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Dress for the Dead. Errand

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The Angel ~ The Sun ~ The Ghost

location;Xsmall hallXdate;X31.10.25Xoutfit;XxXtw;Xmention of blood x1*
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There was nothing to be afraid of.

The sunchild had partaken in Halloween festivities as a child from time to time. As a wizardborn, she was acquainted to the traditions on October 31st; her muggleborn father told her spooky stories and she even went Trick-Or-Treating once. Occasionally, her grandmother would visit on that day of the year and bring pumpkins for them to carve. All in all, it was a day she moderately looked forward to.

Today, however, was different.

A get-together at Hogwarts to celebrate All Hallows' Eve would surely be a fun experience. The perfect way to cautiously associate herself with the term "socializing" once more. The only obstacle in sight was a costume. It wouldn't be fair to go without one, she decided, but what else could she do? Costumes could not be purchased nearby, except maybe in Hogsmeade, but it was cold outside. There was only one alternative.

She would have to do it herself.

Strolling through the castle, trying to come up with ideas on what to make, a thought rooted itself into her mind. A dream she had had the previous night, chose that very moment to interrupt any train of thought she might have had, flooding her mind with snippets of unreal experiences. Shut up! The sunchild did not have time for such a disruption. She needed to think of a costume to make, and fast.

The angel had returned.

A recurring figure in her dreams, a lady in white clad with wings descending from above. Each tim in a different setting, but there nonetheless. Oftentimes, this illusion would speak to her, whisper to her, about what she was doing wrong, how she was doing nothing, and turn into the devil with a smirk laced on her deceiving face. Last night was different though. The Angel had not morphed into a different form, and rather than tearing her apart, she whispered her words of encouragement.

Did it mean anything?

Maybe it didn't. But what if it did? And what if- what if the date — October 31st — had something, or possibly everything, to do with it? The sunchild wasn't superstitious, but this was not something even she could look over. That was when it hit her. What the inspiration for her costume would be was clear as day, there was no doubt about it. And she would put blood, sweat and tears into making it perfect.

She would be the angel, darling.

—❦☀︎❦—

Five hours later.

Lyanna Oak slipped through the halls unnoticed, but a sight to behold. Her hands were weary from the sewing patterns and crafting she had endured. Her eyes were strained. Her legs had been in the same position for two hours straight. But the mask was complete. Her tears would dissipate into the air, for she was reborn. She was a sunchild in hell masked as an angel from heaven.

The voices were deafening.

Were they her own, bonking against the inside of her skull, it's husk protecting her from those voices being unleashed into the void? Or rather those of the void, beckoning her? The feather on her white mask trembled as she walked. Was it also but a way of concealing her true form? The sunchild waved the question away with disinterest. That was irrelevant.

Tap
Tap Tap
Tap Tap Tap

Her footsteps echoed through the hallway long after she had moved on to the following corridor. A glance in the direction of her destination told her enough. She would not stand out in the crowd. If she did, her mask would conceal her. Nobody would know who she was. A click of the doorknob and a latch to ensure the noise wouldn't spread throughout the rest of the castle. Lyanna Oak, in angel form, had entered the room.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

For if a sunchild fears the warmth radiating from her soul, the happiness spreading from the tip of her fingers like a selfless king Midas- if a sunchild fears the burning that she must endure to spread her light, she cannot be anything more than an impostor feigning to be worthy of something more than their decided fate.

Breathe, love. Let the warmth soak through your skin, become second nature.

xXWhy are you afraid?

XxXxBlink.

XxXxXxThe sunchild stumbled into the nearest wall.

Claustrophobia.

It hit her like a wave crashing against a cliff, an unexpected storm stirring beneath seemingly calm waters, their innocence bittersweet. Count to ten. One - clamp your eyes closed and push the feeling away. Two - breath in. Three - hold your breath for a moment longer. Four - breath out. Five - Repeat. Six - Clear your mind, love. Seven - You're an angel now, remember? The sun can wait. Eight - Return to the Heaven where you belong. Nine - Open your eyes once more.

Ten - Rebirth.

The angel had finally graced the room of her full presence, taking her mask on as her spirit at last. Just for a moment, but that moment was enough. A smile tugged at Lyanna's lips. Was that the definition of the words happiness? The nostalgia brought her off balance. Almost. For angels do not stumble, and that was who she was on October 31st. An angel. Familiar faces laughed and spoke to others, some of which she had acquainted, some not. They were having fun. The angel... she was not having fun, but she was happy, at ease.

Those are two completely different things.

