so long, paris.
TW
This solo contains descriptive mentions of animal death & a house partially burning. It also includes symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) where Violence completely forgets about the incident as her brain rejects those particular memories.
This solo contains descriptive mentions of animal death & a house partially burning. It also includes symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) where Violence completely forgets about the incident as her brain rejects those particular memories.
Last edited by Violence Bloodthorn on 14 Nov 2025, 17:35, edited 2 times in total.
so long, paris.
____________________________________________________________
| x | date and time: 3rd & 4th of July, 2024 location: Lavenham & Paris mentions: none speech 𓍼 thoughts |
◦ "𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔞𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔦𝔫 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢" ◦
XX𝕿he summer sun rose as if it had been waiting all year just to show off. It came up fast and bright, spilling gold across the land until even the shadows looked warm. The air took on that hazy shimmer that made everything seem a little unreal, as though someone had dusted the countryside with powdered honey. Grass rippled in lazy waves, glowing under the yellow sky, swaying as if the breeze itself had nowhere urgent to be. Birds filled the space above the gardens with songs that sounded far too chipper for the early hour.
It felt like the world had decided to take a breath. No rush, no noise, just time stretching out with that sweet holiday indifference. Beaches were apparently crammed with tourists this time of year, but Violence couldn’t quite bring herself to care. The lake behind the Bloodthorn Mansion had always been more than enough for her, and frankly, she preferred it to any sandy chaos full of screaming children and sunburnt strangers.
Normally she’d have spent half the day floating on her back or baking on a towel with a drink in hand, but this summer was different. Technically it had only been two days since the season began, but she’d already spent more time dragging clothes out of her wardrobe than anywhere near water. Every dress, every top, every pair of shorts had been judged with the seriousness of a life-or-death decision. Her room looked like a small storm had burst inside it.
It was the last summer before she left for Hogwarts, which felt strange enough, but that wasn’t what had her all tangled up. She was going to Paris, to the Nightmist Estate, to stay with Aunt Lilith and Uncle Xander. Which meant she would see Sébastien. Sébastien Duval, two years older, had been there for as long as she’d had memories worth keeping. He wasn’t just family; he was her favourite person in the entire bloody world. He knew her inside out, every ridiculous flaw and every secret worry, and still looked at her like she was brilliant. He was the only person Violent trusted unconditionally, and even that felt like an understatement. If anyone asked who she would leap off a cliff for, she’d answer Séb without thinking.
And, of course, there were her grandparents: Seraphina and Roman Nightmist. Proper old magic in their bones, gentle eyes, soft words, and smiles that felt like wool blankets. The thought of seeing them again made her chest expand in a way she couldn’t describe.
No wonder she’d turned her wardrobe into a battlefield.
Her suitcase lay open on the bed, half-eaten by piles of fabric. Clothes covered the couch, the floor, her writing desk, and somehow had ended up stacked dangerously on the windowsill. By midday she finally clipped the case shut with a victorious grunt. She went downstairs, hair messy and arms aching from folding and refolding. Artemis met her in the kitchen, elbow-deep in flour.
“You look like you fought your wardrobe and lost,” her mother said, amused.
“I did not lose,” Violence said. “It’s sorted. I think. Anyway, I’m emotionally scarred.”
“Have lunch,” Artemis murmured, brushing flour off her fingers and onto Vi’s forehead like some strange blessing. Food helped. It always did. After she’d eaten enough to feel vaguely human again, she went to meet Avina and Damon.
“I’m going to miss you two so fucking much,” she groaned dramatically, arms thrown around her friends. “Don’t have too much fun without me. Actually, no, suffer. Be miserable.” “Oh, piss off,” Avina laughed, squeezing her tight. The three of them sat beneath a big willow whose branches swayed like curtains, shading them from the bright glare of afternoon. The grass was warm and soft enough to nap on. For a while they said nothing, just existing in comfortable silence, occasionally flicking stray leaves at one another. It struck Violence how rare that kind of peace was, and how much she’d miss it.
Hours passed without any real awareness of time, and eventually she had to go home.
“Mom, when do we leave tomorrow?” she asked as she stepped into the mansion.
Drakon passed by, overhearing, and chuckled.
“I’m still amazed by how excited you are to visit the Estate. One would think we were sending you to paradise.”
“We are,” she said simply, because in her mind, that was true.
