Silver In The Deep
interaction: @Giovanni De'Luca
date: 11th September 2025
With the beginning of her second year, Victoria spent most of her days either in the library or by the lake, enjoying the cooling weather as autumn approached. Sometimes she quietly observed people, drawing her own conclusions, and sometimes she focused entirely on the book she was reading, ignoring everyone around her.
She slowly walked toward the lake, the light breeze gently caressing her soft, wavy brown hair. The white ribbon she had used to tie a lock of it had slightly slipped due to the wind. Calmly, she sat down in a quiet corner, placing her book on her lap. There weren’t many people around—the lake was peaceful and serene. It was the perfect opportunity for Victoria to immerse herself in her book and lose touch with the world.
She carefully opened her book, then smiled softly at the bracelet on her wrist. It was the first and last gift her father had given her, and it was deeply precious to her. Maybe it was silly — but her father rarely showed her any affection and attention, and this bracelet was the only thing he had ever done for Victoria without her asking. She remembered the way his hands had awkwardly held the tiny box, how he hadn’t even made eye contact when he gave it to her. It wasn’t wrapped. It wasn’t even her birthday. But it was the first time she’d felt seen. She thought that was sweet, and wanted to carry this everywhere.
Still, it had left slight red marks on her wrist, so to let her wrist rest a bit, she took the bracelet off and placed it on top of her book.
As Victoria leaned against a tree close to the lake and tried to sit comfortably, her book slid off her lap. She froze. Her heart began to race with worry, and her blue eyes widened in fear. Though she managed to catch the book in a panicked reflex, the bracelet had already slipped into the lake.
No, no.
Victoria reached into the water. The bracelet held great sentimental value, and she didn’t want to lose it. Frantically trying to find the silver bracelet, she suddenly found herself submerged in the cold, suffocating water of the lake.
Victoria frowned in frustration,her breath hitched by the sudden coldness. She had fallen into the lake. Just great. Despite having returned from summer break, the air was no longer warm with autumn approaching—she would definitely freeze when she got out. But at least, since she had fallen in, she could search for the bracelet now, right?
She looked around in a panic. The lake water stung her eyes, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold her breath. The chill of the lake clawed at her skin, wrapping around her like ice-tipped fingers. Her clothes dragged her down with their weight, and her hair floated around her like a curtain of seaweed. Still, she focused desperately on finding the bracelet.
Silver In The Deep
_GDL_ |
───────────────────────────────────────────────── He was brooding. His mother would have called it sulking, and he would have scowled even further at such a suggestion. Nevertheless, there he sat, wrapped in the crisp chill of the autumn air, his back resting against the rough bark of an ancient tree. Every so often, a brittle leaf would drift down, and if he felt sufficiently motivated, he’d lunge out with the tips of his fingers or the polished toe of his Oxford to catch it. Autumn was his favourite season, the chill was sharp yet forgiving, and the warmth of summer lingered like a reluctant farewell, a sunset drawn across the horizon of the year. It was perfect, in its own melancholic way. His features, sculpted and sharp under the soft haze of the fading sun, seemed carved by some cruelly beautiful hand. His dark hair, tousled yet deliberate in its disorder, caught the light and shimmered like onyx silk, framing eyes of stormy blue that held a tempest unfortunately inherited from his mother. His lips, set in a near-perpetual line of thoughtful brooding, betrayed the quiet tumult beneath his surprisingly calm exterior. Still, he brooded (not sulked), absently picking at the bark as his gaze drifted over the sprawling grounds. Thinking was what Giovanni did best, or at least what he spent the most time doing. If the Ravenclaw badge embroidered on his blazer did not make that clear enough, his habit of losing himself in thought certainly would. What was one to do without thoughts to dwell on? Giovanni did not know. What he did know was that at this moment, he was simmering with a quiet anger directed at his mother, his father, and perhaps every ancestor whose blood ran in his veins. The usual tempest of teenage rebellion, when every adult’s plan feels absurd and unjust. Yet, unlike most, Giovanni was certain this particular storm was justified; the prospect of a betrothal was not something he could bear quietly, and that if anything, he was underreacting. He leaned his head back, wincing as the tree’s bark jabbed into the back of his scalp. Running a hand through the back of his dark hair, his gaze flickered toward the small book lying forgotten beside him, a French poetry anthology, a reluctant gift from his mother, one he sought in moments when the world felt too unsteady. His fingers brushed the edge of the page when a sudden splash shattered the quiet, yanking him from his reverie. His head snapped up so sharply he feared the pain might linger, and he rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly as he stared. Had someone plunged into the lake? His eyes locked on the ripples and bubbles where the surface had been broken, the water dark and unyielding. Why had they not surfaced yet? He watched curiously for a few moments, before a pang of unease stirred from somewhere deep within him. Rising with an uncharacteristic urgency, he left his belongings, all but the anthology in his hand, and moved toward the lake’s edge to see there, a flailing hand breaking the surface, delicate, desperate, unmistakably feminine. Giovanni’s book slipped from his grasp to the leaf-strewn grass with a soft thud as he leaned over (no time to even wince at the grass stains that would now probably adorn his new trousers), staring wide-eyed into the splashing depths of the lake. Without further hesitation and thought, he shrugged off his jumper and robes, revealing the crisp white shirt and dark trousers beneath, and then, without a second thought, dove into the icy depths. The water was a shock, dark, cold, suffocating, and for a brief moment, it swallowed him whole. It pressed against his skin like a thousand tiny needles, colder than any river in Florence, where he hadn’t swum since the summer. His limbs moved instinctively, slicing through the chill as he groped blindly beneath the surface, looking for her, and his fingers found her at last, slender and trembling. Gripping her waist firmly, he fought the resistance of the water, pulling her upward through the freezing embrace. Their bodies struggled against the weight of wet clothes, but he hauled her free, collapsing onto the bank, gasping, soaked through to the skin. It was so fucking cold. The chill traced delicate patterns along Giovanni’s features, sharpening his handsome face, the high planes of his cheekbones, the slight curve of his jawline, now softened by the damp strands of hair that clung to his brow like a dark halo. For a moment, the world narrowed to the rhythmic sound of their breaths and the quiet thudding of his heart, an unexpected tenderness woven through the cold. ────────────────────────────────────────────────── | _GDL_ |
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*ੈ✩‧₊˚Star-pale, celestial, neither flesh nor blood.⋆⭒ ࣪ .⋆
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