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sayafics · 9 months

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Her Muse - Prologue

I wrote this a while back but didn't think it was needed, but I thought just in case anyone would like to know more about the OC before reading the story then this would be great for context. You don't need to read the prologue for the story to make sense, it's just a bit about how the OC got into Hogwarts

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Masterlist

Ophelia Luminita is a muggle-born witch, and it just so happens she was a late-bloomer too. Most children would be recognised for their magical capabilities as infants and on the day of their eleventh birthday, they would receive a letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry allowing them to nurture the magic they were gifted and channel it into something controlled, something beautiful.

Ophelia’s first experience with magic had happened at the age of fourteen, a small accident that had razed through the wizarding world like wildfire. And as a result, she had caught the attention of an omniscient Dumbledore.

Dumbledore hadn’t seemed surprised by her show of power, nor had he been terrified either. There was a knowing smile blooming across the old man’s face as he handed Ophelia a cream envelope, sealed with wax that was stained a deep red.

“Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it.”

Ophelia peered down at the envelope, her nimble fingers scratching at the edges of the seal. Her mouth parted, ready to spew an onslaught of questions – instead her gaze stopped at the empty space the man had previously stood in.

Her brows drew together in confusion, a weary sigh escaping her as she finally regarded the envelope in her hands with unguarded curiosity. She neatly opened it, pulling out a letter from within and scanning the words it held.

She had a strange feeling not all Hogwarts students received a letter like her’s. Any other time and perhaps she would have felt special, instead she felt like her place at Hogwarts was a gamble – one Dumbledore seemingly had a lot of faith in.

Dear Miss. Luminita,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will find all necessary books and equipment have been brought to you. Term begins on September 1st, but I shall be looking forward to meeting you a day earlier so we can retrieve the last item you require for the upcoming year at Hogwarts.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress.

The letter was signed by someone other than Dumbledore, the lively wizard she had the brief pleasure of meeting, and she found herself hoping that it would be him who she greets instead of the woman who wrote her letter.

Dumbledore simply had a disarming presence, and she did not know if the Deputy Headmistress would be the same.

Ophelia’s eyes found the pile of belongings Dumbledore had brought with him. A trunk laid strewed next to her bed, the top opened to reveal several books packed neatly within, and next to it sat a gleaming cage with an owl.

A great horned owl.

That was what Dumbledore had said, he had also called the animal a fierce predator, its aggressive nature being its defining trait and the irony of being gifted such a creature did not go lost on her. Still, she found herself laying the letter on her nightstand, inching towards the owl despite her hesitation.

She crouched towards the ground, eyes meeting the owl’s apprehensive gaze, as she brushed her finger slowly against the cage testing the animal’s aggressive nature for herself.

The owl did not move, its eyes never straying as it perched extremely still and ever cautious.

“C’mon now, I won’t hurt you,” her voice was just a whisper, but even she could hear the plea in her own voice as she tried to convince herself her words were true.

It seemed the owl had determined them to be, dawdling closer to push its feathers against the bars of the cage in a show of trust. Ophelia felt her breath shutter, an inkling of unfamiliar joy burning through her as she brushed her fingers against the soft feathers atop the owl’s head.

“You know, we’re more alike than you think. But that doesn’t make us bad, right?”

The owl turned its head back towards her, as though it could understand her words and wished to reply. So, Ophelia continued in its stead, “we’re fighters, you and I.”

A childish grin blossomed across her face, “we’re warriors. So, I think it’s only fair you get a name that fits. Don’t you think so?”

The owl pushed its head further into her scratching fingers in response, the motion causing Ophelia to sigh out in delight – “I think this year will be a good one Artemis, just wait and see.”

***

The days had gone by swiftly, and as August 31st drew closer Ophelia could feel her heart clenching in dread at the prospect of meeting Deputy Headmistress McGonagall.

Her clothes had been carefully folded into her trunk, trinkets and traces of her childhood that littered her scarce bedroom now laid gently within its confines too. Her entire life had been packed away into one small trunk, and in a matter of hours Ophelia would pick up the scraps of the life she had left and never come back to the house she grew up in.

Ophelia laid back on her bed, the coarse fabric was a comforting feeling against her skin as she lazed her last few hours away, eyes tracking Artemis’ curious adventures across her room.

There had not been much in her room to begin with. It was a wide space, but it lacked in comfort, in furnishings and a sense of comfort which had been snatched from her long ago.

She didn’t stay lost in her musings for long, as it seemed she had a visitor much earlier than she expected. There was a light tapping against her window, twisting her head to the side she saw a silver tabby cat preening at her. Curiosity pinched at her as she rose from the bed and headed towards the window, pushing the stiff window open she reached out towards the cat to pet at its silver fur. Instead, it ducked under her eager hands, trotting inside unafraid of the owl’s venomous hoots.

As the striped cat leaped to the floor to continue its steady trot, the animal began to morph into an elderly woman dressed in robes. Her glasses were small with round lenses, a set of intrigued blue eyes gleamed from underneath, and greying hair was hidden by a tall and pointed black hat.

Ophelia felt her mouth part in shock, cheeks burning with heat as she realised the animal she was about to fret over was a woman.

The woman met her baffled gaze with a stern stare, her eyes full of wisdom and expectation – “good afternoon, dear child. I am Professor McGonagall. I believe Professor Dumbledore handed you my letter.”

Ophelia found herself nodding vigorously, intimidated by the magical proficiency the woman held.

“Do speak child, it is quite rude to not return greetings.”

Ophelia cleared her throat harshly, “of course. I’m sorry Professor, I’m Ophelia. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

A grimace of a smile painted itself across her face, and she prayed that Professor McGonagall would not notice the façade she forced.

“I know I am quite early, but Dumbledore believed it best to help you find your way to Hogwarts before the start of term, and we still have one agenda on the list.”

“What would that agenda be, Professor?”

“Why, it is to find you a wand, my dear.”

Ophelia’s eyes widened, a wand?

“How do you expect to perform magic without a wand?”

Ophelia’s eyes fell to the ground, her shoulders tensed as guilt flooded her features.

“Oh. My apologies, dear. It w-“

“It’s okay.”

Her voice was now timid, conscious of how the professor stood across from her eyed her with pity in place of the curiosity she had radiated previously.

“Hm, perhaps we should start our journey then?”

Ophelia looked towards her trunk, eyes then bounding across the room in search of her owl before McGonagall stopped her.

“Pay no mind to your belongings, Dumbledore will have someone collect it in time for your arrival to Hogwarts with the other students.”

Ophelia nodded, “okay.”

“Come then, child.”

McGonagall stepped closer towards the girl, a hand raised in offering, “we are going to apparate. That means whatever happens, do not let me go - is that understood?”

The younger girl eyed her with infinite interest, reaching out to clasp the professor’s hand as she nodded in consent.

As McGonagall collected herself for a moment, Ophelia allowed herself to listen.

The hoots of Artemis and the sounds of late afternoon traffic nudged at her, but the most daunting sound was the silence.

Artemis was not sure if it was a reality she found relief in or whether it would haunt her for days to come.

But it was different. A welcomed variation in the series of changes she had faced already.

And then… whoosh.

Her life had been left behind, hidden in every crevice and corner of a house that was not her home.

The pair hand landed in what was revealed to the younger girl as Diagon Alley, and as though they were on a strict time limit McGonagall herded her towards a shop – Ollivander’s.

Stumbling through the door Ophelia regarded the boxes which littered the place in mounds and mountains, “ah, here for a new wand? You must have been up to some mischief to need a new one so soon.”

The jovial voice and boisterous laugh came from a man who stood behind the counter, his ecstatic countenance caused Ophelia to step back in unneeded discomfort. McGonagall placed a hand on her shoulder, ushering her forward as she spoke in her place, “actually, this would be Miss. Luminita’s first wand, Ollivander. It seems she is one of the few witchlings that has managed to escape Dumbledore’s sights.”

An amused smile was exchanged between the pair as Ollivander regarded her with a teasing smile, “not many can escape that man’s foresight. You must be a special one.”

Ophelia forced a smile as she waited to see what would happen next, and seeing that the girl would not speak Ollivander gave a small sigh as he spoke gently, “let us try a hazel wand, yes? It is a more sensitive wand, and this one in particular,” he brandishes a light brown wand, “contains unicorn hair. I believe a wand like this should do you well.”

Ophelia reached towards it, excitement building in her heart at the idea of owning a wand, but McGonagall’s hand reached to land over her’s. The girl found herself frowning at the action, questioning eyes peering at the older woman, but she received no acknowledgement.

