Poetic Theory PV Leonard Closed

Interacting with: @Leonard Oaksworth I have OC permission to slighty godmod.

Date: September 4th, 2021 - 16:00 Outfit: Dress | Shoes

Winnie Harper had not started her second year of Hogwarts with a clear head. No, perhaps that statement in itself was too loose. To put it bluntly; the girl was a bit off her rocker. She had been caught in a whirlwind of emotions after the rather violent end of a lifelong friendship with a certain Jack Warren. Her pseudo older brother, the boy she had once thought the world of, had practically flattened poor Mathias Pride’s face and had left the Ravenclaw to deal with the fallout of his violent decision. One that might scar the poor girl for the rest of her life; the image of her boyfriend’s bashed-in face was not one she would soon forget.

There was also the added issue of her failing memory. It seemed that everyone who approached her claimed to know her, and, usually, she had not a single idea of who the person was. It was as if everyone was playing a joke on her and she was the only one left out of the loop. Yes, blindly grasping for some understanding of the situation had left the girl unsteady. Without the usual help of Jackson and her newly found mistrust of her pepper spray trigger happy room mate, Aurora, her dwindling sanity seemed to be the only thing she could rely on. That, and the word of Mathias Pride.

Winnie needed a release of sorts, the kind that she could usually find within the smooth parchment of her poetry notebook. Yes, she would identify her feelings, ripping them apart and forming them into prose. A quill on paper, the quick etching as the words traveled from her brain and guided her hand. Pitch black ink had stained her pink finger tips and smudged the carefully crafted words. Her hair had been twisted intricately up into a half-bun. The loose half of her copper tresses would cascade down her back, the tips falling into curls. Baby hairs had fallen loose throughout her daily movement and framed her face, which was flushed from her efforts. Her aspen wand had been stuck inside the half bun, used as a hairpin of sorts. The white-laced collar pale pink dress she wore was a bit disheveled and wrinkled from sitting on the ground. The flowing circle skirt fell about knee-length and was complimentary to the short flare sleeves. On her feet were a pair of clunky Mary-Jane shoes, a similar pink to the dress, and embellished with a pair of red strawberries.

It was around the time Winnie had concerns about her latest poem that she would glance upward and see him. A brunet boy who was perched a safe distance away from the still waters of the Great Lake. He seemed lost within the pages of a book, most likely in a dreamland of adventure or mystery. It was curious, however, how often he would glance up to watch the still calm waters as if he were expecting something. Did she know him? She did not know. From the moment she had started the new school year, she would just assume she already knew everyone until otherwise stated. That would prevent her from having to deal with yet another person who claimed she had forgotten them. Whether it was a joke or not, it was getting tiresome having to argue and claim she had no idea who they were.

Either way, she pushed herself onto her feet and made her way over to where the boy sat. Silently, she plopped herself down onto the damp grass next to him, fixed the skirt of her dress, and cast her eyes downward towards her poetry journal. She would not utter a single word to the poor unsuspecting lad before starting to read a poem out loud.

Reducio

"Drowning in an endless loop of daydreams,
I need you to tether me before I float away,
I’ll whisper secrets, you’ll speak of schemes,
And your fabrications will keep my mind at bay.

Tell me a story of a better tomorrow,
Even if it’s empty and full of lies,
Promise me I won’t drown in this sorrow,
Speak to me until I can dry my eyes.

There will be no more tears of dread or despair,
With your broken word, my soul will write you no more prose,
Was love even what you whispered in my ignorant ear,
A heart once treasured now a disposed wilting rose."

It was with an exaggerated sigh that she slammed her journal closed. Her blue eyes would flicker over to the unknown boy’s face and a frown would tug at her lips. She paused, before finally speaking to him. "... You see my issue, right? It is very contrived. Unnatural. The flow just does not work." She tossed the notebook down onto the soft grass next to them, as if offering him to take a look himself.