#self para

[lcveyearned]

Navigating through the growing cold, the blinding blizzard with her bleeding and torn arm cradled tightly against her chest all she can think about is getting to safety. Home, for as long as Ashlyn has known it, meant safety. She knows that hardly makes sense with how Port Leiry seems to be unraveling. With how tensions have been rising behind its walls. The loss of a father, the blossoming of something dormant in her, the ever mounting fear of her own mother. A woman she questions if she even loves her at this point, or if the young witch is only allowed to stay out of the older woman's obligations as a parent.

Her feet slip against a patch of ice and she grunts as she stumbles into a mailbox. She doesn't know what this cloak of white can be hiding, what other creatures lurk in wait for her. She's weak. The wolf she's left behind had sensed it. No. Autumn had sensed it. She grits her teeth and pushes on, holding her arm closer, it burns, feels hot to the touch. At least that is what she tells herself. She won't look at it. Refuses to question why she doesn't feel woozy from lost of blood. She had felt it, the tearing of flesh as she had struggled against Autumn's bite, her teeth thick, but as sharp as razors. If she hadn't been able to project that final burst of power she would have been no match.

She nearly stumbles again as she reaches her home. More aware of it do to having traveled here her whole life, more than what she can see. Safety. The first aid kit is upstairs, the guest bathroom. Under the sink. To the left. Simple. Something to focus on. Hopefully her mom is home, a steady hand. Maybe today she'll look at her with worry over her, and not over what she can do. She hears a shriek and moves quicker, slamming the door behind herself after nearly dropping her keys twice. Back presses to the wooden barrier like it can ward off any attack.

The house is silent safe from frosty breaths that fall from her. The lights are out again, power dead, just a dimness filtering through from that bright silver that haunts the sky. She lets go of her injured arm just long enough to fish in her pocket for her phone. Its not there, she remembers then, the basement. The cage. Scurrying away forgetting the pointless device in that moment in favor of escape.

"M — mom? Are you here? I lost my phone. I need help." The silence that comes in response is suffocating, pressing in heavily.

"Mom?" She tries again, pushing away from the door, not realizing that her bitten arm now settles at her side, still stinging, but otherwise unaffected. She navigates mainly from memory, calling out a few more times, breath coming out in shaky puffs with each pregnant pause.

When she hits the kitchen tile she nearly slips, stumbling and then lets out a yelp as she crashes to the ground this time. Her eyes adjust slowly, something soaking into her pants, hand in something cold, wet, sticky. Across from her a flickering beam from a fallen heavy duty flashlight. Her hand works on autopilot, reaching out for it until it's in her grasp, she hits it once. Then again, steadying the beam before sweeping it across the floor. For the second time today she's surrounded by blood, soaked in it. And right there, looking at her with unseeing eyes, the woman who had gave her life. The woman who had raised her. The woman just the day before she had told she hated.

The flashlight clatters to the ground, but she doesn't move, her knees come up to her chest, arms wrapping around her legs. The wound is still jagged on the one she realizes, but it isn't bleeding. She isn't dying. Unlike the woman with the partially attached head, Ashlyn Park is healing.

[photoaria]

self para. after the doppelganger attack in bookends.

She's not at home, and Aria hasn't told Autumn where she is for the first time since those very few months at the beginning of her memory troubles. There are cracks still shining through, and she holds onto the very few things she was able to remember during her time in New York, and it was just enough to help fuel these long days and nights away from the bookstore.

Being reminded of the mortality of the love of one's life is an awful thing to experience. She tends to her as much as she can, and when Aria has a chance, she leaves.

It's for a good cause, she thinks, and will all be worth it in the end. Imara was so, so sure that there was something to be found in Port Leiry, a spell to extend a werewolf's lifespan to match a vampire's. She was a woman in love, and so was Aria.

At first, she had no idea where to begin.

At first, it was just asking questions of her clanmates - if they knew anyone who might be knowledgeable of old magic, of old vaults holding magical information, of histories and libraries. It was a fucking goose chase of a thing. But she was tireless.

There were three potential hits, and she had no idea what she was looking for. Reardon was resourceful, at the very least. They had plenty of witches in their employ for different reasons. All it took was making the right deal with the right higher up, and she could take the witch along with her to find what she was looking for.

