Wands Ain't Built Like Water Lilies
| ISSUE NO. 001@Ebony Vetra | [ BOATHOUSE • 12TH, OCT., SUN ] |
| xxxxxx | 𝔊reenish, murky waters reflected in return a grotesque amalgamation of incomprehensible expressions of a young Hufflepuff girl, currently peeking down from the wooden dock of the Boathouse. Her smooth face is contorted into a healthy combination of astonishment and disbelief before it morphed into devastation and wretched despondence, as the said girl, prior to this moment, witnessed her black walnut wand bounced off the wooden platform before it plopped in the cloudy waters of the Great Lake. There is a certain indifference in that "plop!", she heard. Of course, Aurelia is not entirely foreign with the concept of dramatisation of things. It is almost an old friend she greeted back as every miniscule detail of that very moment replayed like a broken record—the loss of presence of the wood material as the wand slipped off her fingers; ricocheting off the dock, wood to wood; before the said wand landed in the lake waters with a "plop!". It is gone, now liberated from the shackles that is the torment shw subjected it into. The young badger sat up with such slowness, deep brown eyes leaving her cloudy reflection while the wooden surface of the dock is digging onto her white, bony knees. The focus of her vision shifted from object to object as though waiting for answers and instructions. When nothing of the sort emerged from between the dense trees, the dirty lake, inside the Boathouse, or even from the sun itself—a long, shrilly screech tore out from the back of her throat, the sound piercing through the atmosphere which disturbed the nearby flock of birds resting within the vicinity. Another dramatic instance that has befallen Aurelia M. Valentine. Deciding that one should practise their spellcasting frequently, Aurelia hauled all of her textbooks, wand tucked within her raven curls tied to a bun. The girl strutted in the halls with an importance of a self-proclaimed scholar, on the way to the Boathouse where she often brandish her spellcasting skills. The clickety-clack of the soles of her Mary Janes against the marble floors made the badger all the more supercilious, her chin haughtily jutted out as she ambulated towards her destination. The young Valentine did carry herself like there is nothing brewing beneath the surface. Brewing is an understatement. It was already brewing last summer—before that, even. Perhaps during the year-end examinations. The black walnut wand, readily deemed an extension of a witch such as herself, begun "malfunctioning" for no apparent reason. The repeated failure of casting a spell is almost redundant for her now, however, it would be a big, fat lie if Aurelia claims that this is not triggering her underlying resentment and frustration she unconsciously harboured from all the spells, charms, and curses the stupid wand repetitiously blundered. The sparks it conjured in every blunder helped form a fantasy of breaking it in half or chucking it in the large fireplace of the Hufflepuff Common Room in order to soothe her throbbing nerves. Start a new life with an entirely new wand—forget this existed. Still, she mourned. The black walnut wand was fully-functioning and was doing spectacular before it all went downhill. She did not know what happened... Although, Aurelia is aware—wholly convinced, really—that she is, surely, at fault. “What should I do?” A helpless whine. Eyes zeroed in on the murky waters again. It is October. The autumnal atmosphere would fail to elude one's notice, particularly the ones presently in solitude—solitary creatures who has absolutely no one to beg for help, for a solution to a predicament the protagonist had come across with from bursting in anger. The reminder of the gentleness of wind blowing today asked for attention, the trees rustling, and rotten leaves mercilessly pulled from their respective branches, forcing them to join the dance—it is an autumnal equinox. One who already witnessed such phenomenon for years, who had exhausted the details for so long, can appreciate and cherish the display no longer. No level of melancholia can stretch the said season out. A floating rotten leaf stirred her reflection in the water as it glided past, the ripples fragmenting her already distorted image before reverting back to its original wobbly form. It stared back at her with an accusatory gaze, sported only natural as Aurelia's way. This twin looked as though the answer was just right there. Stupidly, right there. Mary Janes flew off her feet with a suddenness like bullets—one shoe shooting off toward Neverland—and behind the flurry of disrobing her cloak, the young Valentine dived in the murky waters of the Great Lake, which the girl was insulting a moment ago. A fool's errand, it might be. Nevertheless, the young badger cannot afford a whole new wand just yet. |
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[ the golden girl; the harshness of such warm light ]     |
| STA 4 ♥︎ EVA 10 ♥︎ STR 3 ♥︎ WIS 8 ♥︎ ARC 7 ♥︎ ACC 8 | [ WANDS AIN'T BUILT LIKE WATER LILIES ] |
[ the golden girl; the harshness of such warm light ]
[ aurelia valentine, the golden girl ] † [ lucien de montfort, the deranged artist ]
Visit Lourine's SMITTEN shop for handmade pfps with DISCOUNT—FREE for AI pfp users.
[ aurelia valentine, the golden girl ] † [ lucien de montfort, the deranged artist ]
Visit Lourine's SMITTEN shop for handmade pfps with DISCOUNT—FREE for AI pfp users.
Wands Ain't Built Like Water Lilies
 
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| iNPC: Luuk Tjin-A-Wing | sta 7 | eva 12 | str 15 | wis 9 | arc 8 | acc 15 𝐓𝐏 • 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 • 𝐨𝐛𝐧𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 • 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 • 𝐄𝐌 |