Of Veelas and Vendettas PV Stelle Mims

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  ❛ Art Deco — Allure in Effect ❜
  Date: October 5, 2025 | Words: 790| Dialogue: #aa5713
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There was something enchanting about the library, which was perhaps why it was Stelle's favorite place in all of Hogwarts. Stelle found a happiness difficult to explain among endless shelves and books that smelled of dust, aged leather, and forgotten secrets. She liked to get lost there. She never went looking for anything specific. She entered with the vague idea of reading a bit and ended up, an hour later, sitting in some remote corner learning about sea dragons, extinct magical traditions, or potion recipes that had ceased to exist centuries before. The library rewarded the curious. It was a kind of silent pact: you offered it time, and it gave you stories in return.

That afternoon seemed no different. The grayish light that streamed through the tall windows filtered between the shelves, creating small luminous paths on the stone floor. Stelle wandered aimlessly. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the spines of the books as she moved through the aisles. She liked doing this because books seemed different when you touched them. Some were worn from hundreds of readers, others retained a proud rigidity, like elderly aristocrats still expecting to be treated with respect, and some looked so old they seemed as if they might turn to dust if someone sneezed too close.

It was just then that something bumped against her foot. The impact wasn't particularly loud, but unexpected enough to stop her in her tracks. A hardcover book lay beside her shoe. She picked it up carefully; it was heavy, the kind of book that seemed convinced of its own importance. The gold lettering of the title gleamed dimly in the library light. It was about Veelas, or at least it seemed to be. Stelle raised an eyebrow, because that was already a curious coincidence. She opened the book to a random page and immediately discovered an illustration depicting a Veela with about the same level of accuracy someone would have after listening to a description for thirty seconds. She sighed slowly and closed it. It was old, probably older than some of her grandmother's opinions, and that was saying something. Then she looked up, and that's when she saw her. A few feet away, a girl was surrounded by books, not just reading: buried under them. The scene looked like the result of a particularly unfortunate academic accident. Books lay on the table, piled on either side, open, closed, some that looked useful and others that had clearly been discarded in obvious frustration. A delicate scent of lilacs hung in the air. There were also parchments covered in annotations, ink of a strange color, and the universal expression of someone who had spent far too long trying to understand something without success.

Stelle knew that expression; she'd seen it once on her grandfather when he'd tried to figure out how a Muggle toaster worked. The girl seemed to be losing a particularly cruel battle against some linguistic mystery. She had to suppress a smile, because it was clear that this was the kind of person capable of abandoning all dignity to save a folded page. The thought struck her as strangely endearing. She looked at the volume she was holding and then at the girl. The mystery was solved. That copy must belong to her.

She absentmindedly tucked a few curls behind her ear. It was a habit she'd had since childhood; her mother claimed she did it when she was nervous. So she moved forward between the shelves, holding the book to her chest. As she approached, she could see the contents of the table more clearly. Dictionaries, language books, scattered notes, and, to her surprise, more than one text related to Veelas. That immediately piqued her curiosity. Curiosity was one of those wonderful qualities that turned simple situations into adventures, and also one of the main reasons she ended up talking to strangers. When she reached the table, the girl was still trying to retrieve the last few books that had fallen. Stelle slightly lifted the book she was holding.

"Were you looking for this?"

Her voice was soft so as not to break the reverential silence of the library. She looked at the cover again. Then she added with an amused smile:

"Although, to be honest, I'm not sure one should put too much faith in a book that was probably written when my great-grandparents were still learning to walk."

His blue eyes briefly flicked across the other texts, then across the scrolls, and finally down at the mountain of research papers piled on the table.

"Either you're writing a very interesting book," she continued, "or you've spent hours trying to solve something incredibly complicated. So, out of curiosity... what exactly are you working on?"

( crafted by esme hestridge )

5^th October 2025

The soft hum of a melodic voice drew Cecilia’s attention. Lifting her chin graced her eyes with the angelic visage of a delicate girl. The glow of her warm complexion framed by golden hair emitted a radiance as though she had descended from the heavenly skies to deliver her from misery.

Seafoam green eyes latched onto blue, noting an unmistakable gleam of curiosity flickered in them. Whilst that was to be expected after the ruckus she caused, it was still pleasant to cross paths with someone who shared a similar inquisitiveness.

“Yes, I was,” Cecilia admitted before grasping the book. Though its contents are utterly useless. Merlin knows it took some restraint to contain that biting remark. It was not the girl’s fault that she was having a hard time, but that acknowledgement did little to ease her nerves.

