"Celynne Sierra Sorcha Gray!"

If Asher's voice was raging fire, Svana's was a poisoned knife, slicing clean and deadly through the mingled wonder and worry at returning for the Easter Holidays. Toxic dread began to ink her attention with dread, but forced her to turn her gaze upwards. The sight of her stepmother storming down the stairs into the drawing room, eyes livid, servants and house-elves scrambling out of the way of their mistress in an effort to steer clear of a kick from Svana's sharp heels, was enough to make her grimace in hesitant anticipation. She took a deep breath to calm herself. This was nothing she hadn't faced before, right? Dorian even more so, right? But her heart still trembled and cowered under the sound of those deadly keen heel clicks.

"I thought you might be better than him," Svana all but hissed, halting her advance a good five feet from her stepdaughter. "You seemed nice enough. A girl, at least. Much quieter. Much more obedient. Or so I thought." The woman began pacing now, and Cel stared unblinkingly ahead, noticing a flicker of Nia's arm and half her face passing into the room, then her resigned retreat into the walls. "All you had to do was put on a nice dress, go to the ball, stay there, and then leave. All you had to do. Is that really so difficult? Apparently so, if you had to go down to the Lake of all places, not even considering the consequences."

"I did go to the—"

"Celynne, I'm talking."

"But I—"

"I said, I'm talking." Cel's mouth snapped shut, and her hands squeezed each other tightly, as if trying to reassure themselves. "Are all children these days so impolite, or is it just the ones I get the fortune to take care of? You have this giant house with its servants. You have elite education. You have everything you ask for. We feed you, clothe you, and you still can't follow simple directions! The Moirai must frown upon this family to give me such ungrateful, disrespectful tomfools to mother. And those heathens!" Svana paused in her steps, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Ce's hands clenched into fists, but she could say nothing to interrupt. "Those diseased panjandrums that dare call themselves Purebloods—at least that Bane boy's father has some sense."

She couldn't resist. "The only thing that you're pure of is of a heart."

Svana drew back and backhanded her. The sound bounced in the high ceiling, raining back on her like a thousand whispered echoes of the action, but she did nothing more than flinch, stumbling back maybe an inch or two, before recovering. Glassy water filmed over her eyes, but did not fall. Weakness was as good as a death trap in this minefield.

"You dare talk like that?" No answer. The last house elf present fled the room. "You know everything I've said is the truth, don't you? That's why you have nothing to say, isn't it?" A tiny pinch on the inside of her arm, to remind herself of reality, to remind herself not to cry, and a swallow, imperceptible, to open her glottis. No voice, though, even as her mind screamed in frustration and protest. "You'll accept it in time," Svana soothed, a voice made of silver honey. Nothing. She sighed, beginning to pace again, this time more slowly, as she pinched the bridge of her nose as if tired. Cel shifted her weight, legs cramping from being stiffened.

"You'll not set foot in the library."

"Yes, mother." Her voice was dead, flat, devoid of emotion, even as the gears in her mind whirred. There were books on the internet that she could read...

"I'm changing the wifi password."

...deodamnatus. "Yes, mother."

Some disappointment must have shown, for Svana gave a hollow laugh. "Aren't you a Ravenclaw? Supposed to be intelligent? Supposed to figure out the password to your Common Room every day?"

"Yes, mother."

A pause. A sigh. "Give me your painkiller."

Eyes flew wide, hair whipping as the girl turned, fear finally piercing through. "But—"

"For all I know you're faking every little episode you've had. Give me the painkiller, Celynne. You can have advil."

"I haven't—"

"That is final, Celynne." Svana's hand was held outstretched in waiting—she was serious. Canis.

A hard, set expression, maybe a few grinding teeth. The Ravenclaw reached into her pocket, bringing out the tiny bottle of clear tonic. She moved it dazedly over her mother's palm, then dropped it just to the left of the target. Eye contact clicked into place as the bottle shattered on the ground, soaking the floor in elixir and glass. "Yes, stepmother," she said again, this time mockingly. She turned her back, exiting the room silently, knowing that for Svana to give chase would be too undignified, and found solace knowing that Svana would have to get up and close the door she left open by herself.

When she made it to her room, shoulders back and head high, she cried.