“Might I suggest a spruce wand in its place?”

Ollivander’s eyes coloured in understanding, pupils blown as he scampered off to find a wand he thought would be perfect.

Ophelia wanted to question McGonagall about her intervention, but the older woman was much more astute than her, so she settled for believing that McGonagall had simply done what she thought was best. Instead, she asked, “Professor?”

“Yes, dear?”

“How am I to pay for this?”

“Don’t worry about that, child. Dumbledore has a special talent when it comes to talking and it seems he was able to convince the right people you were in desperate need of the money your mother left as inheritance.”

Ophelia turned to her in confusion, “I’m not supposed to get that until I’m eighteen.”

McGonagall placed a gentle hand on her cheek, her other hand raising to tap mischievously at her nose as she says, “like I said, Dumbledore has a special talent for these things.”

A shy smile tugged at the corners of the girl’s mouth, “thank you, Professor. Both of you.”

“Not to worry child.”

Ophelia turned back towards the desk as she heard Ollivander’s advancing footsteps, a cheery smile on his face as he waved a box in a show of success. Now Ophelia found herself returning his smile with a joyful grin.

Ollivander handed her the box, his voice filled with unbridled satisfaction as he spoke, “spruce. I haven’t given one of these wands in quite some time.”

Ophelia’s head tilted in confusion, “why is that sir?”

“Oh, call me Ollivander, dear. And it’s because a wand like this needs a firm hand. It’s a fussy old bugger, let me tell you, wands like these are dangerous in fumbling fingers. Seems like Minerva and Dumbledore think you’re just the person for a wand like this - it needs someone bold, someone loyal and reliable.”

Ophelia could feel her eyes burning at the words, after all that had just happened McGonagall thought she was brave? That she was trustworthy?

A traitorous laugh escaped her, one filled with glee and tinged with tears as she pulled the wand from its box and inspected it. Ollivander continued, looking at the girl as his eyes pooled in sympathy at her grief-stricken joy, “dragons heartstring core – capable of powerful magic.”

“Heartstring? Does that mean a dragon was killed to make this?”

Ollivander’s voice was grim, “maybe. One never questions where they get their resources from, but it is possible. Especially this one in particular, this core came from a Hebridean Black dragon.”

Ophelia felt like the name was supposed to mean something to her, but simply shrugged it off as Ollivander spouted, “it is twelve and a half inches with pliant flexibility. Give it a wave.”

At his command, Ophelia shook the wand in a circular motion, several orbs of light bounded out the end before hovering above her head to spin in an elegant dance.

Fascination glowed in her eyes, a surprised laugh filling the air as she spun in her place to look eagerly at each shining sphere.

“Perfect, this should be enough for the wand Ollivander.”

“Thank you, Minerva.”

After handing Ollivander the appropriate number of galleons, McGonagall held the pouch out to Ophelia, “this is only a small portion of your fortune, do keep it safe. The rest is held securely at Gringotts Bank, accessible to you whenever you choose.”

Ophelia took the pouch, holding it close to her chest as she marvelled at the weight it held. Soon she was directed out of the building by McGonagall, so she questioned her.

“Are we going to Hogwarts now?”

“No. Dumbledore thought it best you arrive with the other students, so we shall find a room for you to stay the night and then tomorrow I shall drop you off at Platform 9 ¾.”

“Platform? I have to take a train?”

“My dear,” McGonagall looked towards her with a hesitant gaze, “your magic and your presence was discovered quite late I’m afraid, and the Hogwarts curriculum is strict so it can teach students to perform the basics of magic safely from a young age. Taking the train from London to Hogwarts would be one of the few chances you have to make friends your own age.”

Ophelia frowned, “my own age?”

“Well, it seems the Ministry did not want to make an exception to have you placed with peers of your age, given the circumstances your magic was revealed.”

Ophelia felt her heart sink in dread, “no, but I could take extra classes, can’t I? Please, Professor McGonagall I would be a laughing-stock.”

“No such thing shall happen under my watch, Ophelia.”

Her words were firm, her eyes unrelenting as she met the girl’s anxious gaze, “it is safer for you if you start Hogwarts in first year with the other students.”

“Safer for me or safer for everyone else?”

Her voice was a whisper, her heart twisting in agony as she realised that even if McGonagall and Dumbledore trusted her to be good, others did not.

“I believe you will do great things in Hogwarts, dear. Do not let the opinions of small-minded men stop you from doing so.”

McGonagall’s words were a rare comfort, one she basked in as she decided that she would make the best of the cards she had been dealt. If the Ministry thought of her as dangerous, she would show them the extent of the power she held.

Ophelia patted her pocket lightly, the outline of her wand solid against her hand – a powerful wand for a powerful witch.

She met McGonagall’s worried gaze, her own pooled in bright determination causing her dark brown eyes to gleam fiercely against the shadows of her past.

Ophelia was good, and now she would prove it.

***

The following morning the skies were lustrously lit, hues of delicate blues and dense clouds spread across, painting an intricate picture for all to admire.

Ophelia’s body was wracked with nerves, today was September 1st which meant it was the day she would go to Hogwarts. It was not the prospect of going to Hogwarts which made her uneasy, in fact she looked forward to learning how to hone her magic, to nurture it into something good and kind.

It was the students.

How was she supposed to fit in with those who were three years younger than her? How was she expected to make friends her own age? Who would she sit with on the train? Who would she talk with? Who would help her find the rooms all other students her age would be able to navigate with ease?

She didn’t have long to collect her thoughts, as just as she had finishing taming her hair and pulling the inky strands into a loose braid McGonagall had apparated into her room.

Ophelia jumped from her seat on the bed in fright, a hand clutching her chest as she composed herself, “Professor,” she spoke, breathlessly, “good morning.”

“Oh my, sorry for the fright dear.”

“It’s quite alright, I needed to be up anyway.”

“Yes, well the train leaves at exactly eleven O’clock. I have brought you your school uniform, do hurry and change.”

Ophelia accepted the bundle of robes from McGonagall, glancing at the time to see she only had ten minutes to get ready.

“Right, I shall be waiting downstairs.”

“Of course, Professor.”

At the professor’s exit, Ophelia scrambled to change into her uniform, she pulled on her tights and skirt, slipping her feet into the flats McGonagall had also brought with her, fingers fumbling as she flitted on her shirt, buttoning it up and tucking it in her skirt before doing the same with her cardigan and finally slipping her arms into her robe and clasping it shut.

She took in her appearance in the mirror across from her, admiring how perfectly her uniform fit. Another glance to the time showed her she had mere minutes before the train departed, so bundling her spare clothes in her arm and pocketing her pouch of wizard currency, she raced down the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron and came to a halt in front of an impressed McGonagall.

A pleased smile pulled at the corners of Minerva’s mouth, happy to see the girl waiting with much anticipation at the upcoming journey, despite her hesitancy of going.

“Right on time. But you will not be needing these.”

With a simple tap of her wand, Ophelia’s spare clothes dissipated from her hands leaving only her wand in its place – “now that is definitely something you should try to not lose.”

A sheepish grin was sent in response, “sorry Professor.”

“Not to worry, dear. Now do hold on tight, the train station is not far from here but every attempt to apparate is equally as dangerous as the last.”

Ophelia held onto Professor McGonagall’s arm with renewed vigour, the excitement of seeing Hogwarts slowly outgrowing her fear of being lonely and without friends.

It happened within the space of a breath… whoosh!

Ophelia did not know when she had closed her eyes but opening them now revealed the bustle of an early morning at the London train station.

Professor McGonagall led her out from behind the beams, walking her through the crowd as they reached an archway between Platform 9 and 10.

McGonagall stood back after nudging the girl forward, “that there will be your way to the platform you need.”

Ophelia’s nose twitched, brows furrowed in confusion as she followed the professor’s pointed finger to a brick wall, she blinked slowly wondering if McGonagall could see something she wasn’t.

“But… But that’s a wall.”

“It looks like a wall. Not all is as it seems, especially in Hogwarts. Close your eyes and run through the barrier, quick before it closes. The train leaves soon.”

“Are you not coming with me?”

“I am afraid this is a journey you shall have to face on your own, but I am sure you will be victorious at the end.”

“When will I see you again.”

Minerva could see the sadness that tinged the girl’s features, her heart heavy in sorrow at how desperate Ophelia was to keep a connection, “don’t worry dear, I shall see you in a few hours.”