Morning came too quickly. Luggage stacked by the fireplace, everyone dressed neatly, the smell of breakfast still clinging to the air. Violence’s stomach fluttered with something between nerves and pure, unfiltered excitement. She stepped inside the firepit, clutching the bright green powder. “Nightmist Estate, Paris,” she said, voice sure. Flames surged, green and wild, swallowing her whole. She tumbled out on the other side, brushing soot off her sleeves, blinking against the sudden brightness. And there they all were: Seraphina and Roman, Lilith and Xander, and Sébastien. Her grandmother swept forward immediately. Violence practically flung herself into the woman’s arms, hugging her so tightly her fingers trembled.
“Welcome, welcome,” Lilith said, gliding over. “I’ll get water for all of you. Sit, sit.” There was chatter in the living room, everyone catching up at once. Violence’s gaze flicked restlessly to Sébastien, who raised a brow like he’d been waiting for her to look over. After a polite amount of pretending to be engaged with the adults, Violence excused herself and went with him upstairs.
The moment Sébastien shut the door to his room, she sighed like she’d been holding her breath since she left Lavenham.
The dress she’d chosen tugged uncomfortably at the neck, so she hooked two fingers into the collar, trying to loosen it. “Too fancy for life?” Séb asked lightly. “It’s choking me like I owe it money,” she muttered. “So. How have things been? How’s Beaux treating you? More importantly, where is Bella? I’ve missed her so much I might cry. Merlin only knows how I survived.” He laughed and whistled a short, familiar tune. Within seconds, little paws pattered down the hallway and burst into the room.
Bella, snow-white and soft as clouds, launched herself onto Violence’s lap. “BELLAAAAA,” she squeaked, burying her fingers in the dog’s fur. Bella’s tail wagged so hard her whole body wriggled. “She missed you too,” Séb said, leaning against his desk. Violence pressed her face into Bella’s shoulder, inhaling the warm, comforting scent of dog and sunshine. Bella made everything better. She always had. The evening drifted along in slow, golden minutes. Violence and Sébastien sprawled across his floor, sharing stories, complaining about school, flicking playing cards at each other just to see who could land one in the wastebasket.
Bella rolled on her back between them, paws in the air like she wanted belly rubs from both sides, which she absolutely received. There was a softness to the light in his room, bouncing off cream-coloured curtains, making the whole place feel a lot more like home. When the mothers finally called them downstairs, they made their way to dinner, side by side, bumping shoulders like it was instinct.
Seraphina asked if Violence was excited for Hogwarts.
Roman asked if she still painted, eyes warm with memory.
Lilith wanted to know how she’d been spending her days.
Xander asked if she’d finally learned how to cook anything non-lethal.
Violence laughed through every question, chest fuller than it had been in weeks. Later, teeth brushed and hair tied up, she fell into the huge bed prepared for her. Her body sank into the mattress, limbs still buzzing with joy, and she let out a long, content sigh. It felt good to be back.
𓍼
| XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX | wc: 1,274 notes: n/a outfit | x |
Last edited by Violence Bloodthorn on 15 Nov 2025, 17:54, edited 1 time in total.
so long, paris.
____________________________________________________________
| x | date and time: 5th of July, 2024 location: Nightmist Estate, Paris mentions: n/a speech 𓍼 thoughts |
◦ "𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔞𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔦𝔫 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢" ◦
XX𝕸orning light crept through the sheer curtains before Violence was fully awake, trailing across her face in soft ribbons. For a moment she didn’t remember where she was, only that the sheets felt suspiciously luxurious and there was a faint smell of vanilla and old wood in the room. Then the quiet sounds of birds outside the open balcony doors stirred her memory, and it hit her all at once: Paris. Nightmist Estate. Family. Sébastien.
A grin tugged at her cheeks before she even opened her eyes properly. She stretched like a cat, limbs lazy and comfortable, enjoying the way the duvet felt like a hug. Paris mornings always seemed… slower. Gentle. As if the city didn’t mind if you took your time getting up. Back home, mornings felt crisp and clean, demanding you get on with things. Here, the air coaxed, not commanded. She slipped out of bed, padding barefoot across the polished floor. The mirror over the dresser reflected a tangle of curls and sleep-soft eyes. She ran her fingers through her hair, attempting to tame it without much commitment. Looking too polished would break the magic.
As she opened the wardrobe, she heard a soft scratch before the door creaked open and Bella trotted in, tail already wagging wildly.
