Hiltwin finished Schluchtenburg in haus gold, then tried to find himself in Germany for a while, moving between friends, 'abandoned' buildings, that had been commandeered and fitted out for him, and on a few occasions, family. Yet he found himself still lost, and left to go travelling.
He works in the dragon reserves all over Europe, as private security for both rich muggles and wizards, in whichever country he desired. After a couple of years traveling, he decides to travel beyond Europe. He tours Africa, visits asia, then travels up and then arrives in America via Alaska. He tours Canada, and the US, and even sees some of South America. He meets a witch named Daisy in the US whom he fell in love with, they settled down, and got married, although two years after they met, she dies giving birth to a stillborn child who was named Olaf. He and Kevin returned to Germany in the spring of 1866 following this heartbreak.
He returned home to Perleberg to find his parents long dead. He seeks out his sister, and lives with her for a few years. During this time she encouraged him to join the new Aurour Corps. He swiftly rises through the ranks due to his extraordinary magical talent, his mastery of many languages, as well as his ability to deal with muggles. Hiltwin's brother, and the namesake of his stillborn child, Olaf re emerges, the first contact either Win or lavender had since shortly after they left Schluchtenburg.
However he is a key member of a dark cult, and Hiltwin is forced to order his execution. After overcoming Olaf's forces, he carries out the deed himself. After this he throws himsef into his work, and by 1880 he is at the head of the organisation. In the years since his wife's death he worked his way through many lovers, however another witch, an Englishwoman named Elizabeth took his heart. At the age of 42 Hiltwin becomes a father proper, as does Kevin, though they don't get married until well after the birth of their third child, Eventually tying the knot in 1895. Hiltwin lives a fairly quiet and unusually happy life until the outbreak of world war 1, during which his youngest son died, as did Lavender's only child, her husband dying of heartbreak. Hiltwin and Elizabeth both return to their old habits of sleeping around, and he even sleeps with Lavender's manservant, causing her to intervene, saving their marriage.
They lived a fairly peaceful 20 years, until the rise of power of Hitler and Grindelwald, Hiltwin and his Aurours fought tooth and nail, but were forced to a final stand in Dresden, his wife, sister, and son stood to face him, his daughter, a squib was evacuating civilians from the area. Grindelwald and his minions killed all of his family one by one, until only Hiltwin remained, although hundreds of the dark wizards lay dead around them. Grindelwald decided to face Hiltwin alone. They fought like the gods themselves, they levelled the entire city, fires burned for days after the duel, and nature itself was fighting with Hiltwin. However he was an old man, even by the standards of most wizards, in all but appearance, at 106 he was killed, on the 2nd of march 1945. His bloodline ended with his daughter, when she died in London, three years before the first wizarding war with Voldemort, childless, in 1967.
A/N
Those of you who read this, There are only three days left of this RP and I’d like to thank all of you for your amazing roleplay skills, friendship, and, just general awesomeness that you all brought to the RP, I sincerely hope that this isn’t the end for us as a group, that I’ll see you both in another RP and in between.
The deafening silence in the valley persisted all morning, as Hiltwin made breakfast, as he apparated in, as he walked to his first lesson, even as he sat down. There was ten minutes to the end of the period when Professor Magda Vogelsfeld came around the class “assignments in, now” she demanded, she paused in front of Hiltwin’s desk, picking up the piece of parchment Hiltwin had written his assignment on “Mister Schaefer, I cannot read this work, and did I not ask for an assignment on the history of the Troll Wars? not the Goblin wars, Ten points from Hause Bronze for illegibility, and Twenty for not handing in the correct assignment”.
Hiltwin was outraged “What! Are you for real! I came back specifically to ask you, and you told me that it was about the goblins, and my writing!” he shouted.
“Twenty points from Hause Bronze for disrespecting a member of staff” Magda sneered.
