Ode on a Grecian Urn
date: 14th march 2026
time: mid-day
location: hogwarts library
What had brought Livia to the library today was a sketch her father had sent her. Last night, she had lovingly eyed the charcoaled parchment, keeping her fingers to the edges to avoid any smudging, and she had thought of her father's stories of his research until she eventually drifted off to sleep. His research largely centred on Ancient Rome, especially on wizarding life and how they did (or did not) remain secret from Muggles. However, what he had sent her was something an archaeologist colleague of his had discovered at a newly-uncovered site in northern Greece. This, too, intrigued her father, and in the letter that had accompanied his sketch, he lamented that he did not understand the language of he Ancient Greeks nearly as well as he could manoeuvre through Latin.
Upon waking, Livia had recalled that. Latin was like a second tongue to her, even if it were really a fourth or fifth, and she treasured that she could pore over historical manuscripts with ease. Her greatest struggle with anything European would, admittedly, be with anything a bit more eastern, something that, after more thought, she realised was most disgraceful, given her mother's family and their origins. However, she doubted she could find any literature on Old Church Slavonic within Hogwarts's library. Greek, though? Given that, surely, some origins of incantations came from Greek as well as Latin, Livia ascertained that such knowledge might have been retrievable.
The girl was silent, moving like a ward of time's slowness, as she opened the large doors of the library. The familiar scent of wood and yellowed paper greeted her, which caused her to inhale like a cat scenting its surroundings. As if moving basd on intuition alone, she found herself acting like a historian in search of sweet-worded literature – rhyme, prose, whatever she could find to do with artefacts. She finally encountered a tome that appeared more like legend, something that could haunt years past, although, of course, the title was in Greek.
Livia's brow furrowed, but she promulgated nothing, as she had located that which she had sought. She thumbed through the pages, the parchment flicking about like falling leaves. Each diagram, seemingly etched and printed, was as detailed as she had hoped. The issue lay in the fact that any labelling had been done in Greek, and although the Greek alphabet was certainly similar to that of Cyrillic, the language itself differed greatly. She could puzzle out how to pronounce some of the letters, surely, she would be unable to understand any of it.
With a forlorn glance at a columned temple illustrated within the tome, Livia finally pushed the book closed, carrying it in the crook of her elbow as she drifted towards the librarian's desk. Her footsteps, as always, were light against the ground, hardly solid enough to disturb dust. Finally, she stood in front of the young librarian. 'Ms Doukas?' she said, attempting to make eye contact with the rather pretty individual in front of her. (A small part of her wished she could be like that, that effortlessly. That her eyes would sparkle without effort, that her skin would glow like that of a mythological goddess.) 'I was wondering if knew of a method with which I could try to translate this.' She would display the book's embellished cover, the title engraved in gold foiled Greek, to the librarian. 'Ah, yes, I nearly forgot – my name is Livia; I am a first year.'
time: mid-day
location: hogwarts library
roleplaying as livia machavariani
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
sta: 2 | eva: 10 | str: 0 | wis: 7 | arc: 8 | acc: 8
terrible presence
What had brought Livia to the library today was a sketch her father had sent her. Last night, she had lovingly eyed the charcoaled parchment, keeping her fingers to the edges to avoid any smudging, and she had thought of her father's stories of his research until she eventually drifted off to sleep. His research largely centred on Ancient Rome, especially on wizarding life and how they did (or did not) remain secret from Muggles. However, what he had sent her was something an archaeologist colleague of his had discovered at a newly-uncovered site in northern Greece. This, too, intrigued her father, and in the letter that had accompanied his sketch, he lamented that he did not understand the language of he Ancient Greeks nearly as well as he could manoeuvre through Latin.
Upon waking, Livia had recalled that. Latin was like a second tongue to her, even if it were really a fourth or fifth, and she treasured that she could pore over historical manuscripts with ease. Her greatest struggle with anything European would, admittedly, be with anything a bit more eastern, something that, after more thought, she realised was most disgraceful, given her mother's family and their origins. However, she doubted she could find any literature on Old Church Slavonic within Hogwarts's library. Greek, though? Given that, surely, some origins of incantations came from Greek as well as Latin, Livia ascertained that such knowledge might have been retrievable.
The girl was silent, moving like a ward of time's slowness, as she opened the large doors of the library. The familiar scent of wood and yellowed paper greeted her, which caused her to inhale like a cat scenting its surroundings. As if moving basd on intuition alone, she found herself acting like a historian in search of sweet-worded literature – rhyme, prose, whatever she could find to do with artefacts. She finally encountered a tome that appeared more like legend, something that could haunt years past, although, of course, the title was in Greek.
Livia's brow furrowed, but she promulgated nothing, as she had located that which she had sought. She thumbed through the pages, the parchment flicking about like falling leaves. Each diagram, seemingly etched and printed, was as detailed as she had hoped. The issue lay in the fact that any labelling had been done in Greek, and although the Greek alphabet was certainly similar to that of Cyrillic, the language itself differed greatly. She could puzzle out how to pronounce some of the letters, surely, she would be unable to understand any of it.
With a forlorn glance at a columned temple illustrated within the tome, Livia finally pushed the book closed, carrying it in the crook of her elbow as she drifted towards the librarian's desk. Her footsteps, as always, were light against the ground, hardly solid enough to disturb dust. Finally, she stood in front of the young librarian. 'Ms Doukas?' she said, attempting to make eye contact with the rather pretty individual in front of her. (A small part of her wished she could be like that, that effortlessly. That her eyes would sparkle without effort, that her skin would glow like that of a mythological goddess.) 'I was wondering if knew of a method with which I could try to translate this.' She would display the book's embellished cover, the title engraved in gold foiled Greek, to the librarian. 'Ah, yes, I nearly forgot – my name is Livia; I am a first year.'
private to @helen aletheia doukas.
title credits to the poem of the same name by john keats.
title credits to the poem of the same name by john keats.
| [staff] jessamine lancaster even you cannot conquer the sun. | marina alacrán [inpc] her hair is kinda wild and free. |