Ophelia’s hesitancy was placated as she turned towards the barrier, eyes closing in a show of bravery. Not even attempting to say a goodbye, hoping to see the Professor soon, she ran at the wall, her body tensing as her closed eyes screwed further shut, waiting to feel her body crash against a solid wall.

A cold feeling washed over her, as though she walked through a mist, and she stumbled to a stop and forced her eyes open when she realised, she had passed through the barrier.

Her mouth parted in astonishment, her eyes darting back to the wall she had just walked through before a sharp whistle snapped her attention back towards the train.

She had, perhaps, thirty seconds to scramble onto it before it left her behind.

The realisation caused her to nudge and push her way through the masses of parents and children gathered on the platform waving goodbye to the students, racing to get through any open door.

A hand stuck itself in her line of vision and her eyes began following it to the inside of the train, she didn’t care to see who it was attached to before gripping onto it tightly as they hauled her into the train just in time.

A sigh of relief escaped her as she tilted back her head to meet a set of shy, grey eyes.

“That was a close one.”

A tentative laugh left her, “it was. Thank you for helping me, I’m Ophelia.”

“I’m Cedric.”

Ophelia now realised she was still grasping tightly onto the boy’s hand, she pulled back as she coughed to cover her embarrassment, cheeks heating as she glanced at the inside of the train around them.

“Say, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you at Hogwarts before. And you don’t look like a first year, are you a transfer student?”

Ophelia’s face twisted in a grimace, her blush growing heavier as she let out a frustrated sigh, “no, I actually am a first year.”

It was now Cedric’s turn to look away, a hand coming to scratch the back of his neck as he looked at his shoes in embarrassment, “I’m sorry, that was quite rude of me, I didn’t mean to imply you look old.”

“Well, you wouldn’t be wrong about that, if you meant to.”

“I wouldn’t?”

Cedric looked confused now, and Ophelia struggled to string her words together in an attempt to placate his curiosities.

“I only found out about my magic a few weeks ago, Dumbledore said I escaped his radar,” a part her of was proud at that, Dumbledore paraded himself as a powerful and knowing being, and she had been the one to escape his sights, “but the Ministry couldn’t let me join students my age because I don’t know the basics about magic yet.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. How old are you, then?”

“I’m fourteen.”

A pleasant smile broke out on Cedric’s face, “we would have been in the same year. Maybe we can still be friends?”

Ophelia returned his grin, “I would like that very much.”

Cedric nodded his head towards the train compartments, “come on, I’ll introduce you to some of my other friends.”

A weight in Ophelia’s heart had settled, she had been so worried about being unable to make friends and being judged that she had gotten herself worked up and left herself feeling worn out.

But McGonagall was right. It had all worked out.

***

The train ride had been a few hours at most, the train running steadily over the tracks through the countryside, over bridges and across lakes and rivers. The scenery was beautiful and proved to be a great distraction for how slowly time passed.

However, the new friends Ophelia had made during the trip had proved to be an even bigger and better distraction. The people she had met wore robes of different colours – red, blue and yellow.

Each set of eyes as kind as the next, each voice as encouraging as the last.

When they learnt that she was a first year student instead of a fourth year student like them, they grew enthusiastic making promises to help her with her studies and homework.

Ophelia’s heart swelled with gratitude, appreciative to have met such kind people.

Although the journey had been a long one, she still felt it had ended all too quickly.

She soon had to part from her newfound friends to follow the giant among their midst who beckoned the first years his way, Cedric had promised he would see her inside and she left the group of four with a parting smile.

As she joined the group of lively first years, a deep voice called out to her – “Oi! I said first years only, you best go with the other students.”

Ophelia frowned at the several eyes which turned her way, voice raised in indignation, “I am a first year.”

A knowing look bloomed across Hagrid’s face, and he had the propensity to look ashamed by his loud words, “ah, ye’ must be Miss. Lumini’a. Dumbledore’s told me all about y’.”

She shifted uncomfortably as more eyes turned her way and whispers began to ripple across the crowd, but Hagrid continues, “apologies miss, situations like this aren’t normal here.”

Hagrid received a strained smile in response, Ophelia hoped the man would get the hint and quieten down lest she face more embarrassment.

It seemed a bushy-haired girl with bright eyes and a kind smile took notice of her discomfort, pushing her to distract Hagrid, “I think we should make our way to the school now, don’t you think Hagrid?”

Hagrid peered down towards the girl, “good idea Hermione, come on first years. This way.”

Ophelia sent a grateful smile to the younger girl who waited for her as they headed towards the lake, “I’m sure Hagrid meant well.”

Ophelia sighed, “I know, doesn’t make it any less embarrassing though.”

Hermione’s eyes were filled with intrigue, and Ophelia knew the girl had questions of her own. Ones she hoped she would not have to answer today.

Hermione must have been a very observant child, because one glance into Ophelia’s eyes had dimmed her fascinated gaze as she politely introduced herself, “I’m Hermione Granger.”

Her voice stood proudly amongst the scattered whispers and excited mumbles of the students around them.

“I’m Ophelia Luminita.”

The pair didn’t have long to continue talking before Hagrid began shepherding them towards the small boats.

Hermione held Ophelia’s hand as she led her towards a red-headed boy with pasty skin and a wide grin, and another boy with a black mop on his head and round glasses perched atop his nose.

“This is Ron,” she pointed towards the red-headed boy, before looking at the other one “and this is Harry. We can ride with them.”

Her words left no space for an argument to be made, and Ophelia huffed in amusement as joined the three of them in the wooden boat.

As they sailed across the dark lake, the trio kept sneaking glances her way until a begrudged sigh escaped Ophelia and she spoke, “if you have anything to ask, now is your only chance.”

The words seemed to have set Hermione alight, “if you’re older than us, why are you a first year?”

“Well, my magic was hidden from me even after I turned eleven. I only recently discovered it.”

“So why not put you with the other students your age?”

That had been Ron, so she looked at him as she answered, “the Ministry thought it was best to have me learn the basics first.”

The three of them seemed content with her answers, and the rest of the journey had been spent talking about their hobbies, likes and dislikes.

Hermione’s eyes glowed in admiration as Ophelia revealed she also shared a deep interest in books and writing.

When they had finally docked at the other end of the lake, the group of first years were led into Hogwarts.

The students’ eyes marvelled at the architecture within, tracing the intricate design of the school before they reached a set of stairs. Climbing up the stairs, Ophelia found a familiar face.

Professor McGonagall.

Her face broke out into a beaming smile, one that was returned by a quainter one from McGonagall as she tried to maintain her image as a stern and strict professor.

It wasn’t long before they were brought into the Great Hall, Ophelia’s eyes wandering over the masses in search of the friends she had made as Hermione’s hand gripped her’s tighter in dread.

She had failed to find her friends, her eyes darting the meet those of an animated Dumbledore. He nodded his head at her eloquently before explaining the Sorting Ceremony to all that were present.

It was not long until Professor McGonagall began to read aloud the names of students, prompting them to sit on a stool and have a hat placed atop their head so their houses could be decided.

When it had finally gotten to her name, she felt her heart stutter to a stop. Hermione had left her side now, already sat proudly at the Gryffindor table, leaving her alone on the stage.

She released a slow breath, moving towards the stool to perch upon it precariously. As McGonagall placed the hat upon her head, she turned to the older woman, she was terrified she wouldn’t be good enough for any house. McGonagall sent a reassuring glance her way.

As the hat began to mumble atop her head, whispering about what group she would thrive in most, Ophelia began to recall the words of the friends she had made on the train.

They wore red, blue and yellow – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff.

Mallory, the rambling Ravenclaw she had met, had told her the history of each house being formed – Salazar Slytherin’s house only accepted those with the purest ancestry, Rowena Ravenclaw only acknowledged those of the highest intelligence, Godric Gryffindor only recognised those with brave deeds to their name and it was Helga Hufflepuff who said she would take the rest and teach them all she knows.

Ophelia was a muggle-born so to be in Slytherin would sentence her to years of humiliation, but she was not the smartest and she was definitely not the bravest.

She didn’t fit.

But perhaps that was the whole point.

The hat seemed to come to life at that point, its body twisting in upon itself before stretching and yelling with a glorious cry, “Hufflepuff!”

Ophelia felt her shoulders sag in relief, cheeks burning under the raucous round of applause sent her way. As McGonagall lifted the hat from her head, she sent a proud smile to the girl as she nodded her head in the direction of the Hufflepuff table.