Hiltwin screamed through gritted teeth, and punched the desk. The instant Hiltwin’s knuckles connected with the desk, the tension that had been building up since the argument with Helga broke, Blinding light filled the room, accompanied immediately by deafening thunder, as lightning hit the wall scant metres below the window. “I’m going” Hiltwin said through still gritted teeth, before storming out, slamming the door behind him, leaving a shocked class behind him, that soon devolved into whispering. Hiltwin was ushered back to Bronze like all his housemates, where upon seeing his bleeding hand, Adelor cleaned it and bandaged it, just to have his work undone when Hiltwin gave his other hand the same treatment, and then the first again, in an effort to relieve some stress. He ranted for a good hour to Adelor, then spent time throwing knives at things, namely the pillar in the centre of the Kitchen.
After much pacing, and no release of pent up frustration, Hiltwin growled and stormed outside, where he was assaulted by huge droplets of horizontal rain. It was so dark that Hiltwin would have thought it was night, had it not only been four o’clock. He beelined across to the forest, somehow almost unaffected by the wind, but already soaked through. He spent about an hour climbing to the top of the mountain, where he could look down on all of Schluchtenburg on one side, and Haus bronze on the other. He drew his wand and screamed untill his voice was hoarse, Lightning striking metres from where he stood, and especially concentrated bolts hit Hause Silber, and the castle itself.
Irmin had grown accustomed to go to sleep at night and have no dreams visiting him. He did not particularly liked it since it was a symbol of the theft he was a victim of, a symbol of all those parts of him that were taken away and only an emptiness was left behind, but there was nothing he could do about it. He could sleep less, the Stüpp would give him the strength to carry on, but he still needed to sleep in order to survive—he had decided that death was not for him, not yet.
And so every night that he wasn’t busy sneaking out to investigate the Loriot mystery or search for forbidden books in the Library, Irmin went to bed and would plummet into nothingness.
But one night Irmin went to slept and for the first time since being back to Schluchtenburg, he dreamt again.
He dreamt of hunger, of loneliness, of knowing nothing but fear and despair. He dreamt of feeling cold even under the Summer sun, of watching people being happy, laughing, joking and know envy, know pain at the sight and sound of things he could not have, could not feel. The hunger was the strongest part, and the more hungry he felt the more people looked like a meal to sink his claws and teeth into. And he waited, patiently, as any predator would—wait for your prey.
He found many—young or old, it made no difference. Anyone that had that wonderful smell, that scent of happiness, would do. Anyone that would stop to help a small, deformed animal. Anyone that would take him and feed him. He took every scrap given. He licked the hand it fed him. He bit into it and suck away more than what they were willing to give. He took and took and took. And it felt so good to eat, to feel. He could know happiness, love, joy, and leave the despair, the fear and the pain to them.
And what to do when all the sweetest parts were done, when all happiness had been eaten, all love consumed, all joy drunk up? Make away with them, of course. Why feed of the bitter taste of sorrow, of sadness, of fear when you can just move on? Yes, he may feel the hunger again—the hunger never left him, anyway—but there was a banquet somewhere awaiting for him, another plump meal to fed on.
Irmin’s dreams were made of this, of moving from meal to meal, only it was people—like he was, like he had been. They all had had dreams, likes and dislikes. Not all had had family or friends. Some had died alone—by their own hand or by simply wasting away. Some had looked into the face of someone dear to them, felt the sharp tip of a wooden stake sink deep inside their chest. Few—only very few—had heard a name being call three times, and of these even fewer had survived to breathe freedom from him.
And he had watched it all, he had felt it all. He was the silent witness. He was the only one to remember them all after all these years, decades, centuries. He was the only one to know of their struggles, of what they had all suffered.
Irmin did not experienced all at one, but bit by bit, night by night, there would be a new scene, a new memory to visit him. Today he’d an old man lying in bed, unable to have his spirit lifted up by the sound of his grand-children’s laugh, and tomorrow he’d be a young woman using all her strength to reach the river and dive in it. And each time, he knew he was there, always there. He was the weight on their back.
And it was this realisation—this terrible realisation that made his mind slip away, seek refuge in a different horror. Irmin would desperately seek to remove the part of him that was hungry, that was eating at them—at him—and his fingers would find the flesh of his back. Scratch, scratch, scratch, until his fingertips were wet. But it was not blood on his nails—it was the dark water of the Sybil’s cave, that pitch black poison. And thus he would find himself back, running and running through those dark halls, seeking for a way out.
Irmin would wake with his heart thundering in his chest—it too was running, trying to escape its cage—and not know the difference between dream and reality, not knowing where the Stüpp ended and he began.
