.
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Posted: Sun Apr 03, 2016 11:48 am
Down by the river, by the boats...
Where everybody goes to be alone...
Where you won't see any rising sun...
Down to the river we will run!
When by the water we drink to the dregs-
Look at the stones on the river bed.
I can tell from your eyes...
You've never been by the riverside.  α и т ı g ø и e
¢ α š š ı ø ρ e ı α
ł ı ł ł α и т ı и e
яανeи¢łαω │ šıχтħ чeαя │ ρυяeвłøøđ │ še¢øиđ вøяи
After her fiance had gone, Anti examined the new ring on her finger. It was very pretty; she wasn't blind. And it fit well, so at least some effort had gone in to it. It was clearly very expensive. When He had put it on her finger, while her parents watched politely, He had not looked at her, other than to offer a brief smile. There was nothing behind it; no particular interest or malice, which she supposed was a relief. She wasn't marrying one of her brothers. There was also no particular warmth or even friendliness, so she didn't have high expectations in that regard either. She was being biased, and she knew it; she had stared at Him, steadily, without flinching, her expression completely neutral the entire time. She had showed Him nothing, because that was what He was going to receive from her; nothing.
This was how this had all come to past: Mother had told her to change, and she had. She'd put on her plainest dress and her shabbiest shoes and stripped every bit of makeup off her face, let her hair hang freely down her back. She had taken off almost all her jewelry, and then she had gone into Father's office and He had been there, and they discussed her in front of her as if she were not there at all, and there had been some sort of shaking of hands, and He had turned to her and put the ring on her finger and said He would see her very soon, and left. Anti assumed she was supposed to be eagerly anticipating their next meeting; He, Father had informed her, was as good of a match as a girl like her could be expected to make. A third born son who wasn't expected to inherit.
And because girls like her were grateful and respected their fathers, she thanked him when she looked up from examining the ring. Father nodded, and then she expected him to dismiss her, but he went on. "This will be your last year in attendance at Hogwarts."
This was not a surprise, but she recoiled in protest inside all the same. "I scored higher on my exams this year than Evander," she stated calmly. "Surely it would be better for me to graduate before marrying."
Father looked at her as if she were ranting and raving. "Don't be ridiculous. There's no need for you to waste another year there, succumbing to poor influences. You'll finish this year, and you'll marry next September. Nothing is going to threaten this betrothal. Be thankful I'm not pulling you out now, so your mother can prepare you for your marriage." He said it as if this were all very obvious and she were a fool for not seeing it.
"I am thankful," lied Anti very quietly. "I'm thankful for everything you and Mother do for me."
He looked at her and she knew he saw her lie but was unwilling to acknowledge it, and then he nodded and she took it as her cue to leave. Mother matched her pace as they left the room. "Don't pout so, Antigone. This is the best thing that could have happened to you."
"You promised," Anti murmured thickly under her breath. "You promised."
Mother caught her by the arm and she stopped. "Look at me. Nothing will be expected of you. The heir is already wed and has an infant son. The second son has just married. I know the family. The men have a habit of spending more time in the beds of their mistresses than in their own. You will be fine; your future mother-in-law was a Ravenclaw as well."
She sounded so smug that Anti tore her arm away more violently than she'd meant to. "I wanted to at least graduate."
"I graduated," Mother snapped, "And what came of it? Nothing. Nothing came of it but raising my hopes up. Your father wasn't going to let me work, and I was foolish to think he might change his mind after we were wed. This is a kindness. You don't see it now because you're a foolish little girl."
"I thought I was a woman now," Anti retorted.
Mother's face darkened. "You're not seventeen yet. We're having tea with your future mother-in-law and sisters-in-law this weekend, and you will sit there, and you will smile and make conversation and tell them how thrilled you are to be marrying him. Show me you can act like an adult, and I'll treat you like one." Her gaze flickered downwards. "And don't let me catch you without that ring."
Anti walked away from her and went into her room, and proceeded to throw her last remaining doll, poor Titania, into the fire. Then she looked over at her new owl, who she'd named Haemon the day she got him, and sat down to write a letter. Down by the water, the riverbed-
Somebody calls you, somebody says;
"Swim with the current and float away,
Down by the river everyday."
Oh, my God, I see, how everything-
Is torn in the river deep...
And I don't know why I go the way;
Down by the riverside.
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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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Posted: Sat Oct 01, 2016 9:06 am
When I was a child I'd sit for hours-
Staring into open flames..
Something in it had a power,
Could barely tear my eyes away.
All you have is your fire;
And the place you need to reach-  ᶜ ʸ ᴿ ᵁ ˁ
ᴱ ᶻ ᴱ ᴷ ᴵ ᴱ ᴸ
ᴸ ᴵ ᴸ ᴸ ᴬ ᴺ ᵀ ᴵ ᴺ ᴱ
ˁᴸʸᵀᴴᴱᴿᴵᴺ │ ˁᴵᵡᵀᴴ ʸᴱᴬᴿ │ ᴾᵁᴿᴱᴮᴸᴼᴼᴰ │ ᵀᴴᴵᴿᴰ ᴮᴼᴿᴺ
Cy had always enjoyed the summer. Being a fairly idle person, he had a great appreciation for long, hot, still days during which he was not expected or required to do much of anything besides entertain himself. And Cy had never had much trouble doing that. The house seemed absurdly hollow, as Vander and Wendy were rarely over, often using Caspian as an excuse, and what with Anti being long gone. It would have been lonely, but loneliness was not really something that registered for Cy. After all, he was always alone. There were People, and then there was Him, and the distinction between the two was something Cy felt whether he was in a crowded classroom or left completely by himself. He felt it an important distinction to make. So with a seemingly endless summer stretched out ahead of him, and no plans whatsoever, he found himself once again left to his own devices. Visiting Nike was most likely a no-go, given the fact that she still seemed ridiculously upset over the whole Avian thing.
He could have gone out to the gardens to check one of the traps he had set, but if something was dead out there he considered the combination of the heat and the smell, and although Cy had always found that he could stomach things like that much better than others, it wasn't really how he wanted to start off his day. He'd check them tonight, he decided. Last summer he'd caught a fox, a brilliant red one. He'd tried skinning it, after it had stopped making noises, but to his disappointment found that his knife skills still left much to be desired, and he'd only succeeded in making a mess right next to his mother's favorite hydrangeas.
