A Time Long Ago
" A TIME LONG AGO "
time. sunday evening. december of 2024.
place. the lee family house, st. john's wood, london.
with. @estella cain
Dahlia was prepared. Like a watchguard, the ten-year-old had stationed herself at the sitting room window. She sat backwards on the sofa, arms folded and resting on the headboard, feet kicking at the edge of the seat. Either of her parents would have considered this posture undignified. However, they did not happen to be in the room so Dahlia could do as she pleased.
At this particular moment, what pleased the young witch was to watch the movements of the street. It was a Sunday night, and, as was true of all Sunday nights, her family was expecting guests— the sort of guests that could be arriving any minute now. Hence, each passing individual was to be inspected with equal suspicion and enthusiasm.
Dahlia usually enjoyed having people over. Rather, there were few people the 10-year-old met who she didn't find at least interesting conceptually. In reality there were many boring adults her father had chosen to befriend: those who spoke of nothing but work, did not care for Dahlia's presence, or had the air of another century were among those she disliked. It was always better when there was someone her age, at least below twenty, although it was rare. Dahlia was homeschooled and, hence, did not have the opportunity to meet children her age so often, making it extra special. Did these people have one? Her mother had probably informed her days ago but, like with all information she did not need immediately, it was discarded.
The suspense was killing her! Dahlia rose from her perch, hearing her parents' footsteps, instead choosing to pace the length of the room. One, two, three... She stretched her legs to their maximum, attempting to cross the room in as few steps as possible. It was not a particularly hard challenge but at least it gave her something to do with herself as she waited.
note: this is the rough layout of the lee house as reference. the primary bedroom is her parents' room. dahlia is the only child so both the second and third bedrooms belong to dahlia as the third is used as a walk-in closet. the additional bedrooms upstairs are an archive room and an office respectively.
A Time Long Ago
location ; lee house, london. wc ; 659
❝ WHEN YOU WERE HERE BEFORE, COULDN'T LOOK YOU IN THE EYE—
𝕱aint embers still lingered over her breath. Estella never really enjoyed the process even though she had undergone it far too many times for her liking, the same monotonous method. If you searched for the root of such distaste, it might come up empty but to those who knew her heart's patterns might say it was due to the gatherings. If it could even be called that. With a barely imperceptible huff — that definitely didn't make her mother scowl and do the hands on hip stance — she continued the burdensome march straight to the beautiful house ahead. All the while, the mantra to flight repeating in her head over and over again.
She hoped pathetically that someone her age was there, Merlin forbid it should be one of those meetings suffocating with stuffy adults with the predictable, mundane speeches. Tilting her head, she caught the gaze of her father, a kaleidoscope of distress, resignation and the faintest trace of amusement twirling in his grey eyes. She couldn't hold back a grin as the reason for this dilemma dawned upon her. Last time he brought her to an event like this, he had to pay a hefty amount for the mess she caused. It wasn't intentional of course, she wasn't keen on emptying her family's fortune or partaking in childish brawls. Surprisingly, they cut off contacts saying some rubbish like "restraining barbaric witches" or something along those lines and Estella couldn't be more pleased. However amusing that all may be, she didn't want to be the cause for her parents' frowns tonight, tonight she just wanted to leave.
She vaguely felt that she missed out whatever her mother ranted, and gave an apologetic shrug. It was more frequent lately, zoning out. She ticked it away as the complete unworthiness of her surroundings to hold any interest. She didnt bother to ask her about the details of the people she was about to meet, yet she spoke anyway. It would be better if she didn't know at all, perhaps with luck she could hide away in some isolated corner or garden and miss the entire thing. But luck played favourites, and she was never a choice. That was when her mum announced that there may be someone around her age after all. Hope fluttered pathetically and she supposed that this evening perhaps may not be so bad. Maybe she had some luck after all.
It was pure instinct that she chose to look up. Intuition. It was a distinct feeling, having eyes on you. And amber eyes trailed the walls, finally resting on the probing gaze. Once again, she lost the battle to a grin, resembling one of those strange little cats from those strange muggle books. What was it again? Annie? Ah, Alice. Guilty little pleasures, those muggle books. Involuntarily, her hand was moving in a gesture that appeared like a wave. With some struggle squinting, she could make out a silhouette of a girl. She almost leapt with joy, and recalled her mother saying that the family had a daughter around her age. Persistent, pathetic hope. All too sudden, they seemed to disappear, almost as if it was some illusion her mind brought up. She was certain that she saw someone there, not believing her mind to cause such tricks. Was she yearning too much for company that she made them up in her mind? No, she could've sworn she saw someone there. Or she simply hadn't rest enough the other night, that must be it. Huffing once more — this time her mother glared daggers at her, but seemed resigned — she clutched tightly at the silk of her dress, crimson biting into her skin. She had to get her act together, deep breaths and shoulders back. Whoever the enigma was — if there was one — she was going to find out, and she hoped it would take form in the shape of a friend.