A pleased laugh bubbled out of her as she skipped down the steps, her eagerness growing at the sight of Cedric’s waving hands and excited smile.

She sat at the table with a delighted huff, a smile stretched so hard across her face that her cheeks were slowly beginning to ache. But she couldn’t find it in herself to let it sink, reprieve and thrill painting her cheeks a blossoming pink as Cedric introduced her to his friends.

The dinner had been lively and joyous, Ophelia was enamoured by the food presented and the company she had the luck of sharing. When they had finished for the night, she left with a satiated appetite and a spirit that was bursting at the seams with eagerness.

It wasn’t long until they were headed towards the Hufflepuff common room, Cedric leading the party of first years as she took to standing by his side. They meandered downstairs, walking past what they had been told was the kitchen – it was eerily quiet now, but Cedric said that it was typically occupied by House Elves.

The entrance to the common room was pointed out to be hidden behind a stack of barrels which were placed neatly in a nook of the kitchen corridor.

Although the other common rooms require a password, the Hufflepuff common room only required students to tap the barrel which laid two from the bottom, in the middle of the second row.

“Now, if it’s done properly, the lid of the barrel should open. To open the passageway, you have to tap the lid in the rhythm of ‘Helga Hufflepuff’. You want to try, Ophelia?”

Ophelia was shy to try in front of all these people, not wanting to feel humiliated if she failed to succeed, but at Cedric’s nudges she gave in with an exasperated sigh.

She walked up to the barrel, it was quite large but even then, if the passageway were to open, she would have to crawl through it.

Suddenly, the emblem of Hufflepuff being a badger began making more and more sense. An underground common room they were required to crawl to? She rolled her eyes in amusement as she raised her first, then she brought it down in a rhythmic pattern - first two sharp knocks, then a small gap before three consecutive knocks followed.

She hardly had time to step back before the lid popped open, and Cedric patted her back as she beamed at him, proud of her success.

“What are you waiting for then? Go!”

She couldn’t say no to the blatant enthusiasm rolling off the boy in waves, so she lowered herself to the ground as she began to crawl through the wide berth.

Travelling the short distance, she soon came into a room decorated in shades of copper, bronze, yellow and black.

As she stood up, venturing further into the room, she embraced a warm and welcoming feeling. The ceiling was low, and the room was large.

Broad wooden arches led the way into the main area, worn armchairs and overstuffed sofas in colours of burnt oranges and bronze littered the room in an orderly fashion.

And plants.

Plants of all species and origins could be found, twines twisted onto arches and railings, potted plants at every window and table, flower beds anchored to the ceiling to hang delicately just out of reach.

It was night now, but there was a burning fire that lit the room is varying shades of yellow, and lanterns dropping from the ceiling to highlight a path to the staircases which up to the dorms.

The room was so cozy and so warm, Ophelia felt her heart settle into a gentle rhythm at the idea that she would be living here for years to come.

As it turns out, some of the friends Cedric had introduced her to have a spare bed in the girl’s dorm. Ophelia accepted their offer graciously, ecstatic at the idea she would not have to share a room with those younger than her for quite some time.

Everything would be okay.

***

It turns out, everything was not okay.

Over the years at Hogwarts, Ophelia had grown a tentative friendship with Hermione, admiring the girl’s studious nature and maddening intellect.

Consequently, she was inevitably dragged along in their antics at Hogwarts, and even moreso the dangerous situations they landed themselves in as a result.

They had battled a troll, escaped the clutches of an overgrown three-headed dog, almost suffocated to death in the clutches of Devil’s Snare, came close to losing their lives in a game of chess, outran the eight-legged beasts that were friends of Hagrid’s, were haunted by Dementors and almost torn apart by Lupin in his werewolf form.

It had been a troublesome three years, and she was sure it would be a pattern that continued for the rest of her time at Hogwarts.

And perhaps it would start again now.

Ophelia sat amongst hundreds of students a few weeks into the new year as a fourth year student, watching as the Goblet of Fire bubbled and burst, waiting with a bated breath to see who’s name would be chosen.

A small and frail and frightened part of her wished it wouldn’t be her name. A traitorous thought that bloomed into unabashed fear.

#regulus black x reader #regulus black fic #regulus black #regulus black x oc #regulus black x ofc #harry potter #hp fandom #hp fanfic #hp marauders #hermione granger #ron weasley #cedric diggory #draco malfoy

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en-la-casademiamor · 1 year

Text

We are the gods

I am named Nike, and have sprung off the board of an empty concrete pool. I have heard the call of transformation, and have re-read The Power of Myths. I am certain of the direction, though cannot visualize the end.

You are Icarus in gold; gilded in crystals, and gems; but on your way down. You tend to misplace courage out of fear, and reach too quickly for the old sword of reason.

Is it out of habit that you often forget what happens to wax behind your ankles[?]–You underestimate the blight of us all coming into this realm frocked in muscles that tear, and with bones that weigh in proportion to a heavy heart that cannot express: To want from the earliest of our years the sheerness of sky, but to possess no feathers, lightness of faith, nor the intimate, breathless moments inside the fires of love.

#poem #writing

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omnibenevolent-couch-blog · 1 year

Text

Great Emperors and Beyond; An Abridged History of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti

By Sun Ma, translated by Orlendr

Translator's Note

This was written nearly 200 years ago in 132AC, and remains one of the most well known and compiled sources on Yi Ti and its history. To now have it translated into the Common Tongue of Westeros is a definitive sign of good faith between the new powers in Yi Ti and the Kingdoms of Westeros.

To those reading this; please keep in mind that borders and provinces change over time, especially in recent years. Like the waxing and waning of the moon, both cities and their names may be altered or even rendered obsolete. Any map shown of Yi Ti will have a corresponding year stated by it, and will be as approximate as can be given the difference in calendars.

Since this book was originally published in Yi Tish, the Imperial Court of the Golden Empire has gone over both minute and large amendments in its structure and rank. The general terminology and a brief explanation will be listed, but any old or not in use terms will be identified otherwise. Newer or updated ranks like the Grand Judge, the Councils, the Duke of the Five Forts, and the Chancellors will not be added in, because during the time that this is being translated these ranks have not been legitimized in Yi Ti’s rule and law.

List of Imperial Court Rankings:

God-Emperor — Sovereign of the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, thought of as a divine descendant of God-on-Earth.

Empress — Main wife of the Emperor, her first born child is Crowned Heir no matter sex or age in relation to the birth order with the Imperial Consorts’ children in mind.

Grand Secretariat (obs.[1]) — Close advisor to the Emperor, more so than that of the Court.

Imperial General — Head of the military, holds absolute authority over all of the branches of warfare and their finances. Second only to the Emperor’s input and direct commands.

Minister of Rites (obs.) — Head Priest of the Nu’nian Temple, oversees religious ceremonies and rites.

Minister of Judicial Affairs (obs.) — Head of the Judicial Court, oversees penal affairs and law.

Minister of Public Works — Head of the Bureau of Public Works, oversees the financial aspect to important festivals, infrastructure, agriculture, and the general public’s state of affairs.

Grand Duke (obs.) — Title of the Lord whose seat rests in the old Buien province; made up of what is now the Buien, Wuian, and half of the Di’an provinces. This title was awarded to the holder as a thing of prestige, as their seat was (metaphorically) that of the Five Forts[2]—though most Grand Dukes in history were Lords of the Forked City of Quen.

Commander of the Feathered Guard — Head of the Imperial Palace guards, the only group of people permitted to carry weapons in the presence of the Emperor and within the Palace itself.

Lords/Ladies — A hereditary title of nobility, they hold authority in their seat-city and that of the Court, but not much else. Some throughout history have had vassals here and there, but it was not common nor was it thought well of.

Esteemed Scholars — An earned title, gained by graduates that passed the Imperial Exams.[3]

Overseer of Attendants — Head eunuch within the imperial household, only occasionally summoned to Court proceedings if needed.

short for obsolete, no longer in use.

The Five Forts during the time in which the Grand Duke rank was held had five acting Generals on each of the Forts manning the wall. The Grand Duke title held little to no actual authority nor commandeering power over the soldiers stationed there.

Esteemed Scholars are graduates of the Imperial Exam, a test which is taken every four years right after the Conference Examinations. Out of the 300 that can pass those tests, an average of 200 apply to the Palace, and only 50 can officially pass the Imperial Exam. Of those that finish, they gain the class title the Brilliant Class—with the top three scorers called the Distinguished Head (top of class), the Upward Head (second in class), and the Reaching Head (third in class).