Then, one night, that the Moon was full—when the power of the Stüpp was at his highest, Irmin ran into the forest instead of lying in his bed. He ran until the air burnt into his lungs, until his heart was once again beating painfully in his chest. And in the forest, he found the wolves again. Lying on the ground with them, their heat to shield him from the cold of the last days of February and the first of March, his dreams were less scary. He was still that hungry creature made of loneliness, of despair and fear, of that primordial force that asked for food, but he would travel further back in time, to a period when he had also hated the hunger, hated to have this emptiness inside, hated the person that had cursed his way. And then he came back to the present, to a feeling of guilt, to a feeling of sorrow, to a search for redemption.
And somehow this was harder to bear, this made it worse—where the Stüpp ended and he began?
Hiltwin woke well before dawn from the single worst night’s sleep of his night, It had been wracked with nightmares, he had been cold, and wet, and had woken up choking on air more than once, He ate some of his packed food, although he couldn;t keep it down, and set off for school as soon as he could see. He ate nothing all day, and was followed closely by a blizzard, blowing hard on his tail. He reached Mainz, and collapsed in the first doorway he found.
Hiltwin was woken by feathers tickling his nose. And he instantly warmed, feeling whole, and not alone for the first time since Kevin had left. He embraced Kevin tightly, and tucked the shivering bird into his coat, and they wandered through the mostly deserted market, and then slowly made their way up to Schluchtenburg.
Hiltwin decided to leave home to go to school for New year, he could spend it with his friends, instead of dog tired at home. It also solved the problem of how to get his gift to Sigrun. He finished off his gifts, applied the enchantments that were needed, and parceled them up, he sent the owl to Adelor easily, but when he put the small leather pouch in Kevin’s claws, He realised that it’d be the first time that they’d truly be apart since they had met. and when he sent Kevin off to Schluchtenburg, He felt as though he was having a part of his soul taken away. ‘i’ll see him tomorrow’ he kept telling himself, but he couldn’t prepare his things any faster than he did, it took him two hours to shrink his trunk to fit in a backpack. And it wasn’t untill teatime that he was ready to leave. He ate possibly the fastest meal of his life, said hasty goodbyes, took a handful of meat for the road and ran out the door. It was already dark, and it was a downright blizzard. Even flying with his new winter clothes on he was frozen and soaked by the time he reached Berlin. He was too physically and emotionally drained to continue any further that day. He found a warm doorway, discreetly magically dried his clothes, and huddled shivering in a doorway, sleeping fitfully.
Linde and I spent the entire afternoon hanging out in her room, talking, playing cards, drinking wine.
With Lissa on my shoulder, I grabbed the bottle of white wine and made my way back to her room, where I found her reading on her bed.
“Adelor!” she exclaimed, almost dropping her book as I lunged myself into a hug. To be fair, I knew that she usually preferred to be the master of what was happening but as my arms wrapped themselves around her, I knew I couldn’t have waited any longer for this hug. "Adelor...” she repeated, softer now, worried, probably wondering if I was crying again, but as I pulled back just enough to look at her, she saw my smile and blinked. “What happened?” she asked, “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I replied, laughing. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, I’m fine. I’m wonderful. I love you, Schwesterherz, I love you, I love you, I love you, and you mustn’t worry about me ever again.” Had she not locked herself into her room as much as I had? Had she not suffered because of our mother’s death as much as I had? Was she not as lonely as I was because father never said more than a ‘hello’ and never gave anything like comfort? “I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you although I promised it so many times. Of course you didn’t believe that we could ever be happy again, I never did anything that could’ve made you believe me. But I will now. I will never leave you alone again and I’ll care for you just like Mama cared for us and I’ll be the best big brother for you, for you and Ger and I’ll give you hugs and forehead kisses like Mama did and we’ll all be happy again, okay? Maybe not now and maybe not tomorrow but eventually. We’ll be happy again. We’ll play games-, look, look, I brought us wine, and I can go get cards and-, and we’ll write Ger a letter with Lissa, she’s-, she’s there, by the window-, and we’ll laugh and do silly things again, together, and maybe Papa will dance again. We’ll be happy, I promise.”
