7 Nov 2024, 15:09
Woven Lies and Hidden Ties
TIME | 18:36
DATE | November 5th, 2024
INTERACTING |xxx
00:35⠀─── ◉ ───────⠀02:34
#B68EA7 | DIALOGUE
@Sanguinius Demarest| MENTIONING
The young ravenette hadn't expected to find much interest in the dusty corners of the library tonight. She'd been wandering the aisles under the guise of "studying" but was mostly killing time, browsing the shelves for anything remotely entertaining. However, her attention was snagged by something unusual tucked just under the edge of a study desk. At first glance, it looked like a discarded scrap of parchment, carelessly abandoned. But, as she reached down and picked it up, she noticed it was a letter, still crumpled as if it had been discarded in haste or overbearing emotions.
Curiosity piqued, she smoothed out the paper and began reading the first few lines.
"I write to you with a heart that has been tied to the sea floor, akin to a condemned man facing his fate, having been found guilty of spouting lies before the judge…"
She let out a small, humorless chuckle. So dramatic, she thought, but the intrigue grew as she continued reading, noting the strained language of guilt and confession.
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=========The name has been scribbled out to the point where it can't be exactly perceived as to who the letter was originally made for. The intent of the concealment can still be seen with the droplets of ink staining through the parchment from where the end of a quill dug deeply. Below is a letter than is written in well-groomed but hesitant calligraphy:
-
I write to you with a heart that has been tied to the sea floor, akin to a condemned man facing his fate, having been found guilty of spouting lies before the judge. To which, that I must confess, have been dishonest to you regarding my true heritage for some time now.
The weight of this deception has grown too burdensome, too hard, for me to bear against my one and truest confidant and I can no longer allow the veil to obscure the entirety of our friendship. From the start, I have withheld the details of my blood, fearful of your reaction and denying myself of the truth. Yet, the longer I stir in my pot of self-depreciating treachery, the more I find more damning evidence to contribute to it.
Recently, I have come to terms to my mother being a Veela. While I know not to what she truly is, she could be a vampiress for all I care, the information and facts of what I have learned-- witnessed-- lead to her either being a Veela or having the sacred blood. All I can assume is that she had grown tired of my father right after the coupling. Which, to no doubt, leaves me with the only active part of her that she had left as a parting gift, Veela ancestry.
Please know that my intentions were never to mislead or hurt you. I feared that revealing the other half of my parentage would perhaps even tarnish the bond we have built. In addition, I did not want to think pureblooded family was right-- about me being a bastard. But I have come to realize that honesty is the foundation of any meaningful relationship, and I owe you at least the decency of the truth.
I hope you can find it in your heart to understand my struggle, for this was not easy to write. I am ready to confront the consequences of my actions and share my story with you, if you are willing to listen.
-
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Ula's eyes lingered on the final flourish of the letter's signature: Sanguinius Demarest. The name meant nothing to her—just another wizard whose issues had somehow landed in her hands. Still, something about the letter's language was hard to ignore, as though each line dripped with a kind of desperation she rarely saw outside of gothic novels.
The content, though, was interesting. She reread a few sentences, letting the weight of the confessions settle in. Half-Veela? Pureblood family drama? It seemed like Sanguinius was the kind of person who was afraid of his own reflection. The letter was part pity, part poetry, and completely vulnerable in a way that seemed out of place in the real world.
She stuffed it into her pocket, the edges of the paper crackling as it folded away. Maybe the contents would come in handy. After all, anyone who would write something like this had to be the sort of person who feared it getting into the wrong hands.
Ula strolled out of the library with a smirk, already thinking of a few ways she might be able to use this confession. Whether he was some noble-born pureblood or a nobody didn't matter; she would find out soon enough.
coded by charisse