Preface 1.1: Yi Tish Calendar

Unlike the Westerosi solar calendar of 12 months with 30 and 31 alternating days a year, the Yi Tish calendar is a stellar calendar. Though it does have the same 365 days a year, excluding leap years with 366 days, it only has 8 months.

There are 12 phases a year, corresponding to the constellation that the sun crosses through during the time of year. Those 12 phases make up 8 months—with four months as individual phases, and four months made up of two phases paired together. Within the dual phased month, each phase gets 23 days per half, making the month 46 days long. A dual phase month is followed by a month with only one phase made up of 45 days, before another dual month follows.

As the sun crosses into the end phase of the Water month, known as the Crane, the year begins. After that is the Earth month of the Aurochs sign, and then the Wood month begins with the Tiger constellation phase. The Wood month’s end phase is the Rabbit, before another Earth Month follows as the Firewyrm. Then the Fire Month begins with the Kraken and ends with the Horse phase.

An Earth month, the individual Elephant phase, follows. It is succeeded by the Metal month of the Monkey phase and then it ends with the White-backed Raven phase. The last Earth month of the year is Red Wolf before the beginning of the Water month starts with the Boar phase, which is the last phase of the year.

A leap year has one day added to the end of the Crane phase every 4 years. These are known as Black Lion days. There are talks amongst scholars and astronomers of adding another day to the leap year, meaning a possible 367 days in a leap year. It has not been brought up to the Imperial Court yet, only discussed amongst debating groups.

(The black and white lines above all the months symbolize what force of nature governs that phase. White being the sun, and black being the moon.)

The Yi Tish calendar uses the Bloodstone Emperor’s betrayal as an epoch. For example, Year 1AB (After Betrayal) is the year in which the Blood Betrayal occurred, while Year 1BB (Before Betrayal) is one year prior to the betrayal.

e.g. 3BB -> 2BB -> 1BB -> 1AB -> 2AB -> 3AB

#yi ti #asoiaf #got #game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #awoiaf #essos

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the-great-elwisty · 1 year

Text

Day 10: Fish out of Water

A/N Set not long prior to the NWN2 Original Campaign.

Nevalle dreams of schoolrooms, ink and heaps of fresh parchment. There will be bundles of goose feathers and reeds already prepared for use, though only for the older children and the best scholars, of course: most will have to make do with chalk and slate tablets, or styluses and wax. There will be abaci. A map of Faerun on the wall. Books of reference. Even if the teacher is a drunken lout and a fool, as one of his certainly was, the children will be able to learn despite the limitations of their background. Though he will personally monitor the selection of the teachers to make sure that no time-wasters or boozers slip in.

He dreams sitting at his desk, a list of the most recent commodity prices before him, and annotates, rounds and estimates. He estimates to two decimal points, as an expert clerk should.

In total, it will cost ten point six ounces of fine gold to stock a school of fifty children for one month, inclusive of a simple breakfast of oatmeal and milk, and excluding the teacher’s salary. He knows that in theory – if he compromised on the quality of the teacher, if he forgot about any but the most basic resources and left seeing the children fed to the purses and tempers of their parents – one school could run for a month on fewer than ten ounces.

But that would be like the miller he had seen on trial the other day, fined for mixing sawdust in with the flour, or like the case of the Greycloak sergeant Griffon who had contrived to sell his troop’s weapons on the black market and buy in cheap replacements for half the amount, just in time for the Luskan army to arrive at the walls: an abasement of standards that devours the greater purpose. The worst kind of compromise.

“Attend. Are you ready for your lesson?” The bland voice of the knight Melia echoes through the wooden door of his bedroom-cum-study.

He stands smoothly and carefully, as he has learned to do. As a new recruit to the palace guard, he would have hurried to open the door to his superior in rank and length of service. He had been trained out of that quickly.

“I am. Who may I expect?”

“Open and see,” she says. Sometimes she gave him a straight answer The second or third lesson, she had replied “the unexpected!” but since then she had stopped making light remarks in her own person. She understood that he would not appreciate them. Today she is testing him, as is fair, and is furthermore a much more effective way of learning than shadowing Sir Darmon on his spinning, springing, laughing progress through the court.

Melia stands approximately three feet away from the threshold of his room. Her dark hair is worn up in a nest of complex plaits, though a few strands have been allowed to curl at the side of her cheeks, as if through chance. It was a statement: long loose hair in a woman signalled remembrance of Aribeth and suspect loyalty. Hair in a single plait down the back, or curled into a bun, was to be seen throughout the Blacklake District these days, and meant faith in Lord Nasher, or at least the wish to appear true to him. What Melia wears today is referencing either the old regime, the Amnish, or Waterdeep where such styles persist.

The cut of the dress is simple, loosely belted at the waist and unpadded at the breast and hips, the colour black, as would be appropriate for mourning, or for a priest doing penance, or for a member of one of the more unpleasant cults of the Sword Coast. Despite the dress’s simplicity, the material looks to him like velvet. There are discreet froths of ivory Moonshae lace at each wrist.

He has already seen the pin worn on the left to show a connection to the heart, and it makes the test far too easy. The blue-and-white bud of gemstones that might be taken for an Eye of Tyr, would have been taken for such by him a short time ago, but in fact stood for the delphinium crest of one of the old houses, one with few living representatives, and no children.

“Lady Tamberlis, you do me great honour.” Because this is not really Lady Tamberlis, it is not hard to filter any wisp of displeasure out of his tone. He hopes he can do as well if confronted with the real woman.

Melia raises her chin. Looks at him askance from under silvered eyelids. “Honour is all very well, young man, but only if actions match words. The door to the audience chamber is behind you. You and your honour are in my way.”

So that is his task in today’s play: to learn what the aristocrat wants from Lord Nasher, and then to let her through or find a means of turning her about, as the case demands. You may hate it and them, Melia had said in an earlier trial, and may look at them and see nothing but painted toy dragons, but they still have connections, and status, and wealth. Treat them as if their teeth can still bite.

“My apologies, milady,” he says with a small bow towards her, but does not otherwise change his position. “I must beg your patience a little longer.”

Although she is much shorter than he, Melia contrives not to seem so. A twist of a lip, a flicker of an eyebrow, and she disappears into her projection of the tall, sharp-featured Tamberlis, an improbable apparition to encounter in this obscure back corridor of Castle Never. “Beg, by all means. I expect I will enjoy it. But as for patience, I have none, and rate it as no great virtue.”

He does not attempt to counter her ‘humour’ with a jab of his own. That is not how he works best, and he knows it. “Then let it be such, and we shall come straight to the matter at hand. You must be driven by some urgent business to travel here in person at this hour.”

It is within the usual audience times, but still well before noon, and few people of rank in Neverwinter stir themselves to activity before then. Lord Nasher is in the habit of rising before dawn and going straight to work; when Nevalle attended him at breakfast a ten-day ago, the city’s Protector had said to him confidingly that if his courtiers could only manage to get out of bed at a reasonable time, they would have succeeded in deposing him years ago. Nevalle was very glad that they had not, and said as much.

“Perhaps it is so. And if that is the case, would I be liable to share my business with Nasher’s door boy, and not Nasher himself?”

Melia has captured the mixture of condescension and arrogance perfectly. He suspects she is enjoying herself.

Even though he knows this is not real, his temper sparks. “Since you have no other means of gaining your audience, certainly.”

Without changing her expression, she adjusts her stole so that it hangs from one shoulder. “And go prattling the secret knowledge of state to a guard? To the son of an excise clerk? You see, I take an interest in palace affairs, young Nevalle.”

“My father is a loyal servant of Lord Nasher, as am I.”

“For clerks, loyalty is done and undone in the slash of a pen. They can have no real concept of higher loyalty, the loyalty of sworn soldiers, knights and princes. For your kind it begins and ends with a monthly pay-packet, loyalty till sunset on working days then home to supper in a house on the peninsula.”

He feels his cheeks flush with anger, and regrets the light complexion that gives him away so easily. Tamberlis – no, Melia playing Tamberlis – lets a hint of amusement show, but, seeing it, he collects himself. Yes, his father is an exciseman, and he is proud of him. It is people like his father, literate, sober and honourable, who have kept Neverwinter alive and ensured the state could fend off the attacks from Luskan and the orcs. When Tamberlis and her circle of spoiled bullies were in charge, the city went bankrupt and the Greycloaks mutinied. Lord Nasher remembers that, owes his throne to the long-ago turmoil in the Year of the Bloodbird, and has given many indications that he feels as Nevalle does on the issue of which class of person has more to offer the future.