She said my name again, but now her voice was less than a whisper and because I recognised that tone from myself when my throat closed up, I pulled her back into a hug, holding her as if she was water in your palm, risking to trickle away between your fingers if you weren’t careful. Just like I had repeated ‘I miss you’ a million times for my mother, I now repeated ‘I promise’ over and over and over again until it became silly, until Adelinde had to laugh out my name.
It was a strange, new thing, to drink wine with her - I still considered her my tiny cute little baby sister, after all - and i could see in the way she looked at me when I slurred my words a bit, that she wasn’t used to me being that drunk either. But as we played cards she grew used to it, or maybe got too tipsy to notice my drunkenness. Our last game ended with us flicking cards at each other, first manually, then from farther and farther away and more and more difficult places in her room until we needed magic.
Eventually the sun was down and it was time for dinner, where we actually wanted to pretend that we were very sober but whenever I did as little as glance at her, I burst out laughing, which then had her laugh too. Our father kept reprimanding us with clicks of his tongue and warning glances but it hardly helped. It was strange and new and not entirely trust-worthy for either of us, but we were happy. And once it’s melted, happiness is a difficult thing to freeze. I doubt she entirely understood what I had meant with my speech, but perhaps it was quite like what I had told Tyl a few months ago; Don’t talk. Do. There was no point in always saying you would never lie again, you would never hurt someone, you would never leave, if your words weren’t followed by actions, if your promises only ever broke. So it was all right if Adelinde thought this was only one of my momentary waves of happiness, only a little rush of motivation. I would prove her. I would prove her that we had no reason to lose hope and it was all going to be okay. Eventually.
“We’re going to light our own little bonfire in the garden, Papa. Do you want to come?”
Our father looked at us with held-back bewilderment and declined. But when everything was set up and we tossed herbs and salts into the fire to make it burst high into the night sky with bright colours to its flames, he did stop by to see what we were doing. “If you burn the garden down, I’ll pay the damage off with your inheritance.” he said and although he neither looked nor sounded like it, I wondered if perhaps he was joking. That even if he did not stay for long, he enjoyed the warmth at least a little.
I brought my violin. I hadn’t played in a year because at first I had not felt like doing music, then I had been punished and it had been taken away from me, then I had again not felt like doing music. But tonight I did feel like it, and so I played as we waited for the moon to rise and then to welcome her with awful loud singing and awfully staggered dancing.
When it became too cold, we went back inside to play cards again and we played the night away, just like I had played with Janina days ago, just like I had played with Adelger many, many years ago, just like I would play with everyone again, one day.
Adelinde told me about of her friends at Schluchtenburg, about how nice Mina Reich had actually been and how I would probably not hate her that much, and I told her about Haus Bronze in return, about Janina and how I was going to find her to apologise, to give her her present, and that I would give Mina a chance, but that I would never, never, never marry her. That had her laugh and I think I blushed. We talked about poetry while I played some more on my violin, talked about the Yulenights when mother had still been in good health and how she would always take us by the hand to dance to the least fitting songs, which then had us get up to our feet too and do the same, to dance the schuhplattler to Chopin’s nocturnal, and expressive ballet to Mozart’s Turkish one. We talked about all the other holidays and days of happiness long ago, and about all the holidays and days of happiness that were still to come, about New Years Eve and that I was invited to those Muggles and if she wanted to come, about the differences between fake smiles and real smiles. And then, when we could hardly keep our eyes open anymore, we made plans of how to get Adelger back, to make him happy too.
When it dawned and it was once again time for breakfast, we went down to eat even though we weren’t hungry and far too sleepy, simply because if we wanted to piece this family back together, we knew we needed to stop with the lazy excuses. From both sides we approached our father - who was as always sitting on his chair at the head of the table and read his news papers, never speaking more than a single ‘good morning’ - and pressed a kiss to each of his cheeks. Bewildered and speechless, he told us to stop that in a few huffed, stuttered words, which only had us laugh some more.
After breakfast we went ice skating on the river, and I had been right; It was so much more fun together than alone. The day passed like the night had, we went to lunch and dinner on time and led a good conversation with father, who was as first reluctant to talk to us about his affairs, but then warmed up to our questions and almost seemed eager to share the things that occupied him with us. So much so, that as we bid him goodnight, there was almost a shimmer of a smile in his eyes.