So it'd be something inside the house, then. He wandered the third floor before turning abruptly and shouldering open a small, narrow door at the end of the hall, and found himself face to face with the cramped, winding set of stairs that led up to the attic. They were commonly used by the house elves, and were rotting away from disuse anyways. He wasn't even sure they could hold his weight, but he'd know until he tried. Cy had to climb them sideways; the width was not conducive to someone with broad shoulders, which was why the only person to go up these stairs in the last twenty years had been his mother, slender woman that she was. He reached the top, not even short in breath, and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, and the stuffiness of the sealed off attic. On one end were the house elf quarters, but they were empty, given the fact that the elves were all at work. The rest of the attic had been devoted to storage. Old school trunks and moldering books and cracked antiques and discarded portraits draped in heavy cloth so as to muffle the angry muttering of their inhabitants... Massive, imposing dressers and broken chairs were piled along the walls.
Cy struck off into this maze of deceased objects, skirting around broken glass and other remnants. He came across a thick silver candlestick about the width of his forearm, and dragged it across the top of a dusty end table, before giving it an experimental swing, like a beater's bat. In the process of this he tripped over a crate and some of the contents tumbled out onto the floor. It was obvious they were discarded gifts from various birthdays, Yules, and other special occasions. He recognized a rotting teddy bear Vander had pitched a tantrum loud enough to rattle the entire house over when he was six. And a headless old doll of Anti's. There were battered cuff-links, children's books that had been violently scribbled over, some pages ripped out, and several broken necklaces. The only thing of any interest was a quaint little music box. It looked like it was in very good condition, so he had no idea why it was up here. Maybe his parents just hadn't liked the tune it played.
He traced the L for Lillantine engraved on the top with him thumb, and sank down onto his haunches, wiping dust off of it. It was engraved with flower and snakes, and when he opened it he came face to face with a little silver waltzing couple, who still moved seamlessly now, exactly in time with the slow, lilting melody. Cy stared at it for a few moments, transfixed by something about them, although he could not say what, before his eyes lighted on the message engraved on the inside. 'Best Wishes and All Our Love on Your Most Special Day - Julius and Bellamy'. A wedding gift. That probably explained why it was up here. He smiled in amusement, turning the little box over and over in his hands as the music faded out and the couple slowed to a halt, never quite finishing their dance. He felt around the velvet interior of the box; the rich green was only slightly faded, so it clearly had only been opened a few times. Cy dragged his knuckles around the inside, and then paused. And then rapped once with his knuckle. And then again. And then he felt around with a single prying finger, and found the release he'd been looking for. The bottom popped up. He wasted no time in tugging out the neat little stack of papers that had been carefully folded and placed in the bottom, and spread them out on the floor, recognizing the smooth cursive on some of them instantly.
"J", he read under his breath. "You have to be more careful. If I hadn't covered for both of us last time your father would have...," He finished the letter in his head in silence, then looked for a date. There was none. He skimmed over the other letters, and going by names and references to events, began to build a rough timeline, rearranging them in order like puzzle pieces. He looked at the last one. There was reference to a toddler Anti. After a few moments it truly began to sink in. Cy broke into a slow grin of disbelief, reading the letters again, before laughing. This was- This was-
"What is Master Cyrus doing with letters not his own?" A high, quavering voice asked, and he glanced up to find himself face to face with Garvie. The house elf looked more outraged than afraid.
"Reading all about all the fun my mother and my uncle had," Cy said pleasantly, groping behind himself for the discarded candle stick. "They had quite the run, didn't they?"
The elf looked at him fiercely. "I serve the Mistress before any Master."
"And that's your loss, at the moment," he continued with a sympathetic look, and the candle stick came swinging forward before the elf had time to react. When Cy finally stood up, he had the letters in hand, and could only find it ironic that he had ended up smelling something dead in this oppressive heat all the same. But he supposed it was only fair, to balance out his brilliant stroke of luck. He stepped over the small, crumpled form and whistled all the way down from the attic. Don't you ever tame your demons;
But always keep them on a leash.
When I was sixteen my senses fooled me!
Thought gasoline was on my clothes;
I knew that something would always rule me...
I knew this sin was mine alone.
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Posted: Sat Oct 01, 2016 5:52 pm
I feel as dark as night...
I bury my wounds by the riverside.
And as hard as you might find-
I shoot to kill, no prisoners survive!
I cover trails that I've left behind...
With no trace I escape at the drop of a dime;
With breath down my neck and a chill down my spine...  ∂ є ѕ ∂ є м σ η α
α я ѕ є η ι α
ℓ ι ℓ ℓ α η т ι η є
ƒσямєя ѕℓутнєяιη │ ρυяєвℓσσ∂ │ мσтнєя σƒ тняєє
Desdemona could identify any footsteps on the floors above from the basement, and she heard her youngest child before she saw him. Cyrus had always perplexed her. If children were the product of the influences of those who had raised them, then she was all to blame for Evander, and Callius all to blame for Antigone. But Cyrus was neither. He was, figuratively speaking, a self-made man. Most children fashioned their own armor after a certain period of time. Her second son had been born with it, but it was less metallic and more something organic... like scales. Nothing had ever perturbed Cyrus, not even as a small child, not her doting or his father's contempt. As far as she could tell neither had really had that much of an effect on him. Her goal had to been have just one of her offspring loyal in the way only a child is loyal to a parent, but even playing Mother Dearest the way little girls played house had been difficult for her.
Her lack of maternal instinct had always been a shortcoming, she often reflected. Her parents had said it was queer and unnatural, that a little girl showed no interest in dolls or dresses, ask questions about muggle sciences and the properties of potions. To them it had been a slap in a face. If they could not have a son it was insult enough. To have a daughter who behaved like a son was akin to Fate digging in the knife a little deeper and giving it a merry twist. It had always frustrated Callius as well. He had assumed that with time she would soften, that her days would be filled with contentedly looking after their children, and that she would forget about nearly everything else. That her silly hobbies and vapid interests would fade. It was selfish, everyone had always told her, for a girl like her to not think of those around her first.