“I would die for Lord Nasher,” he replies calmly. “I have sworn to do so as a guard, but even if I were not bound by an oath, he is my master and I owe him my life as part of my duty to the state.”

Melia raises her eyebrows. “How novel. Do you really mean that?”

“Every word.”

The disguised knight pauses, watching his face as if she can search out the truth of his pledge there. At last, she says, “I suppose you’ll do.”

And she pulls off her stole and stuffs it under one arm. A few plucks of the fingers to draw out concealed pins, and with a shake of the head her plaits fall free to rest on her shoulders. Her posture subtly shifts, not relaxing or becoming more official, but seeming to pass through a mirror, so that, where Tamberlis had stood there was now an oval-faced young knight wearing a black dress that sits ill with her complexion.

“Here’s the news then,” continues Melia. “Lord Nasher will leave a few days from now on a progress round his territories. From Fort Locke in the south to Old Owl Well and Helm’s Hold and up to Port Llast on the border. And every village and town of any size in between. We expect trouble: the land has been unsettled ever since the war. You will lead his personal guard, while Sir Darmon commands a troop of Greycloaks detached from Callum’s mountain men.”

When he nearly lost his temper, he thought he had failed the test that day. Now it seems that his mistake did not matter: the responsibility Melia has given him is a great one, and an unmistakeable sign of favour for she would not have done so without Lord Nasher’s blessing. The possibilities, the probabilities that lie before him are ones he would not have dared imagine for himself a year ago. The only blight on them will be sharing the road with Sir Darmon and his clowning and jokes and triviality for the next month or more.

“Thank you,” he says. “I will not disappoint him.”

She cocks her head on one side. “You don’t seem surprised.”

He blinks. The sudden switch from apparent failure to reward and success, from being insulted by an imitation of an old, ugly witch to being given a promotion in fact if not in name yet, had surprised him. But he is not shocked by the task itself. “I am well-qualified for the task. It requires someone who is well-organised, knows the roads, knows the guard, and who can fight. I match the description.”

She gives him an odd unaccountable smile that he has only seen her wear a few times before, when she listens in on council meetings from discreet corners of the chamber. “Yes, well I’m sure that all helps too.”

After she has left, he returns to his room and spends the next hour noting the tasks that will need to be completed, and the equipment that will have to be gathered, inspected and packed before the expedition can depart. Then he has to leave for his guarding shift between noon and sunset, and afterwards he is invited to share the dining table that evening with Lord Nasher, a few of the Nine and the usual tideline-mess of courtiers, merchants and aristocrats. In the short time he has left before bed, he hurries through more of the preparations, visiting the kitchens and armoury and consulting with the old retainers who have been working in supplies and logistics since before Nevalle was born.

It is midnight before he is able to lie down again. The reed lamp on the table continues to smoulder, giving off an uncertain light. Now and again footsteps pass in the corridor outside his room. And as he lies awake, exhausted by his long day yet still burning with satisfaction at his new status, his new advancement, he lets his eyes wander over the ceiling, and he dreams.

A network of schools over the city is feasible. He knows it. And one day, when he has proved his competence so many times that no one can doubt him, he can show his plan to Lord Nasher, and they will build them together. Just one at first, as a trial model. But once that is refined, the same pattern can be replicated in every district of the lower and middle-ranking citizens.

Nevalle’s dreams are weighted with figures and lists. In his imaginary schoolroom, the children sit in neat lines and wear clean, if darned and patched, clothes – though that has not been included in the budget. Clothes will have to wait for a third, unplanned stage to be realised. None of the children have faces and – as he finally drifts off to sleep – they look up at him standing at the teacher’s lectern, and their heads are simply outlines framed by the plain limewashed walls. But they will be the future. The school will happen, and Neverwinter will thrive.

#nevervember #neverwinter nights #nwn2

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childofchrist1983 · 2 years

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“Youth is wasted on the young!” How true is that statement!

The older we get the more we long for the days of our youth, when we were more energetic, and our joints didn't creak everytime we took a step. When we look into the mirror and see a new wrinkle or gray hair, we wax nostalgic for the days of smooth skin and shiny locks.

In this passage, we are told that youthful vitality is not lost to us, not through God. He will renew us as the "eagle." Eagle. Not sparrow, or swallow, or hummingbird. But the strong and mighty eagle, who can fly up to 10,000 feet, who has over 7,000 feathers to keep it warm and dry, who has exceptional eyesight and seems to soar effortlessly. The eagle is a symbol of strength and grace.

Through God, we have the ability to maintain our own strength, stamina and vitality. Through God, we are renewed. Through God, we are made young again. And it is through Jesus Christ that we are able to live out our lives in the Holy Spirit. May we never forget who He is, nor forget who we are in Christ and that God is always with us! What a wonderful Lord, God, Savior and King we have in Jesus Christ! What a loving Father we have found in the Almighty God! What a wonderful God we serve! His will be done!

Thanks and glory be to God! Blessed be the name of the LORD! Hallelujah and Amen!

Father God Almighty, Lord Jesus, I thank You for giving me the strength and stamina of the eagle! I thank you for restoring to me the vitality and energy of my youth. Let me use it to better serve You in willful and humble faith and boldness.

Help us to all be one in You daily. May we seek You and Your Holy Word as well as the peace and all the fruits of the Holy Spirit today and everyday. Help us to walk in a way that is worthy of this calling You have guided us to. Help us to live this new life walking in Your ways and will and giving You praise for making it possible. Help us to value the true and eternal riches more highly than the passing and deceitful riches of Earth. Help me to walk in Your Holy Spirit, to seek You and Your will. Help my thoughts to turn to You in the little pauses and intermediate moments of this day and everyday.

Help us so we may us remember all You've done and still do for us and take joy in the blessings and life You have given us. May we all be humbly and faithfully honored and excited to worship, glorify and serve You daily and to do Your will. You have been so good to us, far more than we as wretched sinners deserve. You are so good! So wonderful! Forever and always!

Thank you for being the best friend we could ever have! Thank you for Your endless mercy and love that has saved us. Thank you for always protecting us and providing for us and for Your Spirit to help us when we are in need. Thank you for adopting us as part of Your family in Heaven and making us one of Your own. Thank you for being our present help in times of trouble (Psalm 46:1). Thank you for always being near and for loving us. Thank you for giving us a reason to love others and so many more reasons to love, praise, serve and follow You. Thank you for Your selfless and sinless sacrifice. Thank you for Your guidance and protection. Thank you for Your Truth and light. Thank you for Your wisdom and strength and grace. Thank you for everything! Your will be done! Blessed be Your mighty name! To You and Your Kingdom be the glory forevermore! In Your name I humbly pray, Amen and amen

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ruknowhere · 2 years

Text

Touch Me

Summer is late, my heart.

Words plucked out of the air

some forty years ago

when I was wild with love

and torn almost in two

scatter like leaves this night

of whistling wind and rain.

It is my heart that’s late,

it is my song that’s flown.

Outdoors all afternoon

under a gunmetal sky

staking my garden down,

I kneeled to the crickets trilling

underfoot as if about

to burst from their crusty shells;

and like a child again

marveled to hear so clear

and brave a music pour

from such a small machine.

What makes the engine go?

Desire, desire, desire.

The longing for the dance

stirs in the buried life.

One season only,

and it’s done.

So let the battered old willow

thrash against the windowpanes

and the house timbers creak.

Darling, do you remember

the man you married? Touch me,

remind me who I am.

–Stanley Kunitz

An Adventure

It came to me one night as I was falling asleep

that I had finished with those amorous adventures

to which I had long been a slave. Finished with love?

my heart murmured. To which I responded that many profound

discoveries

awaited us, hoping, at the same time, I would not be asked

to name them. For I could not name them. But the belief that they

existed–

surely this counted for something?

The next night brought the same thought,

this time concerning poetry, and in the nights that followed

various other passions and sensations were, in the same way,

set aside forever, and each night my heart

protested its future, like a small child being deprived of a favorite toy.

But these farewells, I said, are the way of things.

And once more I alluded to the vast territory

opening to us with each valediction. And with that phrase I became

a glorious knight riding into the setting sun, and my heart

became the steed underneath me.

I was, you will understand, entering the kingdom of death,

though why this landscape was so conventional

I could not say. Here, too, the days were very long

while the years were very short. The sun sank over the far mountain.

The stars shone, the moon waxed and waned. Soon

faces from the past appeared to me:

my mother and father, my infant sister; they had not, it seemed,

finished what they had to say, though now

I could hear them because my heart was still.

