2 May 2021, 20:25
Lying Letters
Dear Mary.
As winter falls, and spring rises, the blossom ball comes (probably with many surprises).
In this time of joy, when life grows near, I am filled with a bit of fear.
For cursed am I, to go alone. Without companions to feel aglow.
But in this hour, of darkest night, are you perhaps my light?
And so I come, with great trepidation. Hoping to not feel, your condemnation.
If not, then so I ask (with a bit of fright), will you be my date on the fateful night?
Yours,
Alexander Varellion.
As winter falls, and spring rises, the blossom ball comes (probably with many surprises).
In this time of joy, when life grows near, I am filled with a bit of fear.
For cursed am I, to go alone. Without companions to feel aglow.
But in this hour, of darkest night, are you perhaps my light?
And so I come, with great trepidation. Hoping to not feel, your condemnation.
If not, then so I ask (with a bit of fright), will you be my date on the fateful night?
Yours,
Alexander Varellion.
@Marion Davenport
Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man’s memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull
5 May 2021, 22:43
Lying Letters
Marion was allegedly a simple creature. Her love of all things soft and pink. It clashed something awful with the emerald décor of the Slytherin quarters but in a lot of ways Marion was a stand out. People never really bothered to question her overt femininity. If anything, the girl was a bit of a cliché.
Marion was in the common room of Slytherin, reading a book. The book was a large, heavy textbook but the cover was wrapped in a silvery wrapping paper. A faded pink ribbon marked her pages and a small leather notebook on the arm of the chair in a buttery hue was a host to her glittery notes being scrawled with an oversized feather pen. Yes, pen. The muggle kind.
Nobody ever bothered to ask the right questions. In fact, they never bothered to answer any questions at all. She was visible, she was well-known. Her behavior not defined as suspicious whereas her history was seen as if nothing else - questionable. Few knew about her cursed nature, the unrelenting ache of the poison that ran through her blood. Even less knew about her pre-existing relationship with the now late Victor Moore and Vladimir Athanatos. They were seen as a trio, now duo of friends. She was seen as the most inert, the least dangerous, and perhaps a misguided activist. Indeed, some were aware of her connections with S.C.A.R. but her interactions with the suspected terrorist group appeared to be inert.
It was an odd consideration to ponder how an owl would find its way into the basement of the castle. Yet a tawny owl would find its way clumsily into the common room in spite of darkened, narrow corridors. A small piece of parchment dropped in the girl's lap, she would read the contents:
Marion was in the common room of Slytherin, reading a book. The book was a large, heavy textbook but the cover was wrapped in a silvery wrapping paper. A faded pink ribbon marked her pages and a small leather notebook on the arm of the chair in a buttery hue was a host to her glittery notes being scrawled with an oversized feather pen. Yes, pen. The muggle kind.
Nobody ever bothered to ask the right questions. In fact, they never bothered to answer any questions at all. She was visible, she was well-known. Her behavior not defined as suspicious whereas her history was seen as if nothing else - questionable. Few knew about her cursed nature, the unrelenting ache of the poison that ran through her blood. Even less knew about her pre-existing relationship with the now late Victor Moore and Vladimir Athanatos. They were seen as a trio, now duo of friends. She was seen as the most inert, the least dangerous, and perhaps a misguided activist. Indeed, some were aware of her connections with S.C.A.R. but her interactions with the suspected terrorist group appeared to be inert.
It was an odd consideration to ponder how an owl would find its way into the basement of the castle. Yet a tawny owl would find its way clumsily into the common room in spite of darkened, narrow corridors. A small piece of parchment dropped in the girl's lap, she would read the contents:
Alexander was a friendly face she had grown accustomed to in the Slytherin common room. It was odd that he chose a letter in place of simply asking himself. Not that she was fussed by the letter in place of a more interactive invitation. If anything, she preferred this to the alternative. Her answer would be simple, but visible. She would tear a page from her notebook. A blank page that she would write an abbreviated reply.Dear Mary.
As winter falls, and spring rises, the blossom ball comes (probably with many surprises).
In this time of joy, when life grows near, I am filled with a bit of fear.
For cursed am I, to go alone. Without companions to feel aglow.
But in this hour, of darkest night, are you perhaps my light?
And so I come, with great trepidation. Hoping to not feel, your condemnation.
If not, then so I ask (with a bit of fright), will you be my date on the fateful night?
Yours,
Alexander Varellion.
There was far too much glitter and a few more hearts and smiley faces than were entirely tasteful. An almost anticipated quirk at this point, the girl could have fallen out of the 1995 release of Clueless. As for her letter, that she would pocket for the time being. She needed to have a conversation with Athanatos before the start of the ball, hear some assurance that this ball would be different.... better than the last.Alexander;
I would love to go to the Blossom Ball with you.
- Marion Davenport