“Good morning, my beloved,” Violence whispered, crouching down so Bella could enthusiastically shove her face into Vi’s hands. The dog’s fur was impossibly soft, warm from sleep, and she let out a pleased huff as Violence scratched her neck. A moment later, Sébastien appeared behind Bella, leaning against the doorframe. His dark hair was rumpled and he still wore an oversized T-shirt, clearly not fully awake yet.
“You’re up early,” he said, voice low with sleep.
Violence stood, shrugging. “Bella broke into my room. Truly shocking. I’m appalled.”
“She just wanted to annoy you,” he replied, deadpan.
Violence rolled her eyes. “Right. Because between the two of us, I’m clearly the annoy-able one.” He smiled, brief but bright. “Breakfast in fifteen. Grandma’s making something that smells way too good to ignore.” As he turned away, Bella pranced after him, pausing halfway to glance back at Violence expectantly. “Yes, I’m coming. Merlin,” she sighed with faux dramatic flair, trailing behind them down the hallway.
Nightmist Estate was breathtaking even when you weren’t trying to be impressed. High ceilings with carved beams; pale walls washed with warm amber morning light; paintings lining the corridors like silent family witnesses. The wooden floors made soft sounds beneath their feet, each room smelling faintly of books and lavender. In the kitchen, Seraphina stood stirring something at the stove, her silver-streaked hair swept into a loose bun. Roman sat at the table, reading a newspaper and humming off-key. “Good morning, my darling,” Seraphina said, turning slightly. Her eyes crinkled with affection. Violence moved to hug her grandmother again, unable to resist. Seraphina always felt like comfort embodied.
“Sleep well?” Roman asked, lowering the paper.
“Like the dead,” Violence replied cheerfully.
“Charming,” Sébastien muttered, sliding into a chair.
Violence swatted his arm lightly before sitting down next to him. Bella settled beneath the table, placing her chin on Vi’s foot like she was staking her claim. Breakfast arrived in the form of fluffy crêpes dusted with powdered sugar, berry compote, and warm bread that smelled like heaven had been baked and sliced. Violence ate with the enthusiasm of someone who had known hunger in a past life. Artemis and Drakon joined soon after, still looking slightly travel-lagged. Lilith and Xander drifted in at different times, each greeted with sleepy hellos. It was quiet in the softest, loveliest way. No rush. No noise beyond utensils clinking and the occasional sigh of approval.
Violence caught Sébastien glancing at her plate and narrowed her eyes.
“What,” she said suspiciously.
“You’re on your third one,” he pointed out.
“And?”
“You’re five minutes away from sinking the entire French economy by eating all its sugar reserves.”
“Fuck off.”
Roman choked on a laugh. Seraphina gave Violence a look that hovered somewhere between fondness and mild scolding. After breakfast, Sébastien dragged her outside to the garden, insisting they get fresh air instead of lying on the rug like half-dead houseplants. The Nightmist gardens were ridiculous. Violence always forgot how big they were. Tall hedges shaped into arches lined the path, and blooming flowers painted the air in bursts of colour. The morning sun caught on dew drops, making the petals sparkle like they’d been kissed by starlight. Bella bounded ahead, nose low, tail high, darting between rose bushes with reckless joy.
“She’s going to eat a bee one day,” Violence said.
“She already has. Didn’t learn anything.”
Violence snorted.
They followed the gravel path until it widened into a little courtyard with a fountain. Water trickled down carved stone, the sound soft enough to lull the nerves. They sat on the low ledge, letting the sun warm their backs. It was easy being with Sébastien. No need to pretend, no pressure to be impressive. He saw her as she was, messy and confident and insecure and ridiculous. She leaned against his shoulder, and he leaned back like it was second nature.
“How’s Beaux?” she asked, absent mindedly.
He made a face. “Terribly dramatic. Everything’s a performance. If you don’t know five languages by breakfast, you’re nothing.”
Violence laughed. “Sounds like hell.”
“It’d be worse if I didn’t get to come home.”
Something in her chest tightened a little. She didn’t say anything, but the silence felt warm, not awkward. Bella trotted toward them with a stick, tail wagging like she’d just solved every problem in the world. “Oh, bless,” Violence sighed, taking the stick. “You want to play?” Bella nodded. Actually nodded. Violence threw the stick, watching the dog take off like a fluffy missile.