At this point, I attained the precipice

but the trail did not, I saw, descend on the other side;

rather, having flattened out, it continued at this altitude

as far as the eye could see, though gradually

the mountain that supported it completely dissolved

so that I found myself riding steadily through the air–

All around, the dead were cheering me on, the joy of finding them

obliterated by the task of responding to them–

As we had all been flesh together,

now we were mist.

As we had been before objects with shadows,

now we were substance without form, like evaporated chemicals.

Neigh, neigh, said my heart,

or perhaps nay, nay–it was hard to know.

Here the vision ended. I was in my bed, the morning sun

contentedly rising, the feather comforter

mounded in white drifts over my lower body.

You had been with me–

there was a dent in the second pillowcase.

We had escaped from death–

or was this the view from the precipice?

–Louise Glück, from Faithful and Virtuous Night (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2014)

Little Things

After she’s gone to camp, in the early

evening I clear our girl’s breakfast dishes

from the rosewood table, and find a dinky

crystallized pool of maple syrup, the

grains standing there, round, in the night, I

rub it with my fingertip

as if I could read it, this raised dot of

amber sugar, and this time,

when I think of my father, I wonder why

I think of my father, of the Vulcan blood-red

glass in his hand, or his black hair gleaming like a

broken-open coal. I think I learned to

love the little things about him

because of all the big things

I could not love, no one could, it would be wrong to.

So when I fix on this image of resin

or sweep together with the heel of my hand a

pile of my son’s sunburn peels like

insect wings, where I peeled his back the night before camp,

I am doing something I learned early to do, I am

paying attention to small beauties,

whatever I have–as if it were our duty to

find things to love, to bind ourselves to this world.

–Sharon Olds, from The Gold Cell (Alfred A. Knopf, 1987)

Around Us

We need some pines to assuage the darkness

when it blankets the mind,

we need a silvery stream that banks as smoothly

as a plane’s wing, and a worn bed of

needles to pad the rumble that fills the mind,

and a blur or two of a wild thing

that sees and is not seen. We need these things

between appointments, after work,

and, if we keep them, then someone someday,

lying down after a walk

and supper, with the fire hole wet down,

the whole night sky set at a particular

time, without numbers or hours, will cause

a little sound of thanks—a zipper or a snap—

to close round the moment and the thought

of whatever good we did.

—Marvin Bell

Uphill

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day’s journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?

They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labour you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come.

-Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

A Green Cornfield

The earth was green, the sky was blue:

I saw and heard one sunny morn

A skylark hang between the two,

A singing speck above the corn;

A stage below, in gay accord,

White butterflies danced on the wing,

And still the singing skylark soared,

And silent sank and soared to sing.

The cornfield stretched a tender green

To right and left beside my walks;

I knew he had a nest unseen

Somewhere among the million stalks.

And as I paused to hear his song

While swift the sunny moments slid,

Perhaps his mate sat listening long,

And listened longer than I did.

-Christina Rossetti

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littlekittybear · 6 months

Text

My wedding spell

Of sorts.

It started with the date. I knew it needed to be a sabbat that had the most intense meaning to me. That is Mabon. And this the first intention of the spell was cast.

We negotiated the specifics of the location. Our intention was simple: spread joy, spread happiness. We've already loved each other for so long, so the intent was to lift the veil, as it were, and enjoy a day with people who helped us get to where we are individually and together. That was the balance to be struck.

This particular Mabon was set to be a half moon. Half dark, half light. It is also the autumnal equinox, half the day, half the night. This alignment meant so much to me as it represents how he and I respect one another and divide our priorities while still taking comfort in the whole-ness between us.

Location was tricky. He was leaning more towards isolation with just us, but I reminded him of all the amazing and supporting people we have in our lives. So to balance, we chose a location that allowed everyone to choose their own adventure: Vegas. He was skeptical at first, but this negotiation paid off in the end.

The next intention of the spell was of course the dresses. Balance--one for ceremony, one for fun. Found them both: one longer and ornate and shiny and laced and deep cut neckline, the other shorter, flowy, simple --perfect for running around the hustle and bustle of Vegas.

Next was assembling our story and sending invitations.

After that, the flowers consumed my focus. I knew I would be holding these while we declared our love for one another and I wanted to imbue them with every ounce of symbolism from all my collections of beliefs--colors, flowers shapes, memories. I crafted them from paper, after seeing none for purchase to meet my needs. I shaped calla lilies for faithfulness with the perfect rose gold accents balances with black foliage for protection and green hydrangea blooms for grace and beauty. The last details to make it complete was adding grain stalks representing Demeter, a halo of peacock feathers representing Hera (and marriage). Before traveling I made a small spell jar and filled it with protective, cleansing and comforting herbs and salts, sealed with pink and red wax. I affixed this within my bouquet and felt so aware of the intention of every crafted article when we stood together and committed each to the other amongst so much conjured love and enjoyment.

Rose necklace representing Aphrodite and blue and gold stars and moon earrings. I felt absolutely beautiful, exhilarated, ecstatic and just plain happy.

To further enhance the balance of Vegas, we encouraged our guests to dress as movie characters. For me, to satisfy my desire for absurdity, for him to honor our relentless appreciation for all things movies.

Before the ceremony itself, the Friday night before we invited guests to the Neon Museum -- so prior to any debauchery, at least we had some education (balance!). Saturday before the ceremony, we hosted a movie screening of a dearly loved classic of ours: Roadhouse.

It seems so silly, but this was our way of inviting others to experience and appreciate a movie we've spoken of countless times for all of its ridiculousness. And it was so worth it. Weeks after our wedding, people have brought up this movie with comments on how amazing and absurd it is.

Our ceremony was held at the Sci-Fi Wedding Chapel...housed within the Twilight Zone mini golf. The perfect setting. It was small but comfortable for our intimate group. The music was one of the last negotiations -- a blend of my fun, beat-centric requirements and his sentimental lyrics. We also agreed upon the Shining, Halloween and Batman theme music, with the intro to 2001 A Space Odyssey for what I would walk down the aisle to.

There I was, decked out in my ceremony dress, holding my perfectly crafted flowers, waiting for the second swell in the epic intro of Space Odyssey. When I stepped through the curtains and saw everyone dressed in their costumes (for us!) I was so touched, so surprised, so blissfully happy for every person there. Then I looked ahead and saw my soon to be husband waiting for me. After I met him at the alter, our officiant, a Mr. Herman Munster, walked out to the Munsters theme music.

Herman introduced us and himself, handed the mic to my soon-to-be-husband who had some touching, warm words to say about the his joy in getting married. Then Herman had us repeat our vows (which I couldn't possibly remember now), I know they had some latent innuendo, then swap rings and kiss. He announced us as husband and wife and we promptly joined our guests in celebration and photos.

We took pictures, played mini golf, had a lovely simple dinner of tacos, then we were off for the night traversing Vegas in our wedding attire.

It was just the most perfect experience and I wouldn't trade it for anything.

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crimsonicarus · 10 months

Text

Charles Leclerc ft. the melting point of wax who says no

I've waited for this moment all my life and more And now I see so clearly what I could not see before The time is now or never and this chance won't come again Throw caution and myself into the wind

There's no promise of safety with these secondhand wings But I'm willing to find out what impossible means A leap of faith

Climb to the heavens on feathers and dreams Because the melting point of wax means nothing to me

#charles lecrelc #formula one #f1 #ferrari #scuderia ferrari #i cant sleep so please bear with me #this probably only makes sense to me #but i was hearing the song again #and my mind went places

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skumblebees · 1 year

Text

of Kings

I am but a poor boy in the cell of a crook!

the cherub child puffs his chest, he stands

walking foot by raised foot hand stretched

marching round the room, pulls the books

from off the shelves and tears the portraits

the paintings, the drawing of a mouse staring

into the eyes of a poisonous snake unashamedly

tears it all up into tiny little pieces, I paint

miniatures he says, on acid tabs, of the old

master works, only ones done in charcoal so

when the fire burns, Sieg Heil, he says this

child is a menace, couldn't barely control his

wicked wings, they seems to flap all by themselves

and he gets carried away by the littlest things

tumbling and turning he sits at the table

thumbing through the pages, books, he says

what a crocodile it was back then, what a fight

wrestling in the airstream of far darker night

far more dark than current life to live and to thou

most thankfully I give due diligence, cut off

me leg if the scar didn't heal, it was bitter the

taste of the blood, more bitter the scorn, gnaw

on any thought that dost bring thee down

down, do you know it, have you fallen deep, down

down the falling schizophrenic mess, the

bloody masterpiece, down the wings barely

feathered and the wax from the fat of the calf

down the tormented poets throat the bitter

taste of excrement, down the hideous beast

does tear apart the flesh and throws, down

the complexion of the complicated key it

keeps shape shifting into things crawling

things crawling with needled tails jabbing at

the face, eyes wide at the remarking providence

and all I can do is put my faith in something

greater than the thought of punishments

karmic flogging, to believe, not to fear

is something this cherub child has told me

secrets of, just barely touched, and, I couldn't

I wouldn't turn my back on him, not even

as he slits my throat for what greater appearance

than a pear

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just-a-borderline-poet · 3 years

Text

Grimoire Overview

I decided to copy over some of the basics I put in my grimoire so I can access them even when I don’t have the physical book with me :)

Directions:

East: Associated with Air, the color yellow,

South: Associated with Fire, red,

West: Water, Blue

North: Earth, Green.