Unfortunately, that had instead had the effect of cajoling whatever selfish little beast sat inside her chest into screaming all the louder, and Desdemona had never bothered much with guilt. She had no need for it. If she depended on the people around her to make her happy, she'd live a miserable life and die a miserable, pathetic death, to be remembered as 'loving wife and mother' on a cracked headstone, another inconsequential brood mare on a family tree more concerned with the noble exploits of a thousand even more inconsequential men. So she wasn't a very loving wife, and she wasn't a very loving mother. But they'd remember her. She'd always made sure of that. She finished bottling Sample #6949, and carefully lined it up next to all the others, as Cyrus entered the dimly lit room. He was slightly out of breath.
"Father wants to speak to you," he announced, and she rolled her eyes before she turned to face him, pulling off her dragon-hide gloves and massaging her aching fingers. The pain was a sign of her age catching up on her. 47 since last March. She looked closer to 37, and she was very smug for it, but the pain in her fingers reminded her.
"Does he now?" she asked mildly, undoing the apron around her waist. "I'm honored." They'd had a spat the day before, and Callius usually inflicted a period of silence that ranged from a few days to a week in what he probably assumed was punishment after any of their particularly bad arguments. She barely remembered what the last one was about, and occasionally entertained the notion of informing him that his cold silence was really more of a blessing than a curse just to see him riled, but in the end it wasn't worth it. Cyrus was very quiet. Had Desdemona been in a more suspicious mood this might have struck her as odd, but distracted by her thoughts, she went upstairs, idly loosing her hair from its braid, wandless.
Once inside her husband's office Desdemona realized something was very, very wrong. Callius was a man of few expressions, but he was rarely truly blank-faced. She'd seen him like this on two occasions; at his parents' funeral and when he was identifying his brother's body in the morgue of St. Mungo's. She glanced at Cyrus, who stood at her side like an eager hunting dog, but identified the difference. His gaze was fixated on his father. 'Tell me when', she realized he was saying. 'And I'll rip out her throat.' Callius was silent. In two quick strides Desdemona approached the desk, and looked down at the faded, wrinkled papers scattered across it, and had a second realization. She did not look up, because she knew she would not look afraid, and that if she wanted to leave this room in one piece she needed to play this round very, very carefully, and part of that was Necessary Fear. Whenever her father had disciplined her as a child, if she had not cried or screamed for her mother it had been much worse. When you were punishing someone you wanted them to be afraid, in exchange for your actions. If they weren't afraid there was no exchange, just wasted energy on your part.
The room was silent, aside from the sound of three people breathing harshly. Desdemona tried twice to work herself into a sobbing fit, but couldn't do much more than make her eyes water. It would have to do. She looked up, the picture of contrition. "I-,"
"Silencio," said Callius through his teeth, and stole the breath out of her mouth. Desdemona warily rocked back half a step. Behind her Cyrus circled, looking for scraps. "You and him," Callius finally said when he seemed able to speak. He couldn't even get proper sentences out. "For so long."
Desdemona kept her eyes on his hands. You always watched the hands. She nodded, briskly, as if confirming a transaction at the bank. She felt the silencio in her throat dislodge. "We were very young," she said with a slight cough. "He was charming. I was angry."
"So you crawled into bed with him," said her husband, low, and in her ear, and very, very foully, as if he were imparting some sort of knowledge she had not wanted to know.
"We were just children at the start," she said calmly. "I wasn't thinking straight. He was very different from you."
"I never strayed from you," Callius reminded her, honestly. Dangerously honestly, for someone like him.
She looked him in the eyes. "I know."
His hand closed around her throat like a vice then, and slammed her head down onto the desk. She concentrated on his hands again- the one just under her chin, the one holding his wand, and fought the ringing in her ears. "How many?" he asked, as she struggled to rise, and slammed her head back down again, grip choking as she gasped for air. Desdemona's vision swirled into a curious blend of colors and shapes. She mouthed a silent question."How many bastards, besides the two I raised?"
"Just them," she said faintly, and then, "You'll kill me." It wasn't a fearful plea, but a warning, one a teacher might give an out of control pupil. He didn't want to kill her. If he had wanted to kill her he would have gone down to the basement himself, rather than call her in for questioning. This was damage control. He'd split her scalp open. She could feel the warmth in her hair. She could have raked her nails down his forearm, but instead she gripped his shoulder in warning again, and he let her sit up. "I gave you him," she said blindly. She could not see Cyrus at the moment, just a smudge of blond hair and a white shirt. "You have him. You didn't want him, but you have him now." He struck her across the face, because he knew she was right. She kept one hand on her head, stemming the bleeding, and wormed her tongue around the inside of her mouth, checking for loosened teeth. Once Julius had hit her, not nearly as hard as he would have hit his wife, but enough that she had realized then for the first time that the lines between wife and lover, inferior and equal, had begun to blur, and she had woken him up the next morning with her knee on his throat and a knife just below his handsome jaw, to re-establish the bounds he'd forgotten. He'd laughed, because he'd thought she would never have done it. She'd laughed too, knowing just how easily she would have.
"We'll divorce quietly," Callius was deciding for them, as he always had. "I'll remarry. You'll die with nothing." He was looking at her, but not quite. He was searching for someone, she thought, they both knew was no longer there. The charade was over. He saw her as she'd always been, and she finally knew now that he was not his father's son. His father would not have bothered with the interrogation. His father would have been supervising the house elves digging her grave.
"There's no need for that," Cyrus said almost naively. "Mother is right. You have me."
Callius didn't even look at him. "You're the son of a whore. True-born or not. I should have seen it in you the moment you were born- then the whole jig really would have been up, wouldn't it? You were the warning sign. Only easy time she ever had, birthing you. It must have been a change of pace from pushing out my brother's spawn to pass off as mine." He said this furiously but casually, dismissively, and while on Callius rage was blank, a slate waiting to be written on, on Cyrus rage was colorful. Desdemona could have warned her husband. She chose not to.
"Expelliarmus."
The wand landed in her son's open hand. She stood, wavering on her feet, feeling even more blood rush to her head. Callius turned in outrage as his wand was tossed towards her, landing in her waiting grip. He grabbed her arm and wrenched. Desdemona didn't bother struggling. "Imperio," she whispered, and then again as he went for her throat, and his fingers went lax around the throbbing pulse in her pale neck. She looked to Cyrus.
"I could kill both of you," he shrugged. "But Azkaban's terribly cold, I hear. So I'll compromise for now."
"You can't use your wand," she said hoarsely. "It has to look like an accident. Be heroic. The Ministry likes that."