In exchange: Aria had to complete another job for them. It had to be done before they could even begin following the leads, because the witch wouldn't even give her the time of day.

-

The job itself was sending Aria deep into hunter territory to gather information and rescue one of their own that had gotten captured at Hoyt Salvage. Autumn would lose her fucking mind if she knew Aria was here, so she'd told her that it was a late night client - a vampire without a daylight ring. She'll make something up about corrupted photo files if it comes to that.

The witch, Keira, is waiting in the car. Back up, at the very least.

Finishing her cigarette, Aria stomps it out underneath her heel while she listens out for any commotion, and the sounds of heartbeats. There's a sound across the junkyard - something like fists hitting flesh - and instinct tells her to follow that. Using her speed, she goes around the perimeter of the place, following the sound.

Her instincts were right, the Reardon vampire lay in a pile of ice and snow while two hunters kick the shit out of him. Frowning, she listens out for others around. One on one would be easy, especially if she was able to get the jump on them,but with two - and their captor looking as dry as he does, she'll have to think carefully.

Licking her lips, she looks around again - just the two of them. There's a fence that separates them, so she can't exactly charge in. Looking down, she surveys the snow and ice crowding around the edge of chain link, and finds a rock that fits in the palm of her hand. One shot. She hefts it, judges the angle, and the strength.

She launches the fucking thing and doesn't wait for it to make contact before she's rushing in to the other hunter. By the time she makes it, the rock smashes into one of their heads, and her fingernails are in the second's throat, ripping it out. She drops the body by the captive. "Drink!"

And then she's on the second, taking a meal for herself. What she doesn't expect is an alarm to sound, but the captive is gulping down mouthfuls of blood. She finishes, leaves the body, and drags the Reardon vamp up by the back of his neck, and they both leave, outrunning another two hunters on their way.

Keira shields them when they get back to the car, and graciously offers them both drinks. Aria refuses, but the Reardon vamp takes the offer until Keira tells him to stop.

-

The first lead turned out to be the worst. Keira and Aria trudged out to the middle of the woods to a witch that seemingly hadn't seen civilization since the early 1900s. Keira did most of the talking while Aria paced around, chewing on the edge of her thumbnail. She listened in to their conversation and while it sounded like they might have gotten somewhere, ultimately, the old fogie had no idea what they were talking about.

The second lead was a little better, leading them right into the heart of Phial - why Phial, Aria had no idea. She explained to Mr. Liang what she was looking for, and he looked down his glasses at her while he steepled his fingers together.

"You're seeking a way to make a werewolf immortal?"

"I.. maybe? The way Imara said it, it sounded like she meant binding werewolf to vampire."

"Which would be immortality."

"..yes, sir." Aria nodded, pulling her lower lip between her teeth. Keira crossed her arms over her chest, watching the two of them. "Come on, Jin, do you know anything or not?"

Jin looked up, his hands falling down into his lap with a sigh. He stands without a word, writes something down on a piece of paper, and hands it to Keira - not Aria. "I do not have access to ancient magics. I've heard a whisper of this once before, and I only know this because I trade in secrets. Whatever you find, you did not find it because of me."

Keira looks down at the paper, and Aria watches her features as they turn from healthy pink to sallow gray.

"Fuck."

-

In the car on the way over, Keira looks like she might throw up. Her finger taps on the wheel with no steady beat, and she doesn't look over at Aria in the passenger seat. "Reardon knew where this would lead, which is why they offered me. Fucks me over something good, but you -" She finally does look now, while they're at a red light. Her breath forms mist in the cold air, even with the heat on in the car. "You'll be fine."

When they arrive at the home, Aria looks up at it in awe. She doesn't know if she's ever seen a house quite this big before. Walking up, Aria hangs behind, hands in her pockets. Keira goes to knock but doesn't get the chance before the door is opening to a wiry looking blonde, with wild blue eyes and a manic smile.

Immediately, Aria feels unsettled.

"Keira." She begins, with a thick Eastern European accent. Putting two and two together, Aria knows exactly where she is and already wants to call Autumn and tell her she's coming home. She's come this far now, though.

