Define good and evil PV Closed

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‘ Dear reader—
If it feels like a trap,
you’re already in one. ’
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As each moment from the sorting ceremony passed, those gut wrenching feelings only festered further inside of Maeve. That horrendous, nothing but disappointing sorting ceremony. All while those long, agonizing weeks were filled with nothing but Slytherin plastered in front of her. Because whether she was fond of it or not, Maeve Selwyn was a snake; and would be for the next 7 years.

With whichever dignity she did manage to keep in tact, however, the first year made do with. Things became easier, like waking up to green and silver silken bedding and reciting the albeit prejudiced password to the forboding Slytherin dorm door. Though while some things had slowly came with ease, others continued to present their challenges. Most notably getting dressed, whilst fastening her green.. green, not red, tie. Trotting alongside gaggles of children whomst she was almost too scared to talk to willingly.

But one can only torture themselves for so long, or so she depressingly found. Too long had she lied awake in fear of what would become of her. The look she’d receive upon returning home. Scowls and cold shoulders lie waiting, almost taunting. Eager to hear from their precious daughter following just as they had in owl, only she’d coincidentally never wrote. She just couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

And be horrifying as it may, no longer could Maeve rot in agony. She’d have to do something about it, anything to ease even a sliver of her ever racing mind. So that maybe she could enjoy herself, even learn to— maybe she could.. Oh forget it! If certain of one thing at all, it was that this shouldn’t take away her dream. This was her dream. Like so many others, she belonged
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The Library was a tranquil sort of place, the smell distinct to anyone regardless of their capacity to read. Shelves upon shelves loomed over her, almost seeming endless to a girl of her size. Children sat quietly, the occasional whisper and giggle breaking the soft silence only to be replaced once more. The place was almost.. overwhelming. Yes, exactly the word she’d use in fact. Her eyes scanned over titles. Over authors. Over genres.

‘History, H.. H…’ Delicate fingers ran along the shelves, picking up dust as they swept all the way down. Not before long was she walking back to a table arm full with books, covers every which color and sizes ranging from miniature to dictionaric. All concerned with history, ah but not just any type, no. The history of houses. What made them distinct. What traits they really held.

Picking up a hefty volume, her page was flicked to that of Notable Alumni. Suddenly she could feel her throat become dry, letting out a groan of agony. She was doomed.

──────────────────────——@Opelia Winters