He nodded. She went and got a mirror and examined the purpling bruises around her neck, the swollen cheek, the blood in her tangled hair, the bump rising up on her head, the vivid finger marks on her one arm. Later, after the Aurors had cleared out, she went up to the attic to clean up the mess her son had left, and buried the elf and the music box out by the rose garden. She was only disheartened about one of them. I bury your bones by the riverside.
And maybe I’m crazy, but why must I scream-
For you to listen to the sound of my voice?
And now, to my surprise...
No guilt or regret crosses my mind.
No evidence to keep me entwined;
And if they ask I will decline.
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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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Posted: Sun Jul 02, 2017 7:22 am
And what if I'm a snowstorm burning?
What if I'm a world unturning?
What if I'm an ocean, far too shallow, much too deep?
What if I'm the kindest demon,
Something you may not believe in?
What if I'm a siren singing gentlemen to sleep? V I O L A N T E
F A Y E
L I L L A N T I N E
Former Slytherin │ Improper Use of Magic Office │ Adopted
As a general rule, now that Vio worked for the government, she tried not to break the law. Well, magical law. The Ministry regularly flaunted muggle law- she wondered what the Geneva Convention would have to say about obliviating people, for example. But her work mostly consisted of house calls to very emotional magical people, and variety was the spice of life, so why not pay a house to call to her unstable, egomaniac cousin? That he was unaware of? Accompanied by a bad-tempered cursebreaker and a very displeased vampire?
"This is ridiculous," her adopted brother hissed as they prowled down the hallway, wands lit up. "I'm serious, Vio. What do you think, that he's written 'I'm a murdering lunatic' in blood on the wall as proof?"
Vio didn't know what Lea was so concerned about. It was quite hard for him to be killed, after all, and with his enhanced speed and strength he probably had the best chance of making it out in one piece, should it come to a fight. But she was fairly certain no one was home, either way, which was good. She hadn't come for a fight. She'd come for evidence that Cyrus had murdered his father in order to secure his own inheritance, since Vander had been denounced as a dead man's b*****d son. The dead man being her father. Their father. It was still a bitter pill to swallow.
"Shut him up," her half-brother snarled in response. "I need to focus." Vander had no idea that he'd been bickering with a vampire for the last ten minutes, and Vio would prefer to keep it that way. She'd only brought Vander along because of his cursebreaking skill, and because her other option was Ivy, and she saw no reason to drag her girlfriend into this mess. Never mind that if Ivy were injured, she'd never forgive herself. The redheaded girl was the one happy constant in her life.
"Could both of you please settle down?" she demanded in a hushed tone, as the glow of her wand made their shadows on the wall flicker and darken. "Really, it's not like we're breaking into Buckingham Palace-,"
Gravity shifted violently, and Vio was not sure whether it was the curse reacting to their presence that made her go flying, or a shove from Lea to get her out of the way. Whatever the cause, she narrowly avoided smashing her head open on an antiqued end table as she collided with the floor, rolling over with a soft groan. The cursed arch way crumpled like wet paper behind them, blocking off the way they'd came, and a dazed looking Lea stood with his hand on one wall, eyes slightly glazed over as he parsed through it's history. "He's here," he said hoarsely, after staggering back from it.
A bloodied Vander was scrambling to his feet, a Killing Curse tumbling out of his mouth, but Vio saw her cousin before any of them, waiting on the stairs. "STUPEFY!" she yelled, all thoughts of keeping quiet forgotten, but he easily deflected her spell and returned with a curse of his own, which she narrowly avoided. "Lea-,"
"I'm going," Lea snapped, taking off in a dead sprint in Cyrus's direction, in the hopes of getting to him before he could do any further damage, but he had to duck out of the way as Vander fired off another Unforgivable, which embedded itself like a bullet in part of the banister. .
"Stop it," Vio screeched in her half-brother's general, furious direction. "You're going to kill one of us, you moron-,"
"No, just him," Vander said darkly.
Lea reached Cyrus, wand forgotten as the two grappled, slamming their way down several steps in a tangle of bodies, while Vio reached the doorway and tugged on the handle. Locked with magic, naturally, and alohomora did nothing. Vander could probably get it open, were he not busy, circling like a vulture, waiting for a clear shot at Cyrus.
There was a sound like a wrecking ball, and Lea screamed, an inhuman, terrible sort of shriek, and Vio turned to see the vampire, go limp, a long fragment of wood embedded in his torso, a dark stain around it, stop scrabbling at his own chest and go horribly limp. The wood was from the bottom half of the stairs, which with the wait of some curse, either Cy's or Vander's had completely collapsed in a mangled mess.
Vio was in that moment, unsure of whether or not her closest sibling was alive, and lowered her wand as she ran towards him, horrified. This was a mistake that Vander, sprawled on the ground, having been tossed backwards by the impact, realized as a previously half-conscious Cy, bloodied and bruised but very much alive, took stock of the situation, wand still in hand.
"Violante," Vander said, or rather, rasped, very urgently from his prone position as he struggled to catch his breath, "Don't-,"
"Lea, come on, Lea-," Her hand closed on the shard of bloody wood-
Cy caught her by the hair and in one fluid movement dragged her off of the impaled vampire and smashed her into the ground up floor. Vio was not a small, weak woman, given her height and fairly fit condition, but the one true cousin left to her was still far larger, and in the non-magical struggled that ensued while she tried to get her wand up to hex him off of her, testosterone won out long enough for him to cast the first curse.
Vio wasn't very sure what happened next, but she suddenly felt as though she was being rather silly, fighting Cy, who was family, after all, and ceased her one-handed attempts to gouge one of his eyes out, as her wand-hand had been pinned to the floor by him. She felt horribly about it, actually, or at least, the voice in her head said she did, and so she did, formerly infuriated, panicked expression softening into one of compassionate regret.
"I didn't mean to," she said waveringly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-,"
Distantly, another voice seemed to be saying that she had meant to, that she was a fool, why wasn't she cursing him, why was she letting him gracefully pull her to her feet, wand-hand lying limp at her side, but the other voice was much louder, and drowned it out very effectively.
"I know you didn't," said Cy rather warmly, wiping at the blood trickling out of his smiling mouth dismissively. "Why don't you petrify our brother and make it up to me?"