The peace of mind that she had managed to achieved had put her in a calm state of mind, the way you want to feel before going to the dentist or hospital and having to endure something difficult. The idea of the world around her being an illusion, pain included, herself merely a soul incarnated. Sipping past others, she noticed that she was one of the only ones with this mindset. Perhaps the only one. But Lyanna Oak was far from strange. She thought more in depth than others, whether others noticed it or not.

The angel had nothing more to achieve in the Small Hall.

It was not a good night to speak with others, as she knew deep inside herself that she would look down upon their comments, the lack of depth in their words. Lyanna was hurting, they weren't. But she was shining, not living but alive, the angel clad with wings was not a dream anymore. It was truer than anything she had undergone in the last couple months. Except maybe the Fall Ball, but that was merely a whir of memories.

Where is the light in all this darkness?

There is no light, darling. You must act as your own light, or else you will drown in melancholy. Keep smiling for the sake of smiling, and that mask will become part of you, now and forever.

A click and a latch, and The Angel had departed into the night once more. What fate awaited her next, she wondered with all of her heart? She was not suffering. She was grieving, but without the sadness. For she was happy, on October 31st. Hurt, but happy.

May that happiness remain with you, for who deserves if not you?
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closed to interactions. thread left.
*not descriptive, just in a saying
--◆--
❝ the sun rises even after the darkest nights ❤︎
xxxxx ⊹✧𝖫𝖸𝖠𝖭𝖭𝖠 ~ ency
☼ 𝖺 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋, 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 ☼		 ⋮
⋮
⊹ Sta 6 | Eva 10 | Str 7 | Wis 4 | Arc 4 | Acc 10 ⊹
─── ‿︵˓ ʚ♡ɞ ˓ ︵ ‿ ───
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xxxxx
Dress for the Dead. Errand
C date: 31/10/2025
location: Small Hall
outfit: Link
abilities: lovely creature
dialogue: #0a2a28
mentioned: @Harvey Barrows, @Avis Greymond
@Aleks Drašković,
@Aiden Sinclair
 C
Image posted by the member

CV
Everyone’s attention turned to the two new additions to the grouping, surprise and confusion probably among the reactions, though no one had any objections to his interruption. At least nothing that was said aloud. Surely, they were all too busy digesting his quip. A few seconds were all Camille needed to make up his judgemental mind: after a brief pause, it was unthinkable that his costume could resemble anything other than the Headmaster. It was not as crystal clear to everyone else, except the boy who’d chosen it for the event; Harvey repeated after him, laced in confusion. Camille ignored his question, acting as if he hadn’t heard, his attention solely on the deformed figure while still waiting for the answer. It was with excitement and relief he exclaimed, “Exactly!”, the word practically ripped out of him, confirming that he was, indeed, correct. “Finally someone recognises it…! I don‘t want all the wax to be in vain…” the boy added. With barely contained smugness, Camille shrugged casually with a smirk. What could he say? His sharp eye for details spoke for itself.

“Not at all in vain. The similarities are… striking.” Stretching his neck haughtily, the Ravenclaw glanced out towards the crowd around them. Any armored figure, with the exception of the boy in front of him, was nowhere to be seen. Camille turned back to the caricature. “It’s only a shame that he’s not here to witness it. It would have been hilarious to see his reaction.”

If he’d been holding said drink— had they bothered to provide refreshments— he might have seized the moment to lift it to his lips, just enough to cover the widening of his malicious smirk, though anyone paying attention would probably still have caught the corner of it curling upward. But there was no drink, of course, and so his expression did all the talking, laid bare in black and white for anyone who cared to notice.

Paying this boy a compliment had not been his main goal, even if his enthusiasm carried a strange sense of endearment. That, however, was beside the point. The Ravenclaw supposed he could only have a positive attitude towards someone who agreed with him. Lear’s appearance might not have been what truly scared him; what truly frightened him was how little action the man in charge of this school seemed capable of taking. Not everyone was as convinced. The girl in the strange muscle suit snapped her gaze towards him, sizing him up skeptically. Her gaze straddled a hairline border between curiosity and judgment, asking for clarification of what he’d done. She could have expressed her judgement or distaste however much she wanted, Camille would not have been fazed. Her approval was not something he particularly cared for. In fact, he didn’t care at all. All eyes turned to him, ranging from curious to skeptical while they waited for him to continue. Camille did a mental eye-roll, seeing no reason to explain what felt so obvious.

“Absolutely nothing.” He said it casually, almost with indifference. A piece of wax popped off the other boy's face. He gave it a downcast glance where it had landed and littered the floor but otherwise didn’t react, finishing with a shrug. “And precisely that is the problem.” That they even had to ask meant they should count themselves fortunate, he supposed.
CV


Ilias Lahlou | Ilvermorny
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