"Viktoria." Keira clears her throat after the name, and looks back to Aria, "This is Aria. We have a favor to ask."

-

They're sitting in the massive library, and Aria feels smaller than she has in some time. Keira isn't in the room, it's just her and this ancient vampire staring at each other. "What did she trade for this?"

"Her blood and a few other trinkets I collect."

Aria wants to bolt.

Viktoria instead, keeps her attention with that wild, wide gaze. "Explain to me what it is you're looking for. Explain why."

"I'm looking for a spell that elongates a werewolf's lifespan to a vampire's. Immortality." She's come too far, she won't go away without at least something. Even if it's just a fucking necklace that Autumn has to wear. She'll implant the jewel underneath her skin while she's sleeping if she has to. "My - my future wife is a werewolf. I don't want to lose her, I can't lose her."

Viktoria stares, as if telling her to continue.

So Aria does, "We've had a rocky path. I want the chance to make up for it, and I want to have her forever, and I want her to experience lifetimes and lifetimes instead of just the short bit of misery she's had here in Port Leiry." Tears prickle at her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall. "I love her. I can't be without her. She's fragile, even with being a wolf."

Viktoria stares some more, and eventually turns her head, as if thinking. "Do you not think you'll experience more loves over your eternal life?"

Aria frowns, wrinkling her nose. "No. Autumn is it. I only want her."

"Truly? Even if she were reincarnated, you wouldn't enjoy the chance at a do over, so to speak?"

"No. Just Autumn. I want her, her as she is now."

At this, Viktoria stands and closes the distance between them in a snap, leaning in - as if studying the younger vampire. "You are headstrong. And I sense more than love here."

"What?"

"Never you mind that." She straightens up, but doesn't move away. "What if the spell requires her to die to live forever?"

That question takes Aria off guard. Her lips part, and she hangs her head, looking down at her feet. After a moment of reflection, she finally speaks, "If.. I knew for sure that she'd come back, I'd do it. I'd do it myself."

Viktoria nearly laughs, "Would you still even if there were no guarantee?"

Another hesitation, and Aria can't voice the 'yes', but she nods - just one slow nod.

"Oh, my dear, you love beyond just obsession. We can only aspire to be as fucked up as you are." Aria doesn't know what the fuck she means by that, and her head snaps up to snarl at her, but Viktoria's fingertips cradle her chin. "Shush, it's a compliment. I have my own human I wish to change irrevocably. At the very least, if you succeed, it will be fun to watch the entirety of Port Leiry react to the monsters you will inevitably create."

-

In the car with Keira, Aria stares down at the fragile book in her hands. The older vampire had said the book was one spell, written in several ancient scripts, some languages long dead by now. She hadn't explained how she'd come across it, but gave her a coy smile at the question. Whatever. Looking over at the witch, she watched the gray color of her skin, and the way she still looked like she was going to vomit.

There was an obvious bandage on her neck, and two of her fingers were missing.

"Did.. she ask for your fingers?"

"Yep."

"And you just gave them, like that? That's fucked." Aria isn't complaining, though, she got what she wanted.

"If I didn't, Reardon would take my head. I can live without two fucking fingers, and a little blood."

"She collects witch fingers?"

"She collects magic items. My grimoire is only legible if I run those two fingers in a pattern across the pages. So she took them, saw the loophole in my spell."

What. The. Fuck. Aria's nose wrinkles, and she looks down at her own new book, running her fingertips along the spine.

"You'll have to get another witch to do that shit, I'm not touching it with a ten-foot pole. Reardon's already taken enough from me."

Aria doesn't say anything else, but she knows exactly who she wants to call. He'll probably get a kick out of it, at least.