When Linde and my path was parting in the corridor between our rooms, she stopped me by calling my name, just like father had stopped me in his office and just like I had stopped Adelger in the greenhouses. Except that this time I turned to look at her and there was a smile on my lips.
“Yes?”
“Tomorrow will be good, too, yes?”
I chuckled and then nodded. “And if not, we’ll make it good.”
The wine had its effect. It lulled me into such dizziness that I could hardly move, hardly think. My lips spoke the same words of longing and lacking love without end but my mind drifted off into nothingness. It was silent, almost peaceful. The endless charms my mother had put into and around her room to keep the outside world’s energies out and her energies with her in here were still in place and one of the many reasons it was so hard to grasp that she was gone for so long now. Silent, almost peaceful, yet it was only the wine which made it comforting for me now. I had been here before. Exactly a year ago, to see for myself, to negate her death, to charge my necklace with her energy, to pretend that she was still here. ‘She’ll always be with you’ they had said to me as I hadn’t been able to cry despite everything. I knew that she was, the stone around my neck was always shimmering in that dark blue which was hers, and hers alone. I knew that she was still here, still with me. I knew it too well. Reality had never quite fitted into that knowledge. Nothing about this room had been comforting the last time because she had not been here. But with my eyes closed and her scent and blue wrapping itself around me, engulfing me, I could once more pretend she was.
Memories with Hiltwin on the hunt came to my mind, of a deer killed, of a fawn killed, of a knife which had not been used to slit my throat. Why hadn’t he? Why hadn’t she taken me with her? Why was my body still here if all that was left of her were her energies?
The answer came in form of a gentle knocking against the window.
At first I thought I had misheard and did not move. But then it knocked again and I sat up. Wiping my eyes, I stumbled over to the window and - halted. My mother used to hate opening it for the same reason I had opened mine earlier on. But as I pushed the curtains aside, my eyes grew wide with wonder. My owl sat there on the window sill with a letter to her foot and a garland of flowers around her neck.
“Lissa..?” I opened the window without thinking further about it and let the owl in, despite the fact that my mother would have hated it.
Lissa landed on the blanket-covered desk and held me out her foot. “For me? Are you sure?” This looked more like something Adelinde would receive, as pretty and well crafted as it looked like. But as I unrolled the letter I understood.
Tyl.
Tyl in all his eloquence and elegance. Slowly I sank down to the chair by the window, reading. And the more words my heart took in, the more my smile grew.
Do you know she quite enjoys the company of the little kneazle cub I had given Annika? (She named her Kiara.) … I hope you haven’t grown too sour in your room. I’m not a fan of pickled things. … upon your advice … I’ve a present for you, too, but don’t tell yourself, it’s a surprise. … I’ve already broken the music box from using it too much in the past two days, but I managed to fix it. (After quite a lot of panicking, however.) …
It even drew more than one chuckle from me, tears once again flooding my eyes. I wiped them away repeatedly, blinking and blinking to get rid of those tears which tried to keep me of reading those sentences, of taking them in again and again like the earth absorbs water during drought, of filling my entire chest with burning happiness. Oh, and how it only took those last two paragraphs of this beautiful, beautiful letter to wash away the fear, the anger, the sadness.
From today on to the new year, Tyl was in the Americas.
Idiot. What a stupid, stupid idiot I was. I hid my face in the crook of my arm and tried to muffle the sobs and laughs of relief. If ever I were to tell him about this, he wouldn’t be in the wrong to slap me right across the face. In fact, I should slap myself for it, so stupid was it. Instead I hid in my sleeves until they were drenched with tears which tasted so very different from the tears moments ago.
Calmed a bit, I wiped my face once more and continued reading, the last paragraph.
What we talked about by the lake, about your siblings, about hugs. I hope you’ll tell me all about your progress on that, too, on the third.