Vander got out several swears and a gasping attempt at a shield charm, but the pain of his dislocated shoulder distracted him, and he fell back onto his back from the force of Vio's charm. She blankly handed Cy her wand, and he jerked his head at an untouched portion of the floor. "Just sit there for now. I won't be very long."
Vio suddenly wanted nothing more than to sit on the floor like an obedient child, legs crossed, hands neatly in her lap. She wasn't very disturbed by the sound Cy's boot made when snapping down neatly on one of the bones in Vander's leg, because the voice told her that actually, the whole thing was amusing, and she hadn't liked Vander much anyways, had she? She started to snicker, then broke out into genuine giggles, although her her wrist hurt very badly and her ears were ringing.
When Cyrus removed the petrifying charm on Vander in order to hear him screaming and crying in pain, she kept shaking with mirth, tears of what she assumed were laughter blinding her vision and trickling down her face. The voice assured her that she had no other reason to be crying, so that had to be what they were. I know you've got it figured out-
Tell me what I am all about!
And I just might learn a thing or two...
Hundred about you, maybe about you.
I'm the end of your telescope;
I don't change just to suit your vision.
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Posted: Wed Jul 05, 2017 4:21 pm
Sinking singing hands; mercy, mercy
Your darkened face, well known to her
And it's a low, low, low indivisible man to be myself again
Please get inside, quiet in the mind of the people
Nothing new here, under the sun
Away with me, away with me they run α и т ı g ø и e
¢ α š š ı ø ρ e ı α
ł ı ł ł α и т ı и e
føямeя яανeи¢łαω │ αяıтħмαи¢eя │ ρυяeвłøøđ
Anti didn't have time to argue with Ceri over whether or not her coming was a good idea, and logically, she knew that having someone to watch her back certainly wouldn't hurt. If Cy had somehow managed to incapacitate not just Vander, but Vio and Vio's brother as well... Things probably weren't going well. She grabbed her girlfriend's hand and held her breath as she apparated outside the main gates of the estate. They were wide open, with no magical barrier of any sort in the way.
"This way," she said breathlessly, remembering that Ceri had never been to her childhood home before, and picked her way down the winding, muddy drive to the front entrance. The doors, of course, were locked, and Anti wasn't about to start banging on them. She knew other ways to get into the house, however, ways Cy might not have remembered to curse shut. And she was correct; one of the basement windows had been left untouched. Anti wasted no time in kicking the fragile, ancient glass in; it shattered a bit louder than she would have liked, but there was no point in dithering over it now.
"I'll go first," she muttered, although she doubted her half-brother was waiting for them down there, and wriggled through the tight space, dropping down to the stone floor below. Anti waited anxiously for Ceri to follow suit, and then illuminated their surroundings with her wand, leading the way up a flight of stairs to a door that she knew led into the kitchens. The kitchens were untouched and silent, although everything was covered in a layer of dust that suggested Cyrus was not a fan of preparing his meals at home.
She tensed up as she came out into the hall, but the house was utterly still, although there was a path of magic-induced destruction leading all the way to the foyer, which looked as though a muggle explosive had gone off. Anti stifled a sharp intake of breath at the sight of two bodies- one was Vander,
who she only knew was alive from the slight movement of his chest. His legs were... she had to look away to keep her stomach from turning. He'd be lucky to keep them both, and the rest of him was riddled with cuts and bruises,
either from curses and hexes or man-made.
She hated him, but seeing him in this state... Still, she couldn't afford to drop everything and heal him right now. She needed to find Vio and Cyrus. The other body was of a pale teenaged boy- she had thought Vio's brother was older, maybe he was just baby-faced- with a piece of wood embedded deep into his chest. At least he'd probably died instantly. Biting her lap, Anti turned to Ceri. "Can you stay with him- I have to check upstairs, they might be gone-,"
That question was answered by the sudden, piercing scream from the floor above them. Anti didn't react so much as move- she ran for the upper half of the stairwell, as the bottom was completely destroyed, and was grateful for her height, because she didn't have to jump far to get a hold of it and pull herself up, although her arm muscles didn't thank her for it. She scrambled up the remaining stairs, although they creaked and groaned warningly under her weight, and reached the top as another scream rang out.
The hall was dark, but gradually lightening as the night sky started to recede, and Anti held her ground on the landing, back to the wall. "Cyrus, come out!" she called, wishing her voice didn't waver so, not willing to admit that she was terrified, that her younger brother actually induced a primal sort of fear in her, that she was afraid that if it came down to a duel, he would win, decisively.
"I'm not hiding," said Cy with a slight note of irritation, having apparated a few feet from her, and she remembered that you could apparate inside the house, just not from the outside in, or the inside out. He was clearly injured- he held himself stiffly, as it hurt to stand up straight, but aside from a few scratches on his faces that had clearly been made by nails, and some bruises on his neck and exposed arms under his rolled-up shirt sleeves, he didn't seem seriously hurt.
Nor did Vio, whom he was was holding by the upper arm like an unruly child. Anti knew she was imperiused just from the look on her face- Vio always looked determined, always looked as if she were about to say or do something that she thought very important, be it casting a spell or choosing how to wear her hair. The expression on her face was one of puzzled upset, as if she didn't quite know what she was so unhappy about. Her face was flushed and her eyes were tearing, and she kept lifting a hand distractedly to brush at the long, ragged cut on her cheek stretching from the corner of one eye down to her nose, as if she didn't know where it had come from.
Anti had some idea. "Expelliarmus-,"
"Protego- sweet cousin, help me out here," Cy snapped at the imperiused young woman, who slowly raised a wavering hand, as if she was unconsciously reluctant, to cast a wandless spell.
The duel was not what Anti would have expected a genuine magical firefight to go like. Cy was clearly toying with her, and kept up an almost languid pace of both walking and curses lobbed at her, forcing her to back down the hallway while defending herself from both of them, although Vio's spells were noticeably more erratic, given her lack of a wand.
"This is a really nice surprise, actually," Cy said casually as a sectumsempra cast by him came very close to striking Anti in the neck, slashing grooves in the wallpaper instead as she darted out of the way. "All my favorite people in the same place! Together again. It's like a family reunion. We're just missing Mother- CRUCIO,"
Anti deflected but it glanced off her shoulder and she shrieked at the white hot pain.