Aria Boughton: i need a favor, or witch service. or whatever. someone who can do magic AJ Astor: service? that's loaded, love ;) surely it's not that aut isn't doing it for you Aria Boughton: perv. it is about autumn, though. i have a book that a) needs translating. it's magic shit i don't understand it. and b) need you to do the spell on autumn AJ Astor: i don't need to see what you lovebirds are into, babe. i trust it's freaky. oh so bookends has got books like that now? what language? does she know about this spell, emo, u know i can do anything. but i should know the deets ;) Aria Boughton: no fucking clue what language. i got it from that weird old vamp viktoria she doesn't know and she won't know, it's.. a surprise at the conclave we ran into this couple talking about a spell that could make wolves immortal, so i went looking don't know what the books says we gotta do for it or how it works, but that crazy bitch said it would work AJ Astor: you know vicky? damn. small bloody town this is. babe, this sounds like a new level of kink if it's a surprise, and you want me casting it. you know they've been looking for immortality since forever, and you think you've got a book on it now? i'll need to see it. vicky might be having you on here. wolves are immortality isn't supposed to mix. i reckon we gotta go for a bev, haven't we? Aria Boughton: yeah, i figure it's a long shot. you're the only guy i know to reach out to and i hope you're as good as you say you are want me to come by khaos with it? AJ Astor: i'm better than anything you've heard, love. penthouse suite. you know it? i'll text you the info. Aria Boughton: yeah alright, of course you're in a fucking penthouse AJ Astor: i'll order you dinner. just keep the mess off the wallpaper, it's Fornasetti. Aria Boughton: whatever that means AJ Astor: in a bit, emo. ;P

[lavieenton]

the mango - self para.

where: The Das house, India

when: June 1797

The heat was always unbearable. No matter how much cool water the little girl drank or threw on her warm skin. No matter the lush bushes and trees she hid under, it never seemed to offer any relief. The humidity created droplets of sweat, collecting at her temple with every step she took, every sprint she rushed when attempting to terrorize Nalan. It was difficult to play, especially when Kavika asked to play in the courtyard. Riya agreed—she always did—but their playtime never lasted more than five minutes before they resigned themselves to remaining indoors.

But on a particular day when her parents were preparing their home for guests, Riya found herself cemented in one place, eyes trailing the words of a thick novel. Her tiny fingers clasped around the sides, the leather-bound book not giving way to her newfound strength as she soaked in the knowledge with hunger and abandon. But the sun crept its way into the elaborate courtyard, sun rays beaming down on the top of her head and warming her shoulders in quite uncomfortable ways.

The little girl would have been upset were it not for her mind tunnel-visioning on the words she absorbed. Until a droplet of sweat fell onto the page. She blinked in surprise and stood, scrambling beneath towering trees and nestling herself near the trunks, finding solace in the leaves protecting her. Having shut her book, her large eyes fixated on a lovely morsel: a mango. While the rest around her were still green and unready, this one was ripe for the taking. On bare feet, Riya reached up and curled her fingers around the fruit and gave it a gentle tug.

The mango, cradled in her hands now, was perfect. Chesnut brown eyes glittered with interest, wide and pleased before she broke the fruit's skin biting into it. Juice dribbled down her chin and onto the front of her dress, but for once, Riya paid no mind to her ruined perfection. She was merely a child enjoying fruit with no one to scold and ridicule. This was her life, and there was nothing anyone could do to tarnish that.

-- PRESENT DAY, MAY 1814--

Spring was a dreadful season. The rain, the inconsistency between palatable warmth and unbearable chill. Riya hated it. For all her love of traveling and enduring, it was the clear distinction of not being home that pained her the most. Not the overabundance that was Kavika's new manor. She spoke of it dearly in her letters, but that was not home. Only a shell replicating what was truly home.

London offered its many comforts. Connections, cooler air. But their entire lives were there, in that beautiful place with the courtyard. Where the sun shone down on colorful tiles and through sheer curtains.

Waves crashed against the boat, swaying Riya as tears pricked her eyes and she wiped them away to protect Kavika's last letter from the disdain in her heart.

Her family was everything to her. But Mayfair was not home.

But as she finally laid her head down on the pillow, she dreamed of her true home: The house with the mango tree.

[cesar-flores]

Dia Del Padre | A Self-Para

Cesar had tried to sleep during the flight. But he just ended up watching the flight path on the screen in front of him as his music blared in his ears. He was grateful for the time in the air. Grateful to be miles and miles away from the city and all of it's chaos. When the plane landed at LAX and he exited to the California heat, he had to admit it felt a little like home. In a way New York had yet to feel for him. In a way Ohio had never felt for him at all.

He glanced around until he spotted his cousins' beat-up Honda. "You still driving this piece of shit?" The familiar sound of Julian's laugh wrapped him up in a hug before they physically embraced.