I took a deep breath, staring at the last two words of this beautiful, biting blue letter, and my chest took in the air so gratefully. I looked at Lissa. “I suck, don’t I?” I asked. “And not in the self-pitying kind of way, for a change. More like…” More like hiding in bed for days instead of welcoming your father who has travelled half the country to come see you. More like wanting to lighten the mood with cheap jokes and respectless comments because you can not bear the sadness around you. More like not leaving your room and forcing those you love to deal with your absence without bothering to ask if perhaps they, too, want to disappear for a while. More like running away to the city instead of helping with the Yule preparations like everyone else. More like bad-mouthing your aunt for always being around although you know that you are all she has left. Escaping Yulenight because it isn’t the way you like your parties best. More like judging your father’s relief for realising that the entire Graf lineage won’t just depend on a single son. More like accusing your brother of lying and lying and lying when all he does is trying to protect you. More like insulting your sister by believing that she is against you, too, although she wants nothing but your best. More like pretending that the whole treats you unfairly, when you haven’t bothered in years to treat it fairly in return.
More like seeing sadness in everyone’s eyes and still choose to pretend that you’re the only one who’s suffering.
“Do you think it’s possible I always think everyone’s an asshole because I think everyone’s like me?”
Lissa flew over to me and landed on the window sill. The window was still open, I had forgotten about it, just like I hadn’t noticed that I was entirely enveloped by my own, wine red energy again. Looking around the room I saw that the clouds of my mother’s energies had thinned. I sighed, just as Lissa hooed. I looked back at her, responding in the same tone: “Yes?” She hooed again. I smiled and reached out, picked up the flower garland, set it on my head, then ran my fingers through Lissa’s thick winter feathers. “Do you think Tyl’s right? That it’s time to open the window and start giving the love I want so badly for myself?” A feather lay in my palm and I was reminded of Irmin. With my eyes closed, I took a breath. It was shaky but free, my throat was still letting air pass again, and the tears had finally ceased rising. I opened my eyes again and closed my fingers around the feather, then nodded decisively. “All right.”
Getting up - still wavering a bit because not even a wizard’s system was cleared of alcohol that fast and easily - I closed the door, let Lissa hop on my shoulder and grabbed the wine bottle. “Let’s start with Linde, then.”
I had gone to bed so early that for the first time in seven days I made it to the breakfast table. I had of course always woken up along with the sun, but usually only gotten out up to wash myself and then fall back into bed to nap again. But today I didn’t feel like sleeping anymore. Nothing I could dream up was anything that didn’t already exist in one way or another in the real world, in the day before the night, in the clear, colourful reality outside of my bedroom. So how were I to fill the strange emptiness inside my head if I were to rely on nothing but my own dreams?
I took a seat next to Adelinde, whose soft smile I ignored. My father was as always seated at the head of the table. Adelger’s seat, on the table side in front of Linde and me, was empty. At first I thought he was just a little late. There were no strict rules about breakfast attendance, especially not since my mother had gotten sick and rarely ever made it out of bed that early. But the more the time passed, the more I wondered about the empty chair.
“Has Adelger already breakfasted?” I asked Linde.
She gave me nothing but an apologetic shrug, and since my father was hidden behind his newspapers I did not even bother to ask him at all.
After breakfast I tried to just walk past my brother’s room but I couldn’t. With my hand raised, my knuckles hovered over the door. I still did not know how to feel about all the things he knew and all the things he didn’t tell me, about all the truths he had kept from me, again, but I wondered if he had shown up for breakfast at all in the last seven days. If he had shown up for lunch. If he had eaten during dinner. I had not paid attention and as I carefully knocked, my stomach felt as tight as yesterday.
No one responded.
I knocked again. Silence. “Ger?” I bit down on my lips, staring at the door, then knocked again. When there was still no answer, I decided to just open it. “Ger are you … there?” But the room was empty, the bed made and no personal belongings to be found on the ground or chairs. I sighed with relief. At least he was not sick.
Leaving the door open, I went out to the gardens, then searched in the greenhouses. No Adelger. I knew it didn’t regard me, anyway, he was quite allowed to do whatever he wanted, but I hadn’t even received his gift yet and maybe that would be reason enough to talk to him, to seek some of that perfect glow and light he knew how to spread. My way led past the stalls and library back to the breakfast hall, where my father was now alone, still reading his newspapers. “Papa, do you know where Adelger is? I can’t find him.”
“Have you looked in the garden?”
“Yes.”
“Library?”