Elements:

Air:

Direction: East. Colors: Yellow, Light Blue, White, Silver. Zodiac: Gemini, Libra, Aquarius. Tarot: Swords/Spades. Magical tools: Incense, feathers. Air is the element of flexibility, instability, intellect, and detachment. It moves quickly, is good for workings involving change, movement, and speed. Air energy is also good for communication and contact with spiritual beings, and is linked to communication, mental activity, ideas, and social interactions.

Earth:

Direction: North. Colors: Brown, Green, Gray. Zodiac: Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn. Tarot: Pentacles/Diamonds. Magickal tools: The pentagram, salt, and stones. Earth is the element of stability. It is solid, and has a very slow and steady energy. Good for spells involving slow change, patience, or gradual developments. Associated with permanence, grounding, security, and endurance.

Fire:

Direction: South. Colors: Red and Orange. Zodiac: Aries, Leo, Sagittarius. Tarot: Wands/Clubs. Magickal Tools: Candles, Wand. Fire is the element of clarity, passion, kinship, transformation, and inspiration. It is associated with vitality, creativity, action, daring, and enthusiasm. It moves fast, and is volatile and unpredictable. Fire energy is best for workings you want to kick up the power off, or that you want to see rapid change from. It is also good for spells involving transformation. It can also be used in banishing, divination, and purification.

Water:

Direction: West. Colors: Aqua, Blue, Indigo, Purple. Zodiac: Scorpio, Cancer, Pisces. Tarot: Cups/Hearts. Magickal tools: Chalice, Cauldron. Water is the element of movement, cleansing, and healing. It is associated with nourishing, cleansing and clearing, purification, intuition and emotion, creativity, lunar energy, growth, and abundance. Water energy is changable and unpredictable, but slightly less volatile than fire. Water energy is good to call on for change or to stimulate movement, or for cleansing, healing, and purification magic.

Spirit/Ether:

Isn’t technically an element, but is often treated as one. Is represented on the uppermost point of a pentagram. Spirit links the 4 elements, is associated with the divine.

Moon Phases:

New Moon: New beginning, refreshment, restarts, planning, ideas, a time to start new projects:

Waxing Crescent: Setting intentions, growth.

First Quarter: Decision making, action, reflection on decisions, change.

Waxing Gibbous: Clarification, detail, assessing goals.

Full Moon: Release, grounding, setting goals, making promises.

Waning Gibbous: Gratitude, reflection on blessings and things you’re grateful for.

3rd Quarter: Forgiveness, forgiving yourself, forgiving others.

Waning Crescent: Surrender, letting go, being mindful, avoid trying to hold on too tight to control at the cost of health and peace.

Color Magick:

Yellow: Abundance, life, joy, friendship, action, communication, intellect, inspiration, intuition, wisdom, pleasure, travel.

Orange: Creativity, adaptability confidence, energy, freedom, justice, goals, ambition, celebration.

Red: Passion, love, seduction, courage, energy, desire, action, change, power, motivation, overcoming obstacles.

Pink: Love, self care, healing, compassion, beauty, reconciliation, sensuality, kindness, nurturing, family.

Purple: Intuition, strength, creativity, enlightenment, psychic protection, projects, astrology, authority, emotion, imagination, wisdom, truth, independance, power, addiction, influence.

Blue: Peace, protection, communication, clarity, honesty, trust, leadership, justice, sleep.

Green: Earth, growth, earthly possessions, longevity, money, fertility, abundance, action, change, creativity, luck, harmony, peace, environment.

Black: Protection, warding, absorbing, acceptance, banishing, binding, strength, security, justice.

White: Stand in for other colors, cleansing, clearing, purity, purification, attracting, grounding, protection, peace, healing, divination,

Brown: Hard work, animals, grounding, balance, stability, endurance.

Grey/Silver: Healing, awareness, psychic ability, purification, moon, sea, stars, divination, femininity, success.

Gold: Abundance, fame, fortune, money, power, masculinity, sun, luxury, positivity, ambition, creativity.

Pentagrams:

Uppermost point: Spirit.

Upper left point: Air

Lower left point: Earth.

Upper right point: Water.

Lower right point: Fire.

To use a pentagram for summoning/invoking, draw the pentagram so that the first line goes towards the point of the element being invoked, or the element what you are invoking is associated with. To banish, the first line is drawn from that point away.

Uses of a Pentagram:

Creating a comfortable place for a visiting spirit, opening a window to the energy of a certain element or the being/thing invoked.

Days of The Week:

Sunday: Governed by the Sun. Solar energy, for advancement, ambition, confidence, creativity, dominance, egotism, expression, fame, fatherhood, friendship, greed, growth, happiness, healing, health, illumination, individuality, joy, leadership, life, manifestation, masculinity, motivation, personality, personal power, power, pride, prosperity, renown, self esteem, sense of self, strength, vitality, and wealth.

Monday: Governed by the Moon. Lunar energy, for psychic ability, magicakal prowess, emotion, instinct, illusion, astral work, birth, compassion, divination, dreams, empathy, femininity, glamour, gratitude, family, home, imagination, decreasing and increasing, intuition, motherhood, patience, spirituality, subtlety, and transformation.

Tuesday: Governed by Mars. Force, energy, physical strength, stamina, battles, confrontation, military, fighting, defense, sex, breaking down and through things, aggression, anger, boundaries, conflict, courage, lust, motivation, passion, protection, escaping bondage, vengeance, vitality, vigor, and war.

Wednesday: Governed by Mercury. Thought, movement, communication, processing, business, trade, perspective, deception, flexibility, healing, insight, intellect, knowledge, logic, magick, memory, mental processes, music, poetry, protection, science, speaking, studying, technology, theft, travel, trickery, and waiting.

Thursday: Governed by Jupiter. Higher truth, justice, leadership, wisdom, faith, expansion, ambition, blessings, abundance, ascendance, authority, devotion, enthusiasm, ethics, fortune, growth, higher purpose, higher consciousness, honor, humor, law, legal systems, life path, luck, optimism, philosophy, morality, politics, prosperity, religion, responsibility, rules, spirituality, true will, truth, and wealth.

Friday: Governed by Venus. Beauty, receptivity, attraction, fertility, poison, agreements, affection, art, co-operation, culture, emotion, friendliness, friendship, grace, glamour, inspiration, jealousy, love, luring, luxury, passion, peace, pleasure, relationships, romance, self-confidence, sensuality, sex, sexuality, sociability, and valuables.

Saturday: Governed by Saturn. Rules, restriction, contraction, shielding, protecting, boundaries, evolution, endings, karma, dark, gloom, defensive, harvest, aging, agriculture, austerity, binding, death, destruction, duty, equilibrium, fear, formation, history, initiation, intimidation, life cycle, life lessons, limits, patience, perseverance, practicality, prudence, responsibility, sacrifice, self discipline, shadow work, teaching, time, and wisdom.

Tarot:

Cups/Hearts: Emotion, relationships.

Wands/Clubs: Passion, action, protection, decisions.

Pentacles/Diamonds: Practical life, earth, grounding, home, finances.

Swords/Spades: Communication, thought.

Fool/Joker: New beginnings, or foolishness.

Ace: Beginnings.

2: Balance.

3: Connection.

4: Stability.

5: Disturbance.

6: Harmony.

7: Mystery.

8: Movement.

9: Growth.

10: Completion.

#witchcraft #witch #grimoire #book of shadows #tarot #moon phases #moon #days of the week #color magick #pentagrams #elements

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