“She’s faster than last year,” Sébastien observed.
“She’s got noodle legs of steel,” Violence replied solemnly.
They spent the rest of the morning wandering around the estate, occasionally detouring into rooms they weren’t supposed to be in, whispering like guilty children. There was a sense of old magic in the walls, humming quietly, and every room felt like it had stories tucked into the wallpaper. Inside the small library, Violence paused, running her fingers over the spines of old books. Dust, paper, familiarity.
“You can take something to read if you want,” Sébastien offered.
“Like I have any space left in my suitcase,” she replied.
He shrugged. “I’ll carry it for you next time.”
Her chest warmed at that. Little gestures always got her. They eventually ended up back in Sébastien’s room. Bella collapsed near the window, panting dramatically. Violence flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
“You good?” he asked.
She hummed. “Just… happy.”
“Good.”
He sat beside her, shoulders touching. The quiet stretched again, comfortable.
“You’re going to have fun at Hogwarts,” he said softly.
She turned her head. “You think so?”
“You’ll be brilliant. You always are.”
Something thick and bright unfurled in her chest, gratitude blooming like a slow flower.
“You’re biased,” she said.
“Obviously,” he replied, not even pretending otherwise.
They smiled at each other, gentle and sure. It was, she thought, the safest place in the world.
𓍼
| XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX | wc: 1,198 notes: n/a outfit | x |
so long, paris.
____________________________________________________________
| x | date and time: 5th of August, 2024 location: the city of Paris mentions: n/a speech 𓍼 thoughts |
◦ "𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔞𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔦𝔫 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢" ◦
XX𝕬lmost a month slipped by before Violence realised it. Time in Paris had a strange rhythm, slower than England, like the city breathed in longer strokes. Days felt honeyed and soft, stained golden by the constant summer sun. The sky was so blue it looked painted, too perfect to be real. Flowers overflowed from balconies as if they were showing off, all pinks and reds and strange oranges she could never name. Somehow it all made her feel like she was living inside a postcard.
Today, the entire family finally managed to coordinate an outing. A miracle. All eight of them spilled onto the street at once, loudly and without apology.
Violence dragged her feet slightly as they left the front steps. Her heart was still in the house, specifically curled up beside a white fluffball. "I still think we should have brought Bella," she muttered, folding her arms. "She would have been fine." Seraphina looked over her shoulder, patient and graceful as always. "She needs rest, ma chérie*. She has been playing non stop with you since you arrived. Let her sleep." Violence scowled half heartedly. "She looked perfectly energetic to me." Sébastien snorted lightly. "You woke her up three times yesterday just to cuddle her. She is basically jet lagged from you." Violence shoved him in the arm, though she could not stop the smile tugging. "It was only twice." "Three," he insisted. "Two and a half," she corrected.
Their bickering blended naturally into the noise of the street. Paris greeted them with open arms. Cafés spilled onto the pavements, chairs scattered in crooked, charming lines. The smell of fresh bread seemed to live in the very stones. Someone somewhere was laughing. Someone else was smoking. Car horns were distant and lazy. Nothing felt rushed. Seraphina and Roman led ahead, fingers laced like teenagers. Artemis and Lilith walked behind them, chatting excitedly about fabrics and shops. Xander narrated arcitecture like it was the most phenomenal thing ever built. Drakon kept quiet, hands in pockets, a gentle smile tucked away.
Violence stayed next to Sébastien without thinking about it, steps matching easily. Their shoulders brushed occasionally, neither moving away. It was familiar, almost comforting, like breathing beside someone she had always known. They moved first into a narrow street that looked stolen from a film. Stone buildings loomed overhead, vines creeping down the walls as if they too had chosen to vacation. The air was warm, shimmering slightly, and somewhere nearby a musician strummed guitar in slow rhythm. Lilith steered them toward a bakery she claimed was the best in the city. "If this one disappoints me, we are moving," she announced. Violence did not doubt her.
Inside, warm air wrapped around them like a hug. Butter, sugar and something faintly floral swirled together. The pastries gleamed in neat rows, golden and tempting. Violence pressed closer to the glass case like a child. Seraphina nudged her. "Choisis, ma chérie."** Violence pointed at a flaky croissant layered with chocolate. Sébastien chose the same, and they took tables outside, small round iron ones that wobbled slightly. The street hummed gently around them. Violence took a bite and nearly whimpered. "Oh my god," she said around a mouthful. "This is illegal. Like it should actually be banned." Her mother laughed softly. "Just enjoy it, darling." Séb flicked a bit of flaky pastry at her plate, smirking. "Welcome to France." "Right, now you think you are special," she said, rolling her eyes.