“Thank you.” She said softly, flashing her dimpled smile. Cecilia then rose until she stood at eye level with the girl. A fragrance of roses and honey mingled with the faint scent of lilac and evoked the memory of laying near a blooming flower bed. She then lost that train of thought when the girl remarked about the book predating her great grandparents.

“That would explain a lot,” she laughed bitterly, almost in disbelief over how much time she wasted on the book. Yet a small part of her felt vindicated to learn that it was as useless as she believed. It was a pyrrhic victory, warranting no celebration.

Then there was a brief silence as a thought crossed her mind. If the girl could discern that the book was outdated, then it was possible that she possessed some valuable knowledge. Perhaps she was being delusional, but there was only one way to be certain.

“Forgive me for prying, but are you… familiar with this sort of literature?” she inquired, masking her desperation with a cautious question. Certain features such as her golden hair were unmistakably similar to the part-veelas she had met. Yet she wondered; was presumptuous to insinuate that every beautiful blonde was part-veela or was it simply a compliment given how captivating they were? Cecilia had no clue, nor did she have any intention of finding out.

“I wish I were here for something that interesting. It would be far less of a headache,” she lamented; her tone laced with exasperation as she stared off into the distance. Countless hours were spent combing through numerous sources, only for her to be led astray by nonsensical information.

“Complicated is putting it lightly,” she sighed then paused for a moment to weigh her options. She certainly needed some assistance, but if the girl knew naught about Veelas then their two heads were no better than one. Unfortunately, Cecilia lacked the luxury of choice for time was of the essence. It would be her, or no one at all.

“You see,” her gaze flickered to meet hers once more. “I’m trying to decipher something, which I’m not entirely sure I heard correctly, in a language that I am entirely unfamiliar with.”

After divulging the details, Cecilia took a deep breath and asked: “do you understand my predicament?”

Now that she had said it aloud, Cecilia realised how ridiculous the whole ordeal seemed. Why was she agonising over a single word spat during a petty squabble with Esme Hestridge as though she were some miserable historian deciphering an ancient poem written in a dead language? She must have lost her mind; that was the only plausible explanation for this fool’s errand.

But who was Cecilia Merrick if not a fool fuelled by spite?

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  ❛ PartVeela—Allure in Effect ❜
  Date: 05/10/2025| Words: 452| Dialogue: #aa5713| Look: ★
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The question took Stelle by surprise; the curiosity it had already awakened seemed to have found a perfect excuse to linger. She glanced down at the book she had just returned and then scanned the notes, dictionaries, and other books scattered across the table. This didn't look like the work of someone who had chosen a topic at random to kill time; there were too many pages consulted and too much accumulated frustration for it to be a simple school assignment. "A little," she finally admitted. "Although probably not in the way you're expecting." She leaned slightly across the table to examine one of the annotations. She didn't touch anything. Her curiosity rarely extended to intruding on someone else's work without permission, although she often had to make a considerable effort to prevent it. " There are many things that people think they know about verlas, about… us; it's difficult to know where history ends and someone's imagination begins." A small smile appeared on her face, and she looked back at Cecilia. There was something familiar about the way she spoke about this research. Not exactly desperation, though it was close. It was that kind of obsession that arises when a question refuses to disappear until it gets an answer. Stelle knew that feeling well. She'd spent hours following clues that led to absolutely nothing, just because something told her there must still be a piece hidden somewhere. "So you're trying to decipher a word," she repeated thoughtfully. It didn't sound like an easy task. Translating wasn't easy, especially for someone who didn't know the language at all. Now she understood why her grandparents had been so insistent that she learn it from a young age, so it would feel natural. She sat on the edge of the table, crossing her ankles slightly as she looked at the pages. "Although I think you're looking in the wrong place." Her blue eyes returned to the books. "Hearing it is a good start. What did it sound like? Deep, high, melodic?" she asked gently, like an investigator starting a case. Any information he could give her was a good start, and from the books he had, he had a slight suspicion. The Veela language was rather strange, it was hardly spoken even at home unless things got intense, but it had a rather distinctive tone if you asked her. It was melodic, mesmerizing like no other language she had ever heard. She understood why, especially men, felt a certain fear upon hearing such a melodious voice. Why there were so many taboos surrounding Veelas. It was still ambiguous; she was sure that pure veelas no longer existed, much less man-hunters as they were described in the classic books. English ‡Veela ‡ Russian ‡ Scottish Gaelic @Cecilia Merrick │sta 6✦ eva 6✦ str 5✦ wis 6✦ arc 6✦ acc 6│ Allure| Keen Eye | Y3 | Y4 | Y5 | Y6 | Y7