"And Father, oh wait, I killed him- EXPULSO, stop ducking, you'll make yourself dizzy, sister- and Luke, dear old Luke, I wonder how the- <********> he hissed when one of her frantic 'expulso's' smashed a hole through the floor in front of him while she darted to avoid a murmured hex from Vio. "How the orphanage is doing, you know? I should really visit sometime, gain some perspective on how fortunate- DEFODIO, stop MOVING, Anti- I've been."
He paused, panting, and the two stood with the hole in the floorboards between them. "Well you haven't been very helpful, have you?" Cy rounded on Vio, grabbing her by her thin throat and slamming her backwards into the wall. A portrait rattled and screamed beside them until he blasted a hole through it. "She was actually quite hard to reign in, Anti. I suppose one could take that as a compliment, but you know, I think she really became rather malleable when I told her about Mummy and Daddy. Like all the fight just vanished," he mocked.
His focus was diverted slightly, and Anti decided it was now or never. She couldn't out-duel him, but she could do one thing he had no defense against. "Carpe retractum," she whispered, and he looked shocked for an instant before the force of the spell jerked him across the hole and over to her side. His wand came up and his mouth opened in a snarl but the mind was weak when you were caught off guard, Anti knew this, and forced her way into her brother's head. It was like finding a door hidden by ivy and moss but one she'd ripped it open, memories and thoughts and wants and needs spilled out like marbles at her feet.
She chose the worst, most sickly and bloated one and Cy screamed at the exact moment that Vio, the curse's grip loosened while the caster's mind was invaded, sank trembling to the floor, retching. Just look across and see my weary stone of knee
Back to dust, as we have been told
Clinging to the sky like smoke
And it is so bone of my bone
One desert shy, down singing fetter drowning
Singing sinking hands, singing sinking, singing hands
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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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Diamond Wales Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed Jul 05, 2017 5:56 pm
And baby, you're all that I want
When you're lyin' here in my arms
I'm findin' it hard to believe
We're in heaven
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Dʀᴀɢᴏɴ Cʟᴀɴ Lᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || Tᴡɪɴ || Eᴅɪᴛᴏʀ ғᴏʀ Wʜɪᴢᴢ Hᴀʀᴅ Bᴏᴏᴋs
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Chris hadn't understood what Striker had gone through years ago when Arachnid had been in deadly danger, only that, according to Phantom, he would know when his fledglings were in mortal peril. Those times he did muse about it, he always wondered if Dragon knew when he'd been staked, or any number of times he'd actually been in danger. He'd only felt tingling from killing curses back during that attack at the circus when he'd met Ada, and only generally got a mundane sense of unease when something didn't seem right such as the time that Ada had been stabbed or Chalmes had been attacked by vampires, but nothing concrete enough to tell him when Lea, Dom, or Zephyr were in trouble. Now, though, now he was acting on the fact that it felt like hic chest had been stabbed through again, and he'd searched wildly around for an explanation until he realized he hadn't been staked, but one of his fledglings had.
It hadn't been hard to figure out either. As much as he hated using the floo, he'd used it to check up on Ada and the kids, and then Dom and Zephyr. He'd gotten an eyeroll from Grace, a puzzled look from Zephyr, and a questioning look from Ada, but none had been in harm's way or had been staked. And the person he was feeling had to be staked, since Chris knew what it felt like. No, the only person he couldn't locate and question where he was was Lea, and asking around revealed that Lea was probably with his siblings. Which then led him to ask Eretria, and found out that something was happening at the Lillantine estate from her brother in law Luke. Luke had apparently gotten a letter from his half-sister regarding murderous relatives, and the only person Luke knew that matched that description was Cyrus Lillantine.
Thus Chris was forced to ask someone to apparate him to the Lillantine estate. He had no doubts that he was perfectly safe (how many people actually knew how to kill a vampire, anyway?) and Luke had returned to the orphanage that he now lived to make sure that his crazy cousin didn't try anything against his family. That left Chris standing outside of a building that he had no idea of what was happening inside, armed with a few pouches of blood just in case and a healthy amount of caution about approaching the location. He wasn't stupid, he knew that this could turn ugly, but he was unwilling to allow anyone else to be hurt if he could help it, and if Lea was staked like he feared, Chris's priority was to get people away from him that could be harmed by Lea when he woke up.
Chewing on his bottom lip as he circled around the building, he noted a window that was broken along the ground and determined that was probably a safe place to enter. Slipping through, he looked around and frowned. It was apparently a basement, and he wasted no time as a smell he was altogether too familiar with wafted toward him. Blood, and quite a bit of it. Some was fresh, and Chris was thankful that he had already fed that evening before heading into work, but the vast majority that he could smell was cold, metallic, and wholly dead. Shoving down the feeling of aching fangs, he made his way toward the open door that led to a kitchen. He almost sneezed then, the dust that had accumulated in the area tickling his nose, but focused in the smell of blood.
Apparently he didn't have to look through the downstairs too long. The home's lower level looked as though it had been blasted, and he spotted several bodies. The first he didn't recognize, though he winced mentally when he spotted the ruin that had become of the man's legs. There was a redhead with him, a woman Chris didn't recognize, but she wasn't the one that he was focused on. That was the second body in the foyer. Clenching his teeth, he made his way over to where Lea laid, giving the younger vampire a look over as he realized that the large piece of wood sticking out of his chest already informed him what happened.
Rubbing his own chest in empathy, he glanced toward the red-haired woman and man. The man was still alive, but Chris was not going to pretend that he would stay that way if he removed the large piece of wood pinning Lea down. He could hear a commotion from upstairs, but his focus was mainly on the downstairs and who was potentially still in danger without realizing it. "Hey, can you move him away from here? You don't want to be around when I pull this wood out." Not that he was trying to be rude or refusing to help, but he had to get Lea controlled before he could help anyone else. He wasn't sure how long a vampire would be paralysed after being staked, heck, he didn't even know how long he had been himself, but he figured there had to be a time limit. "If you need help, I can help move him, but that man needs to get away from this kid, otherwise he's not going to make it, and you're not safe either."
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Location: Lillantine Estate
Thinking: What the heck happened here???
