Write With The Stars PV Zephyr Finished

credit to awesome Ada Hawkins

Zephyr was lying in bed for a long time, just staring at the ceiling, and listening to the rain hitting the windows. The storm was loud with thunder rolling through the castle and flashes of light breaking up the dark. At home, storms were something he was used to. He would lie in his room and count the seconds between thunder and lightning. In school, every sound was echoing against the stone walls and it bothered him a lot.

After turning over one too many times, he gave up on sleep. He didn’t want to wake his dormmates, so he moved quietly, as he pulled on a jumper and slipped on his shoes. He grabbed his drawing pad and a pencil from his pen holder. He doesn’t draw because he was good at it, he draw because it helped calm his thoughts. When his head was overthinking, putting lines on paper helped him breathe again.

He didn’t want to stay in the common room, even this late at night, it could be busy, especially after the holidays. He needed somewhere quiet, somewhere out of the way. The idea of the Astronomy Tower came to him because it was high up and usually empty. He heard older students say it was nice to be up there, and that was enough to satiate his curiosity.

He made his way through the castle, the stairs were the hardest part. By the second set, his legs were already tired, but he was used to pushing through discomfort. Farm work taught him that. When he finally reached the tower, the wind was stronger, and the sound of the storm was louder. Rain tapped against the stone, and lightning lit up the sky every few moments. Instead of making him nervous, it calmed him. He liked storms.

He sat near the balcony and opened his drawing pad. He started sketching the view in front of him, just rough lines. His movements were very slow, and for the first time that night, his shoulders relaxed. Initially, he didn’t notice that he was not alone. He was focused on his sketch. It wasn’t until he sensed movement nearby that he looked up and caught sight of someone sitting a short distance away. “Oh.. hi.” Aware now that he was sharing the space and wanted to make sure the girl was not bothered by it.

Adora looked up at the sound of the boy's voice. She wasn't entirely sure what to do, so she replied: "Hi." warily echoing his greeting back to him. From what she could see, given the darkness and her distance from the boy, he had short, Dirty-blond hair, and pale-ish skin that might have be tanned, but it was hard to tell in the thin moonlight. He was thin, but Adora could just barely see the muscle on his arms when a particularly bright bolt of lightning struck. She stared for a moment, getting used to the fact that he now knew she was here, before then turning back to her notebook. She carefully searched around in her satchel for her quill, and when she found it, gently pulled it out. Her hand was wet, and the feather felt the same, also sticky. Panic set in, and she searched desperately for her ink pot, only to prick her finger on a piece of glass. She winced, yanking her hand out of her bag. dabbed her finger on her robes, swiping the bit of blood off her skin. She scooted back onto the solid flooring of the tower, dragging her satchel with her. She tipped it upside-down, and several glass pieces clattered onto the floor, covered in ink and splattering some of it on the floor. Adora set her satchel back down and sighed, staring at the pieces. She had no ink to write with, and would need a new ink pot. She wondered if the boy had any spare ink she could borrow. She glanced his way, carefully considering the thought. Adora knew she'd need ink, and wouldn't know if the boy had any until shed asked. So, she delicately picked up the glass pieces, cradling them in her left hand, and picked up her satchel with another. She walked over to the boy.
"Hello again, do you have any spare ink? I think my ink pot broke on the walk up.

Word count: 334
Mentions: @Zephyr Deakin

Adora gratefully took the boy's handkerchief and swiped gently at her palm. It sent a small push of pan through her hand each time, and she stopped to make sure there wasn't any glass in her hand. She ten wrapped the piece of cloth tightly around her hand, unceremoniously tucking the small corner into the neat layers. She glanced back up at him, grateful for his help. "Hang on, I'm going to grab my stuff, I'll be right back."
Adora carefully stood up and left the boy, and walked over to where her satchel was. She gently picked it up, turning it upside-down and shaking it to make sure there was definitely no more glass. She slung the bag over her shoulder, and then picked up her notebook and quill. She calmly walked back over to the boy, sitting back down with her satchel resting in her lap. She wiped her quill on her cloak, trying desperately to get the leftover dried ink off of it. It was hard to see with the raging storm, so Adora had to rely on the lightning. She realized she'd been silent. She consolidated her items, placing her notebook next to her, quill on top, and taking her satchel off, before turning back to the boy, " Thanks for the help. I'm Adora, what's your name?"

"Zephyr," Adora tested the boy's name on her tongue. I felt almost friendly, like he was someone she'd known for a while. A close friend. In reality, of course, Adora hardly knew Zephyr. He had warned her about the cuts from her ink bottle, saying the might get infected if left unclean, and advised her to clean the wound when she returned to her dorm. He'd also given her his spare ink bottle, which Adora was grateful for, and thanked him. She dipped her quill in the ink pot and scribbled around a bit in the top corner of her notebook until the ink started to run. She began writing again, when Zephyr asked what she was working on. This, Adora was hesitant to answer. She'd shared lots of things with her parents and other family members back home, and had done the same for her writing, owling her parents bits and scraps of stories or poetry she'd written. But this was a new person. Sure, she had no reason not to trust him, as he hadn't done anything to her, and he'd helped her with an injury, but she'd had worse accidents. Much, much worse accidents. Adora stifled a shudder at the thought, bringing her leg up to her chest. She looked back up at the boy, who was
sitting patiently, waiting for her to respond. She'd just tell him she was writing, a small hobby she'd picked up at Hogwarts.
"Just a small story, or maybe some poetry. I've picked up writing since arriving here, y'know." Adora gestured at the castle and grounds around them, putting her hands out towards the still-raging storm just off the balcony of the astronomy tower. She looked at the pad in Zephyr's hands, and asked him what he was doing in return.
"What about you? Seems we both have a certain connection to quill and paper."

Adora thought carefully about how to answer Zephyr's next question. She didn't have an inspiration or her writing, she thought, ideas sort of popped into her head. But as she thought, she realized, that a lot of what she wrote reflected on her life. The high-stakes adventures she wrote about showed how stressed her homework had made her, and her characters often reflected how she saw herself, hiding something and thinking it's a big, scary secret. Which, what she was hiding, was, of course, a big, scary secret. She looked back up at Zephyr and said, "I think my characters and stories kind of reflect my own life, you know? It's how I express things that maybe I wouldn't be able to express in the real world. Like an escape." She looked back at her notebook and then to her quill. She wondered if she should elaborate. But how could she do that without letting slip about her werewolf side? She have to tell Zephyr about it eventually, but not now, while they were still getting to know each other. A rather loud roll of thunder sounded, stronger compared to the more purr-like sounds the storm had been making. Adora looked out into the night. The rain had started forming puddles on the edge of the balcony. She looked back at Zephyr, studying him. She waned to know about his art. What did he draw? Why did he draw it? Was it the same reason she did? Several questions appeared into her head like clockwork. how was she supposed to ask him? "What about you? How do you know what to draw?" The question sounded vague, or even strange, but everything that Adora wanted to know could go into that one question.