ira | closed.
Time seemed irrelevant in this moment. The weather, bleak as ever, had called for the cancellation of the Cannon’s training. For most of the team it was a cause of celebration, especially after the wild nights that they’d been experiencing over the rambunctious celebrations. It went on far too long if Emma Vanity had been asked and another arse kicking training session should’ve been in the cards rain, hail or shine.
For a woman who had always found herself without company, Emma hated being alone. She couldn’t understand how people survived, how they moved on with their daily lives without even an ounce of contact with those around. Useful friends or not, Emma had always found herself in crowded spaces, places full of other people to often distract her buzzing mind.
The circumstances of the unplanned evening had caused any easy solutions to be unattainable. Instead she was stuck in her own apartment, staring at the unpacked boxes and littered thoughts throughout the empty space. Her house wasn’t a home, she seldom had enough visitors for it to matter what it looked like. Stacks upon stacks of unpacked items littered her spare room- her kitchen barely had any proper appliances either, as it’d only be a waste of her time and money. Emma despised her home, for it reminded her of how truly alone she was. The fact that the only pastime she’d endeared couldn’t be accessed at the moment seemed to make matters graver than to help at all.
Instead of rendering herself helpless in opening up the Pandora’s box of her old life, Emma found herself slipping into old comforts, opening up a well-loved bottle of firewhiskey and placing some purpose towards her somewhat dismal existance. Fingers traced over blurry pictures, newspaper clippings that were too battered to have remained unread. To some they were just words on a page, nonsensical situations that required no mind. In Emma’s mind they were threads that lead her back to her mother, realizations which remained hidden until they’d be of use.
A soft thud of her glass and the girl had found herself leaning over the mass of information. Her eyes grazed pictures, found figures in the darkness of the backgrounds that she couldn’t quite figure out. It made her anger only fire up more- she might as well have been staring at a blank wall. In front of her were pieces which didn’t seem to belong to any puzzle in particular, they seemed only to be there to taunt her, to tell her that she wasn’t getting any closer.
She must’ve lost track of how much she’d been drinking, the blur of the image seemed to match the same blur of her eyes, stinging from tiredness or from the strong firewhiskey. Emma wasn’t exactly sure. It seemed a common theme of her life.
Stepping back, her eyes looked up at the wall of ideas, and anger and wrath. They all pieced together, somehow- of that, she was sure. From what calm Quidditch gave her this mission did nothing but promote the itch of rage that Emma Vanity had always kept hidden. Her hand snaked around the cool silver of her locket, a soft squeeze of a promise that she’d find the truth, a silent secret to her Mother that she’d be avenged.
It was a stumble and a soft creek on the floor, her body finding the taut leather of a seat that expulsed a sigh from the girl. Rubbing her eyes Emma caught her reflection- she looked a mess, but at a quick glance she could see the memory of her mother.
It was enough of a spark to ignite her.