OOC: -❤-
And love is all that I need
And I found it there in your heart
It isn't too hard to see
We're in heaven
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Posted: Sun Jul 09, 2017 9:59 pm
¢єяι ∂ανιєѕ
нυffℓєρυff αℓυмиα ℓєт'ѕ нι∂є συяѕєℓνєѕ fяσм єνєяуσиє
נυѕт тαкє му нαи∂ αи∂ ωє ¢αи яυи
αѕ мσмєитѕ fяєєzє ℓєт'ѕ мαкє вєℓιєνє
ωє'ℓℓ αℓωαуѕ вє fσяєνєя уσυиg
ѕσσи тнє иιgнт ωιℓℓ ¢σмє, συя ѕιℓнσυєттєѕ ιи тнє ѕєттιиg ѕυи When Antigone had acquiesced to taking Ceri along with her, Ceri had been more than overjoyed that she trusted the redhead to come along. However, when they arrived at the house, Ceri immediately began to regret coming along. But she couldn't let Antigone go through all this by herself. The redhead followed her girlfriend as they prowled around the estate, her cherry wand gripped tightly in her right hand. She was terrified, but she put on a brave face for her girlfriend. When Anti kicked in the window, Ceri winced, knowing that that had made more noise then the girls wanted to. Ceri picked away some of the glass and lowered herself through the window as well, joining Antigone in the basement. When they'd faced off against her wicked stepmother, Ceri had been frightened about facing the woman, but this was entirely different. The redhead was terrified to the core, shaking viciously as she followed behind her girlfriend. Anti led the way up to the kitchen and Ceri followed further, picking her steps carefully through the dusty room. Cyrus was a creepy man, but this house had become even creepier.
The hall was just as spooky as the abandoned kitchen and soon they found the path of destruction that the magical fight had created. She could smell something that she vaguely recognized as blood, and the sources were soon revealed to her. The sight made Ceri's stomach turn and she puked in the corner of the room. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve, Ceri threw a teary glance at Antigone. The other person in the room wasn't moving... or breathing, but Anti was by her brother. Anti instructed her to stay with Vander and Ceri nodded silently. After all, she'd brought the medical supplies, right? "Be safe," Ceri whispered as Anti ran off to find Cyrus. Pulling her bag off her shoulder, Ceri looked over Vander's many injuries. "This is going to hurt... a lot," she said to Vander as she pulled out pouches from her bag.
The redhead knew that this was going to hurt the man a lot, but if she didn't apply it, he might die. She wasn't sure she could repair his broken legs, but she was certainly going to try. Looking at his wounds, Ceri quietly said, "Hold as still as possible, okay? I'm not very good at this." She'd only made it through O.W.L. level healing, but she knew enough about plants and their medicinal values. She mashed up some calendula and ashwagandha, applying the paste to the majority of the cuts and scrapes. The bruises weren't that life threatening so Ceri ignored them for the time being. She was beginning to grind up the dittany she'd brought when the girl became aware of someone else's approach. The redhead's heart rate jumped up and she grabbed her wand, holding the cherry wand tightly in her hand. The young man didn't seem to be much interested in her and it most certainly wasn't Cyrus.
He was examining the dead body, then turned his attention to Ceri and asked her to move Vander. Ceri opened her mouth to answer, but barely got a squeak out of her mouth. She was intensely terrified, but drew in a deep breath to try and calm herself. "I... I can move him. I'm sorry Vander," Ceri said, whispering the last part to her 'patient'. She looped her arms under Vander's and dragged him out of the room, looking for the first door she could bar. Then she sealed it with a spell and resumed mashing the dittany, applying it as best she could to Vander's wounded legs. Ceri looked around for something to splint his legs with, but there wasn't much to use. She was almost through her supply of dittany and his legs weren't getting much better. Ceri wiped sweat from her head and looked at her hand, frowning at the blood there. At least it wasn't her own. "Please hurry, Anti," Ceri whispered, pulling her knees to her chest and hugging them. ι fєєℓ тнє нєαт, тнє ѕυммєя ѕ¢єиє
ℓιкє ѕтαи∂ιиg ιи α ℓινιиg ∂яєαм
ℓιкє fℓαѕнιиg ℓιgнтѕ fяσм мσνιє ѕ¢яєєиѕ
тнιѕ fєєℓѕ ѕσ яιgнт ι ¢αи'т вєℓιєνє
ωє ѕιт ѕσ ѕтιℓℓ, ѕσ ¢ℓσѕє, ѕσ иєαя
тнєѕє нєαятѕ ωιℓℓ ωανє ѕσ ℓσυ∂ αи∂ ¢ℓєαя
ℓєт'ѕ ¢ℓσѕє συя єуєѕ αи∂ ∂ιѕαρρєαя.
{συт σf ¢нαяα¢тєя: ...}
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Diamond Wales Vice Captain
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Posted: Wed Jul 12, 2017 8:53 pm
And baby, you're all that I want
When you're lyin' here in my arms
I'm findin' it hard to believe
We're in heaven
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Dʀᴀɢᴏɴ Cʟᴀɴ Lᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ || Tᴡɪɴ || Eᴅɪᴛᴏʀ ғᴏʀ Wʜɪᴢᴢ Hᴀʀᴅ Bᴏᴏᴋs
════════════════════════
Chris nodded and waited for the woman to take the man away, watching carefully and hoping that 'Vander' would be all right. He could help the man, but that would be revealing a secret about vampire blood that no one needed to know about. It was bad enough that there were plenty that already did know about its healing qualities, after all. How else did the blood resurrect the near-dead, after all? Had he been more into medicine like he wanted to be when he was younger, he would have wanted to find out as much as he could about its properties in regards to that, but now he wouldn't dare. After all, the more spread out a vampire's blood was amongst individuals, the weaker they got. He'd only fed his own blood to very few people, and only one was still human. He wouldn't dream of turning Chalmes unless that was what his twin wanted. Which, he was very certain that Chalmes would never want that. After their mother died from a vampire, he was turned into one, and Chalmes and Eretria were attacked by a group of them, he doubted very much that his twin wanted anything more to do with them besides what was already in his family.
Turning his attention to Lea, he grimaced and looked at the wood that was embedded in the fledgling carefully. Chris had no illusions as to how this was going to play out. Lea was going to wake up and immediately latch onto the first living person he was closest to. Chris, on the other hand, wasn't going to let that happen. Holding down the younger vampire, he winced. "I know you can't hear me right now, but this is going to suck. The heck are you doing here anyway? Who the hell did this anyway?" Chris knew Lea couldn't answer, but he just needed to say something. After all, immortal or not, there was certainly a wizard duel going on upstairs, and he wasn't going to deny that he was scared. If he was lucky, they wouldn't hear him and try and stake him too. He grabbed the wood and pulled hard with his other hand, keeping his grip on Lea and pinning him down. Tossing the wood aside, he pulled out a bag of blood and held it out, hoping that Lea would focus on that instead of on the very much alive inhabitants of the house. "Okay Lea, bag of blood first before I even think about letting you up. I don't know what you were doing here, but there's too many people here you can attack for you to not drink this first."