“Yes. I’ve looked about everywhere. Did he say he was going to München today?”
My father looked at me for a moment. “Why?” he asked and there was bitterness in his voice. “Isn’t it custom in this family not to tell each other where you go?”
My eyes widened. I knew that my father was meaning me with that, accusing me of having disappeared too often without a note these past days, but I didn’t care. Suddenly I understood where Adelger had gone.
“Linde!” I knocked on her door repeatedly. “Adelinde open.”
“I’m getting dressed right now, Adelor!”
“Linde, did Ger tell you that he was leaving today?”
“Come back later!”
He had never promised me to stay. It was only me who had always hoped to not be left alone. “Did he tell you that he was going to the Herrlichs?”
This time there was no answer. I hesitated. Now that the question was out I felt like Tyl’s name was hanging all too heavy in the air. My hand was shaking as I readied myself to knock again. The door clicked open and Adelinde’s face appeared. “No, he didn’t” she said, softly, almost in a whisper, and looking at me with those big, silver-blue eyes. If I had been more careful I would have noticed the dark tinge in them but all I knew to worry about was that tightness in my stomach and the panic in my chest.
I wished I could still tell lies from truths, but nothing had ever been more difficult for me.
The tears came easily now, caused by anger, caused by sadness, caused by fear. Storming into my room I threw the door shut before opening my wardrobe where I had hidden the two wine bottles Janina had given me. My wand pointed at them I whipped their necks off by a clean cut, then filled all three glasses, which had once been meant for Linde and Ger, and emptied them in one go. What had my stomach to complain about, wasn’t it churning for days now? Emptying the first bottle by filling up one glass again, I loosened my cravat and went to the window, pushing it open, it was too warm in here. It was always far too warm in here, and everything was full of red energies, a red as dark as my wine, as dried blood, as wounds which had never healed, as stains never cleaned, and I knew that it was all mine, it was all my ugly energies that had poisoned my mother once and drenched my siblings now and caused my father to never see anything special in me. All my bloody wine red. I tried to wave it all out, to kick and shove and blow but the more my anger rose, the more red left my chest and hands, seeping out of me like smoke seeps out of wet wood when burnt. I could do nothing about it. My throat closed up. When my glass was empty, I therefore opened the white wine, perhaps it was going to help. It smelled almost too sweet after the dryness of the red wine, and I cringed. I had never minded desserts, and never minded cake-and-coffee time, but I did not want to think of sweets now, of pasties, of cookies. “Fuck you!” I shouted out the window, my voice splitting in half.
Tears were flooding my face no matter how often I wiped them away as I restlessly paced the room, they flooded my face as though no matter how many of those muttered “Fuck you”s I spit out, there would always still be too much of all that anger and fear inside of me to create new tears.
Eventually my first glass of white wine was drunk too and my body was too numb to still produce more of my energy, I tested it by pushing my palm against the broken bottle neck and when I was sure it didn’t hurt, sure that I was numbed down enough to not poison everything with my presence, I went to my mother’s room. Staggering.
Was this not the only reason why I had declined Tyl’s invitation? Because I had promised my mother to be there for Yule? To hug her? To make sure she would eat right and smile? Was the only reason why I knew I wouldn’t enjoy myself anywhere else but here at the Graf Place my mother? Because I knew that without her, it always felt like something was missing?
My hand was shaking when it reached for the door handle. How long was it since I had not entered it? When had my mother started to forbid us to go in? When had she started to put gloves to our hands and forbid us to poison her space with our energies? And how was it possible that I still remembered her room as though I had only been there yesterday?
The curtains. The never-opened windows. The bed, the blankets over the desk and the often-locked door to the bathroom, the colour of the fabric that enveloped the bed, the wallpapers and the black-painted mirror. And everything was plunged in dark blue clouds of her energy. Yes, it looked just like it had the last time I had seen it. My mother was missing, but her energies weren’t.
I closed the door, set the wine bottle on the night stand and lay down in her bed, taking one of her pillows and curling up around it. I let the blue of her energies envelope me until I was entirely gone in them and even the red of my tears dissolved before they even reached the mattress beneath me. There were no ‘fuck you’s left, no accusations, no lies, only the ever-same truth: “I miss you, Mama. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.”