They wandered on. The Seine appeared like magic, wide and slow, shimmering beneath the sunlight. Bridges arched elegantly overhead. Boats drifted lazily below, small waves trailing behind them. Violence leened on the stone rail, letting the breeze kiss her cheeks. It carried the scent of water, stone and something sweet from a nearby stall. For a moment, the world slowed. She watched the river flow, feeling strangely anchored. Whole. Séb nudged her shoulder. "Cliché,huh?" he murmured quietly, eyes dancing. "It is," she admitted. "But in the best way."
They continued, feet carrying them without direction. They slipped into a tiny shop cramped with books. The inside smelled like dust and paper and time. Violence ran her fingers along spines, lingering over the titles. She pulled a slim poetry book from the shelf, the cover worn soft. It felt like someone had loved it before. "You like it?" Séb asked, leaning close. She hesitated. "Yeah. A lot. It feels like a secret." Without a word, he brought it to the counter and purchased it. Violence blinked, heat blooming on her cheeks. "You always do this."
"Do what?"
"Buy me things."
He shrugged. "Maybe I just like seeing you smile."
She felt her heart tug. Just a little.
She did not comment further. Lunch hppened in a quiet courtyard buried beneath ivy. The tables were mismatched, chairs painted in bright colours that chipped in all the right places. The sunlight filtered through leaves and made moving patterns on their plates. They ordered plates to share, filling the table with bread, creamy cheese, grilled vegetables and something roasted with lemon that made Violence sigh dramatically. "I am genuinely offended by how good everything is," she said, slumping in her seat.
Drakon snorted and tried to hide his smile behind a glass of water. By mid afternoon, they reached a small park shaded by chestnut trees. The grass glowed green, sunlight pooling where it could. Children ran past with kites, adults lounged on blankets, dozing gently. It felt peaceful, like the world had given itself permission to relax. They settled on the grass beneath a wide willow tree. Artemis stretched her legs across Drakon's lap. Lilith lay on her back staring at clouds. Xander pointed at birds high above, explaining species with unnecessary enthusiasm.
Seraphina leaned her head on Roman's shoulder, eyes soft. Violence sat beside Sébastien. The quiet felt easy. He lay back on the grass, hands behind his head. Violence followed, gazing up. The sky was impossibly blue, clouds drifting lazily. She let her hands rest on her stomach, breathing in summer. "Happy?" he asked softly. She nodded. "Yeah. I really am." He closed his eyes, content. "Good. You deserve that." Violence turned her head to look at him. He seemed at peace, dark hair fallen over his forehead, faint smile playing at his lips. She thought about how they grew up side by side, how he had always been there. Holidays, birthdays, ordinary days. He was her constant. Their bond felt like destiny, stitched quietly by people who loved them both. She felt grateful. Ridiculously grateful. A light breeze brushed her skin.
Somewhere nearby, someone was playing voilin, slow and aching. The sound floated above them like a blessing. Violence closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the warmth of the day. Her chest felt full, heavy in the best way. She thought of Bella curled on her bed at home, probably dreaming. She smiled to hrself. Home felt bigger here, stretched across borders, not just a place but people. For a moment, nothing else mattered.
The future felt far away.
The present felt enough.
She breathed in the Paris air and thought, ‘I could live in this feeling.’ Just like that, the day settled into her bones, quiet and sure. She knew she would remmeber it years later. Not for the grand sights or the perfect weather but for the way her heart felt steady like it finally knew where it belonged.
𓍼
| XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX | wc: 1,241 notes: *my dear; **choose, my dear outfit | x |
Last edited by Violence Bloodthorn on 14 Nov 2025, 17:05, edited 1 time in total.
so long, paris.
____________________________________________________________
| x | date and time: 5th of August, 2024; night-time location: Nightmist Estate, Paris mentions: n/a speech 𓍼 thoughts |
◦ "𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔞𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔦𝔫 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢" ◦
XX𝕹ight settled over the city like a velvet curtain, streetlamps hazy through warm summer air. Their heels clicked softly on the stone path as they neared the house, laughter trailing behind them in tired, gentle waves. Everyone felt pleasantly worn, pleasantly full, glowing with the kind of contentment only an unhurried day can bring.