"Most loyal woman in my life, primo. She could survive the apocalypse."

The ride was full of jokes, mostly Julian catching him up on things he had missed. They sometimes texted and he had been the only one Cesar let know he was flying in but there was still a lot Cesar wouldn't allow for them to discuss over the phone. It didn't help that he mostly came to California on holidays or birthdays.

The ride was a little longer than he remembered but as they pulled into the familiar neighborhood, Cesar felt both excitement and nerves. It had been almost six months since he had seen Sonia and Maya but it had felt so much longer. And yet when they pulled into the driveway the house looked exactly the same. As if no time had passed at all. Aside from the updated toys and Sonia's new car, which he had sent her money for. He took a breath.

"Thanks for the ride, J, I'll call you for a beer later, yeah? I think there's some World Cup games on. I'm here a couple of days." He grabbed his bag from the back and stood in the doorway for a moment. He had just started to reach for the doorbell, even though he had the keys, when he heard someone call for him from the sidewalk behind him.

"Papi!"

Maya's voice rang out and he watched her little legs move quickly as she ran towards him, Sonia watching with an arm full of groceries. For a brief moment he got a glimpse of what life could be. If only.

He crouched down and swept her up in his arms as he pressed kisses to her face and the sounds of her giggles filled his ears. Suddenly, nothing that had happened in the past few months mattered. Not the fire, not his ability to sabotage any good thing in his life, not the rising debt that he would probably add to by the end of the summer.

"Mi princesa, you ran so fast i think we should put you in track next year." He pressed his lips to the top of her head, lifting her up as he got to his feet.

"And give me something else to have to drive her around to?" Sonia was rolling her eyes as Cesar looked at her but when he got closer they both leaned in for a kiss. A silent truce that they would save their arguing for later, that for right now they'd give Maya some semblance of normalcy. He shifted Maya to his left arm and reached for the grocery bags with his right. She let him take them, gave him another kiss with a whispered 'Happy Father's Day' before leading them inside, Maya's questions and updates soon filling the space between them.

Later in the weekend she would ask him to stay and like always he would consider it. He thought about how it would feel to see Maya every morning, to take her to school and drive her around. To teach her things and take in all the moments with her. It was enough to make him teary eyed as he sat in some dive bar with Julian, somehow too drunk and not drunk enough.

Then he would think about all the decisions he had made in the past few months. The commitment he had made to August and her team, the fact that he knew he couldn't outrun his debts. Selfishly, he wondered if he was ready to just leave it all behind, if he could deal with never seeing Rachel again. He flinched at the thought. He knew that if he stayed he'd put them all in danger. He wanted to make his money fast and with his skillset that usually came with pissing people off. Wasn't his responsibility as a father to provide?

It's what he would tell himself as he packed his bag Monday morning, Maya's hand-drawn card sitting on top of the clothes in his suitcase. He promised that he'd be back for a full week in the middle of the summer, left gifts to remember him by, made promises he intended to keep and went on his way. Julian talking his ear off all the way back to the airport.

[misscarrow]

the lady simply had enough | self para

tw: death, blood, abuse mention, violence

You wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me. September 27th, 1978

The raindrops rolled down the windows of the large and expensive living room. It was already dark outside and Alecto couldn’t see much. Ever since graduating from Hogwarts, she had been desperately trying to find a way to move out from that house, just like Amycus did. But there was a problem: Amycus was Amycus, and he was a man; and Alecto was Alecto, and she was a woman 

You? Living on your own? I think you lost your mind, little lamb. That had been the only time Alecto caught him in a good mood when bringing up that topic. She chose to stick to that response because a slap on the face followed by an ‘ungrateful little bitch’ was not as easy to digest.

So here she was, trapped in her own home: a prey living with its predator. It wasn’t easy, it was unpredictable. He went from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde in no time and she used to wonder if there was some mental disease that could explain his behavior. Now that she was older and tired, she simply came to the conclusion that some people were just horrible. In Aleksander Carrow’s case, he was what came next after horrible. He was a monster, a disgrace to human kind. 

