Tag Game : What was your MC’s first interaction with their love interest?
Thanks to @galaxiasgreen for the tag!💖
Your excerpt about Tabitha and Ominis’s first interaction really made me laugh! You can find it => here!
Here is the first meaningful interaction between Ominis and Evelyne, featured in the first chapter of my fic, Lullaby for Cursed Seeds, from Ominis’s pov.
Below is the wonderful comic created by @tamayula-hl which illustrates this scene so beautifully. I still look at it regularly, and I remain just as amazed, moved, and deeply grateful for this wonderful piece of art. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!💖
After the Scriptorium, Ominis is no longer quite himself.
A gaping wound tears through his heart: Noctua has not merely disappeared. She did not choose silence or exile. His beloved aunt died in the Scriptorium, alone, disoriented, at the very heart of that family legacy she had tried to understand otherwise. She died of hunger, surrounded by stone, darkness, and rats.
And as though that were not enough, Sebastian has cast Crucio.
Sebastian used it without the moral hesitation Ominis had wanted to hear in him, if only for a few seconds. He did it because it was necessary, he will say. Because there was no other way. Because Anne is suffering and he has not a moment to lose.
Ominis knows that kind of reasoning far too well. That is how darkness advances: not as an obvious abyss, but as a series of necessities one accepts one by one until one no longer knows oneself at all.
So he wanders later than before, deeper into the night, with the feverish weariness of those who can bear neither their own thoughts nor the idea of stopping. His wand gives back the outlines of the world in cold, regular pulses while his mind circles endlessly around the same points of pain: Noctua, Sebastian, Crucio, his family, his inheritance. Shame.
It is in that state that he hears the song.
Behind the greenhouse door, a voice is humming softly.
A voice he scarcely knows.
His breath catches. His heart misses a beat, then starts again too fast, too hard, as though trying to smash its way out of his chest. He knows every note of it. Noctua used to sing it in a low voice, slightly husky at the edges, when she sat beside him in the evenings and made the manor seem less hostile.
No one has the right to sing that.
The pain that tears through him is unbearable. A brutal rending of body and soul. And when Ominis pushes open the greenhouse door, he already knows he is entering far too violently.
Pots topple in his wake. Soil scatters. The scent of bruised greenery rises in the humid air.
Lavandin falls silent at once.
He orders her to stop singing, grabbing her by the shoulders. His voice is like a cord drawn so close to breaking that it turns cutting.
Alongside her obvious incomprehension, he hears the shock his own entrance has thrown into her. It ought to stop him. It does not.
“ That song,” he says through his teeh. “You have no right to sing it.”
She blurts something. An apology, perhaps. A ripple of panic passes through her breathing.
He does not want to listen.
Because to listen would be to let the lullaby into him again. It would be to hear Noctua dead. Noctua reduced to this melody returned in another person’s mouth, as though even that no longer belonged to anything but a desecrated past.
Petrified, Lavandin is trapped between his anger and her own bewilderment.
“I forbid you to sing it,” he hisses. “And if you disobey me, I swear I won’t hesitate to report it to the headmaster, who’s just waiting for an excuse to expel you from Hogwarts!”
The very instant he says it, something inside him knows he has gone too far. Yet he takes nothing back. There are tears in her voice now. Real tears, not the sort shed by people who are merely vexed or offended.
“No,” she whispers. “P-Please…”
The word strikes against his fractured conscience and only irritates him further.
“I’m sorry,” she falters. “I-I didn’t know…”
When he tightens his hold on her shoulders, there is in his own gesture a resemblance to his father that would be enough to make him sick, if he still allowed himself to think.
“And for the love of Merlin,” he says, “stop sleeping on the floor in the common room. It’s a pitiful spectacle.”
The silence that follows is strange.
Lavandin no longer answers. No longer struggles. No more justifications, no more defensive trembling, not even that disorderly attempt to make him see reason.
Only a stillness that has nothing to do with ordinary shock.
Lavandin withdraws as someone does who learned, long ago, that it is better to leave one’s own body when another person’s violence becomes inevitable.
The realisation hits him harder than a banishing spell.
His hands leave her at once.
Ominis wants to say I’m sorry, but the words remain lodged somewhere between his throat and his shame. What escapes him does not even have the substance of an apology. Barely a breath.
Then he flees the greenhouse like a coward who has just recognised his family in his own gestures and would sooner vanish than face the consequences.
Npt: @all-4-ominis , @ladyelspeth14 , @irrationaltide , @heylorrain, @pearlevie , @cesqdarque, @winkywynz5 AND YOU! 🥰💖✨💕
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