The moment Violence stepped through the front door, her smile faltered. Something was wrong. A thick, acrid scent clung to the air. It curled into her nose, sharp and chemical, and her chest tightened as her mind caught up to what her senses already knew. Burning. She froze for half a second, eyes wide, heart lurching violently. Sébastien turned to her, brow creasing. Then they heard it. A sinister crackle. Alive. Growing. Roman shouted, voice cracking through the stillness. Everyone rushed forward at once, stumbling over shoes and each other as they sprinted toward the kitchen. Heat punched through the corridor, blistering and merciless.
The kitchen was engulfed in flames. Orange and red curled up the walls, devouring wood and tile with greedy hunger. The cupboards were already collapsing, fire crawling along the ceiling like a living nightmare. Something exploded near the back wall, spraying sparks that shot outward like fireworks. A curtain caught instantly. Artemis screamed. Lilith grabbed her, pulling her back. Xander shouted for everyone to get out. The family turned and ran, instinct guiding their steps, panic snapping through them like a whip. Violence stumbled after them, dizzy with shock.
Until her gaze dropped to the floor. A scrap of white fur lay near the threshold. Small. Soft. Unmistakable. Her heart stopped. Time slowed. Everything else fell silent. She looked up at the burning room, smoke thick and choking. Her voice tore itself from her throat, raw and terrified. "Bella!" Her scream ripped through the hallway, sharp as broken glass. She surged forward, trying to throw herself into the fire. Sébastien caught her around the waist, arms locked like iron. His shout was hoarse, frantic. "Vi, stop!"
She thrashed wildly, nails clawing at his forearms, legs kicking against the floor. "Let go! Séb, let go! She is in there! She is in there, I have to get her!" Her voice shattered on every word. Her lungs burned with smoke, panic twisting her stomach until she thought she might be sick. Sébastien held on tighter, voice breaking. "You cannot. Vi, you cannot go in. She is gone. She is gone." "No she is not!" Violence shrieked, tears spilling hot and blinding. "She is alive, let me go! Let me go!" The rest of the family rushed back into the corridor, shouting over one another, faces streaked with smoke and fear.
Lilith clutched at her mouth, sobbing. Seraphina collapsed to her knees, hands trembling. Roman stood frozen, eyes glassy with horror. Artemis cried out her daughter's name, reaching for her. Drakon looked broken, helpless, his face pale and rigid. Violence kept screaming, voice splintering, throat tearing. "She needs me! Séb, please, she needs me!" Sébastien pulled her against his chest, sinking with her to the floor as if his legs could not hold him anymore. His arms trembled violently around her. He pressed his face into her shoulder, crying openly, body shaking. "Shhh," he choked. "I am so sorry."
Violence fought him weakly, then collapsed, sobs ripping through her body with terrifying force. She could barely breathe. The heat seared her skin, smoke clawed at her throat, and all she could see was Bella curled somewhere inside, alone, scared. Her cries echoed against the stone, loud enough to break the night. The world turned to noise. Fire trucks. Voices shouting. Boots pounding. Doors slamming. Glass breaking. Violence heard none of it. She only heard her own heart caving in. Time blurred. Hours passed like ghosts. The fire had died.
The kitchen and most of the dining room smouldered, blackened and wet. Ash drifted through the air like snow. Violence stood in her room, arms wrapped around herself tight enough to bruise. Her entire body shook. Her throat was raw. Her cheeks were stained with tears that would not stop coming. Her heart felt hollow. Like someone had carved out everything soft inside her and left nothing but an aching cavity.
Down the hall, the adults spoke in broken whispers. Occasionally someone sobbed. Occasionally someone fell quiet. She could not help but feel angry at them. If only they had listened to her and let them take Bella with them. She slashed out her hand in the air, full of rage. A vase fell, shattering into a million pieces. She looked at them and could not help but see her heart in the shards.
Four hours since they had arrived home. Four hours since their world slipped and cracked. Bella lay in the guest room on a bed that used to smell like lavender. A thin white sheet covered her small body. Someone had placed a hand towel where her head would have been, as if she were simply sleeping. Violence stepped toward the bed, legs trembling so hard she nearly fell. Sébastien was at her side instantly, eyes red and swollen. His hand hovered near her back, close but careful. He knew she might not want to be touched. He knew she was hurting in a way that did not have language.