—SHE'S RUNNING OUT THE DOOR, SHE'S RUNNING OUT. ❞
♤ MENTIONING ; @dahlia lee |
boom. ; OUTFIT ♡ |
◇ ABILITY ; intuition. |
sta 5 str 5 wis 8 arc 4 eva 4 acc 4 ; STATS ♧ |
🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶🂲🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶🂲🃍🂶
________________________________________
❝ 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥, 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐈 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭.❞
▪︎ sta 5 ▪︎ str 5 ▪︎ wis 8 ▪︎ arc 4 ▪︎ eva 4 ▪︎ acc 4▪︎
𝐄𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 V 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧
A Time Long Ago
" A TIME LONG AGO "
time. sunday evening. december of 2024.
place. the lee family house, st. john's wood, london.
with. @estella cain
The faint sound of footsteps on the front lawn was sufficient to draw Dahlia to her full height. "The guests!" She called out to her mother and father. The former of the pair was deep in the process of applying enchantments to the dining room. She could tell by the faint sound of incantations— those which arranged the porcelain, wiped up messes, and conjured a delicate smell of osmanthus and rose. Each detail required perfection. Her father, meanwhile, finished preparing the dinner. The Lee household did not believe in the keeping of house elves due to ethical concerns including damage to Junghwan's pride. It made no difference how affluent the man was. He found pleasure in making artistically complex, multi-course meals from scratch.
Neither parent responded immediately to Dahlia's announcement much to her chagrin. It was not for the sake of the guests waiting outside but rather the girl's own impatience. There were people— new people— and she wished to meet them sooner rather than later.
Why must she wait for her parents? Dahlia Lee was ten years old and, by her own standards, a respectable witch. She stood taller than most girls her age at five feet. Her hair ribbon, as she had double checked, was neatly arranged. She had chosen her black dress over the white or pink options because she considered it more elegant. Elegant women listed black as their favorite color. Elegant women were capable of opening doors. Hence, Dahlia was capable of opening a door. Logic prevailed.
The young witch took a step forward, then two. Porcelain fingers curled around the metal handle. There had been strict instructions given not to open the door without her parents present. These instructions had been repeated to her on several occasions over the years. It was what some might call a well-established household rule.
Dahlia, evidently, considered it optional. Her disobedience was a source of personal pride. (To disobey, one must question, and to question, one must think critically. In other words, Dahlia was not the sort of idiot who fell for "because I said so" excuses.) She cast one last glance in the direction of her parents, pulled the door open, and set her sight upon three individuals.
Merlin had smiled upon her. Such was Dahlia's first assessment of the Cain trifecta. (She saw three. More could exist hiding around the bend in the road. One could never be too comfortable.) Her eyes fell first upon the girl, then the adults. The parents were, comparably, unremarkable. She had seen plenty of adults of the genre: pureblooded, vaguely anxious, and stiff. The Cain daughter, however, was the miracle. She appeared, if not Dahlia's age exactly, close enough.
"I absolutely love your dress!" Dahlia spoke before thinking. Had she forgotten introductions? Absolutely. However, it was the truth. The boldly-patterned fabric put Dahlia's comparative minimalism to rest. She enjoyed bold colors and textures although they did not exist in her own wardrobe. Such bold statements (of the physical, not the verbal variety) were not in alignment with her image. However, she had a sense that, if the wearer were to be alike in character to their outfit, they would become a close at once.
The echo of footsteps carried down the hall. She straightened in performance, a nervous glance tossed over her shoulder. Right. She had not been authorized to open the door alone. Her parents appeared to her side with eerie synchronicity. A woman with a sharp stare, pointed nose, and a dress made entirely of green velvet rested her forearm across Dahlia's shoulders. Few features were shared between the pair aside from those dictated by ethnicity. Her father flanked her mother's opposite side with the energy of a lanky, overworked ministry man who had spent his afternoon attempting a cherry soufflé. A socially acceptable greeting could be procured between the two of them.