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Location: Lillantine Estate
Thinking: What the heck happened here???
OOC: -❤-
And love is all that I need
And I found it there in your heart
It isn't too hard to see
We're in heaven
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Posted: Thu Jul 13, 2017 3:46 pm
There's a black dog beneath my skin, eyeless, grinning
So I met a nun and a mystic at the fork in the road
They said "Your child is behind you, wet hair, painted toes.
There are smugglers, jugglers, a bear on its chain.
Wear bluebells in your hat if you're going that way."
What does it mean then, it's all just a dream then E L E A Z A R
D R A V E N
B R A D L E Y
Former Ravenclaw │ Halfblood │ Adopted │ Potioneer
Lea didn't think when he jolted out of his comatose state, the moment the sliver of wood exited his torso. His head was pounding and his ears were ringing and he wanted- he wanted- he wasn't sure but he just- he wanted to feed, now, he had to, it hurt, the back of his throat felt like sandpaper and his mouth was too dry. There was also a crushing weight on his chest, and in his blind fury at being awake and in pain and hungry Lea stared at his maker with glassy eyes full of a rage that was more animal than human. He didn't speak, only immediately struggled to get up, even if he and Chris had been humans, the man still would have out-weighed him enough to pin him. Lea had been a scrawny sixteen year old boy, once upon a time, and his body remained the same, even if he was much stronger than he had ever been before.
Panting, he spat and clawed blindly for another few moments before the scent of the blood right in front of his face caught on and he tore into the bag, drinking greedily. There was other blood, some nearby, and fresher, but he wasn't in a picky mood and only when the pounding in his head began to lessen and the ringing faded some did he remember exactly who he was and where he was, and more importantly, why he was here. But he was unable to stop himself from finishing off the bag and tossed it aside, staring blearily up at Chris and wiping at his mouth. "I- I don't- ********> he groaned. "Jesus- The ******** stairs! That ******** t**t blew up the bloody stairs! ********! I'm going to ******** kill him," he muttered, although he already sounded a bit half-hearted about it. "Chris you- you should get out of here, I'm okay, I- I was just- my sister needed me and I couldn't...," he trailed off blankly, gaze darting up to the floor above. Whatever was going on up there, it didn't sound good, and he was not stupid enough to charge into a duel blind. "Well... s**t." Cough syrup and amphetamines, we could sleep under the evergreens
I'm a little saint, I'm a little sinner, every day you're looking better
Words were written on the walls; my white blood in capitals
Well, I spoke to the captain, he won't turn around
He said "The sun is an orange, and the wind's just the sound
Of our brothers and sisters, lovers and those that we'll never know."
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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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The Forgotten Weasley Crew
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Posted: Sat Jul 15, 2017 11:52 am
And what if I'm a snowstorm burning?
What if I'm a world unturning?
What if I'm an ocean, far too shallow, much too deep?
What if I'm the kindest demon,
Something you may not believe in?
What if I'm a siren singing gentlemen to sleep? V I O L A N T E
F A Y E
L I L L A N T I N E
Former Slytherin │ Improper Use of Magic Office │ Adopted
The story in Vio's head played on repeat, echoing like a song.
"Once upon a time, a woman had everything she had ever wanted in life. She had a handsome, charming husband and a beautiful home and a sweet little girl. Only she hated it. All of it. She hated her handsome, charming husband because when she made him angry (and she was very good at making him angry) he used his wand to carve his initials into her back. She hated her beautiful home because she was never allowed to leave it and because when she screamed and broke things the house elves repaired them in the night. She hated her sweet little girl because it was hard to look at her when she had her father's eyes and played quietly while her handsome, charming husband put his fist through the walls. She hated it all, and she told her sister-in-law as much, and her sister-in-law offered to help her with a little glass vial that would take at least some of her worries away. She only had to slip it into her husband's wine.
So she did. She gave him his wine and watched from across the table while his throat seized up and he screamed with his wild eyes. At least, that's what the potion was supposed to do, and it must have worked, because he was dead when his brother arrived, his brother, who'd just found out what the women had planned. His brother didn't care that he was dead, because he'd hated him too, but he did care that he hadn't gotten the satisfaction of doing it himself, that a mere woman had brought a Lillantine man down so low, and that now everything was at risk, because the woman didn't plan on staying in the beautiful home. She was going to take her daughter and go far, far away, where none of the people she hated could hurt her anymore.
And she told the brother of the dead man as much, while she stood over his body and cursed his name. Their name. None of them would ever lay a hand on her ever again. The brother of the dead man didn't lay a single finger on the woman. He struck her down with a curse and set the beautiful home ablaze and considered the matter dealt with. And then they all lived unhappily ever after and the brother told his only true son this before his only true son smashed his skull into the fireplace mantle.
So I suppose," Cyrus had ended the tale with, leaning against said mantle, "The moral of the story is that ignorance is bliss." Vio had nodded because the voice in her head told her too. Ignorance was bliss, he was right.
When the spell broke, she wasn't ignorant anymore, and she wasn't in bliss. It was like being plunged into a vat of cold water. She gasped and gasped for breath, not realizing that she was hyperventilating, while Cyrus screamed, mere feet away, before stumbling back and apparating away in a panic. She heard the muted pop only a few rooms away, then another, and Anti followed the sounds like a bloodhound while Vio continued to struggle to breathe.
Finally she inhaled and exhaled successfully, then again, and again, before doubling over on her hands and knees and vomiting. Out, out, she wanted him out- he wasn't there anymore but she could still hear his voice, The Voice, and he kept telling her the same story but she didn't want to hear that story anymore, it was wrong, he was lying, he had to be lying, it wasn't- it wasn't like that. It wasn't. It couldn't have been. I know you've got it figured out-
Tell me what I am all about!
And I just might learn a thing or two...
Hundred about you, maybe about you.
I'm the end of your telescope;
I don't change just to suit your vision.
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