Violence reached the edge of the bed, tears dripping silently, lips trembling. She sank to her knees, pressing both palms to the mattress. Her voice came out in a whisper, so quiet it nearly disappeared. "I am so sorry, Bella." Her body folded over, forehead pressing against the sheet. She felt the shape beneath it, small and still. A sound escaped her chest, low and broken, almost a gasp, almost a sob, almost a scream. She clung to the blanket, shoulders heaving, every breath a wound.
Sébastien knelt beside her, finally placing a hand on her back. He did not try to speak. He did not try to fix anything. He simply stayed. Tears streamed down his face, dropping onto the sheets as he leaned his forehead to her shoulder. Artemis was crying in Drakon's arms near the doorway. Lilith and Xander held each other, faces hidden. Seraphina stood against Roman, shaking silently, her hands covering her mouth as though she could hold in her heartbreak. No one moved. No one dared to. The room felt too small for so much grief. Violence tried to breathe, but it came in sharp, uneven shudders. Her fingers slid beneath the sheet, stroking the fur she could not see. Still soft. Still familiar. Still hers. But cold.
The world tilted. Her heart snapped clean through. She closed her eyes, letting her tears pool onto the cloth. Outside, Paris remained bright and alive, unaware. The city lights shimmered against the windows, cruel and beautiful. Violence felt none of it. She only felt the empty space where love used to breathe. And she stayed like that long after everyone had lost their words, long after the tears seemed impossible to cry, holding on because she could not bear to let go.
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so long, paris.
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| x | date and time: 7th, 30th & 31st of August, 2024 location: Paris; Lavenham mentions: n/a speech 𓍼 thoughts |
◦ "𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔦𝔞𝔫 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔦𝔫 𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔰, 𝔟𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔬 𝔟𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔬𝔯𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢" ◦
XX𝕿wo days later, the sky turned grey over Paris. A heavy stillness lingered across the estate, as though the air itself understood what was to come. The gardens, usually loud with birdsong, had fallen silent. Even the roses seemed to droop under the weight of the morning. Violence stood beside Sébastien, dressed in black. Her hair was neatly tied back, but strands had escaped, sticking to her damp cheeks. The coffin was small, heartbreakingly so. It rested under a tall oak in the corner of the estate gardens, where the light filtered through the leaves like broken glass. No one spoke for a long while. Only the faint sound of someone sniffling, and the rustle of leaves as the wind moved gently through.
Roman placed his hand on Violence’s shoulder, soft and steady. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, just stared at the small mound of earth before her. Artemis and Drakon stood a few feet behind, holding each other. Lilith had buried her face into Xander’s coat. Seraphina’s hand shook as she dropped a single white rose over the grave, whispering a prayer under her breath.
Sébastien leaned forward, laying down Bella’s favourite collar, the small silver tag catching what little sunlight managed to break through the clouds. “She was... she was the best of us,” he murmured, voice trembling, barely more than a whisper. Violence said nothing. Her lips parted once, as if she might speak, but no sound came out. Her eyes glistened, hollow and aching, the kind of emptiness that words couldn’t touch. Her fingers clutched the hem of her sleeve, nails digging into her skin. She was too still, too quiet, as if her mind had gone somewhere else entirely.
When the first shovelful of dirt hit the coffin, she flinched. Sébastien reached for her hand, and this time she let him. Her grip was loose, fragile, but she held on. By the time the sun began to set, the grave was covered. The family stood together in silence, eyes red, hearts heavy. Violence watched as the light bled out from the sky, her breath slow, almost detached, as though her body and mind were moving in different worlds. That night, she lay awake staring at the ceiling. The smell of smoke lingered faintly in her hair, no matter how many times she had washed it. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw flashes of fire - gold, orange, red - but the reason for her tears had started to slip away. Something in her mind was already beginning to fold in on itself.
𓍼
Almost a month later, Lavenham had cooled into soft September. The air was crisp, the trees whispering faint hints of autumn. The Bloodthorn Mansion sat quietly against the horizon, the lake glinting faintly in the afternoon sun. Inside, the house had fallen silent too. Violence had changed. The girl who once ran through the halls laughing, who filled every corner with her energy, now moved like a shadow. She kept to herself, spending long hours in her room or in the garden, sketching or reading but rarely speaking. Her smile had become something delicate, a ghost of what it once was.
Drakon had noticed it first. The way she no longer sang in the shower. The way her laughter never quite reached her eyes. Artemis noticed next, how her daughter flinched at loud sounds and how she hadn’t once mentioned Paris since their return. That afternoon, Artemis knocked softly on the door of her daughter’s room. “Vi, love? May I come in?” “Yeah, of course, Mum,” Violence said, voice even, calm. The room was tidy, too tidy for her usual habits. The curtains were open, letting in a pale gold light. A few books were stacked neatly on the table, her trunk sitting by the corner, half-packed.
Artemis smiled softly, stepping closer. “Your father and I were thinking about Bella today,” she said, gently. “I found one of her toys when I was cleaning the old carriage room. I nearly cried, if I’m being honest.” Violence frowned, confusion flickering in her eyes. “Bella?” she repeated. Artemis blinked, caught off guard. “Yes, darling. Bella. It feels as if just yesterday she was playing with you. And now…” Violence tilted her head slightly, brows knitting together. “Mom- who’s Bella? What are you talking about?”
The silence that followed was deafening. Artemis just stared at her, eyes wide, the colour draining from her face. “You- The… the story, dear. The story I told you? Have you forgotten already?” Violence nodded her head, a polite, almost apologetic smile forming. “I’m sorry, Mum. You know, I have just been so excited since we got my textbooks. I’ve been reading the potions book and I know quite a lot of the recipes already. I’m glad you taught me.”
Artemis’s throat tightened. Her eyes filled before she could stop them. She stepped forward, reaching for her daughter’s hand, but stopped midway, as if unsure whether to push. “It’s all right,” she whispered finally, forcing a trembling smile. “Happy for you, my love. We’ll brew something that you learnt during the holidays, if you decide to spend it with us.” Violence nodded lightly, unaware of the storm that had passed through the room. “All right,” she said softly, turning back to fold a jumper into her trunk.
Artemis left the room quietly, pressing her hand against her chest as she walked down the hallway. She didn’t tell Drakon what had happened. She couldn’t. The weight of it sat too heavy in her throat.
𓍼
The next morning, Avina and Damon visited, eager to see Violence before she left for Hogwarts. They found her sitting by the window, sunlight tracing soft lines across her face. She smiled faintly as they entered, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. They chatted softly about school, teachers, and plans for the term. Violence listened more than she spoke, her replies kind but distant. Avina, ever the observer, noticed how Vi’s hands never stopped fidgeting - folding the corner of her sleeve, brushing invisible dust from her trousers.
After a lull in the conversation, Avina’s tone softened. “You know, Sébastien wrote to me. He said it’s been... hard. The house still smells like smoke, apparently.” Violence’s eyes flicked up for a second, “What smoke?” Avina was taken aback, “The-” Damon nudged her. “-pie. He baked a pie and well, it was definitely not edible.” He chuckled. Violence hummed, “Well, he didn’t say anything to me. He hasn’t written to me all summer either. Eh, must be busy.”
They stayed a little longer, telling small stories, joking about classes and summer pranks. Violence smiled when they laughed, and even laughed once herself, but it was faint, like the echo of something long forgotten. Before finally leaving, they went to visit Artemis, and were made aware about how Violence had just… forgotten.
𓍼
That evening, Violence zipped her trunk shut and carried it downstairs. Artemis and Drakon were waiting in the parlour, cups of tea untouched on the table. She beamed at them, the same radiant smile she’d worn as a child before birthdays or trips, bright enough to almost make them forget. “All packed!” she said cheerfully, dropping the trunk by the door. “I’m so ready for tomorrow.” Drakon smiled, but it was forced. “You sure you’ve got everything?” “Positive,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“It’s going to be brilliant, isn’t it?” Artemis nodded, managing a small, tremulous smile. “Yes, darling. It will be.” Violence grinned, stretching her arms above her head, the light catching in her hair. “I can’t wait to see the castle and attend classes and make friends,” she said enthusiastically.
Then she turned, glancing out the window where the lake caught the last hint of sunlight. For a fleeting moment, her expression shifted - something like unease, like recognition flickering and vanishing before it could form. But she blinked it away, smiling once more. “Goodnight, Mum. Goodnight, Dad.” And she climbed the stairs, humming under her breath, the tune light, empty of meaning, as if nothing in her world had ever burned.
𓍼
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