Aleksander came out of his study and she immediately tensed. She still wore the finger marks on her neck from earlier that day when he choked her before lunch. Unconsciously, she ran her nail over a scar on her arm. It hadn’t been a quidditch injury like she told everyone, no, he had snapped her bone in three after a particular fit of rage.

“Mind if I join you, angel?” He asked as if he hadn’t tried to kill her earlier that day. And since he didn’t really care about her answer, he dropped on the expensive couch and opened his book.

Her throat still hurt, and she was positive her current headache was due to him slamming her head against the wall the other day. It hadn’t been the first time and probably not the last one either. It wasn’t until recently that Alecto finally understood: there would never be a 'happy ending' for her, she would not get a chance of a normal life. She was too damaged and, to be perfectly frank, she was aware that if her father kept up like that, she would end up dead sooner than later. 

It doesn’t have to be that way, Alecto… You can free yourself from him… It’s you or him… You can be safe… Amycus will be better off too… You know the spell, you know all the spells… do it.

Alecto looked at her father and he was fast asleep, the book resting on his chest. He looked so vulnerable and exposed.

This is your chance, do it. It’ll be so easy… you’ll never get an opportunity like this one again. Do it.

Her heart was pounding. What if she actually did it? It would be so easy. She could be free, and happy. She could live without fear, without crying herself to sleep every night, without a house elf tending her wounds and comforting her in the coldness of her bathroom. Alecto reached out for her wand and it was then when she noticed that she left it upstairs. 

It’s for the best, that way it won’t be traced to you…

She stood up slowly and approached the sleeping man. He looked so peaceful, as if he had no worries. Now that wasn’t fair, was it? How could he sleep soundly while she hadn’t had a good night's sleep since graduating from school? Why the fuck should he be able to sleep like a baby while she could barely get any sleep at all? She had night terrors because of this man. She had woken up in cold sweats and crying her eyes out. She had panic attacks because of him. This man had ruined her life and he got to sleep wherever and whenever he pleased? No, that was inadmissible.

Alecto rushed to her father’s study. Her mind was reeling, the voices encouraging her to do it, and they were right. She would be safe, she won’t die at his hand, and she would finally, at last, get a fucking good night sleep. She opened the first drawer and took out the family dagger. It had the Carrow last name engraved in the hilt. 

She now knelt beside him. He had the audacity to still be asleep. The red head looked up to the ceiling and then to her mother’s portrait. She was expectant and so was her. Alecto looked back at her father who stirred and barely opened his eyes.

“Little lamb?” He asked sleepily. “What’s going—”

The blade went in before he could finish. Then out. Then in again, and out. Over and over and over. Aleksander screamed but so did Alecto, it was feral and with blinding rage, with all the repressed anger and fear that she had felt ever since she was a kid.

Her father was now dead and she still kept on stabbing, and crying ,and screaming until her muscles and body gave up altogether.

The silence was deafening and Alecto just knelt there, looking at the absolute mess that she made. She was covered in blood, her hands, her face, and her clothes. She did it, she actually did it. It was unclear how long she remained there, staring but without really looking. Only a tiny hand on her shoulder snapped her out of her trance.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, Miss Alecto, you can’t be seen like this”, Mindy’s warm voice said and the redhead barely nodded, too stunned to speak. “Mindy will deal with this, don’t you worry. Mindy won’t let anything happen to Miss Alecto ever again” she promised and for some reason, Alecto believed her.

Maybe now, she could finally get some rest.

[pall0r-mortis]

Astravore || Self Para

Dated June 20th. Sid travels to the London branch of CoDE to discuss his research, gaining an unexpected ally but discovering he's still on his own trying to resolve the issues with his magic.

TW: mild body horror, reference to death

Read Here

[anyafawleyburke]

Someone at Burke Manor wanted to make sure this reached you.

The envelope, when Anya spots it, is tucked neatly next to her salad plate at dinner. She opens it with a practiced expression of disinterest, sliding her finger beneath the seal and feeling the wax crack. A brief expression of horror mars her face before she regains control, slipping the mask of pureblood society hostess on as easily as she would a slipper. Inside, though, she is terrified by the mere implication that someone could possibly suspect that she had anything to do with Thoros's death. No one can know, she repeats to herself, pulse roaring in her ears. There was no trace. The Ministry didn't find anything.

She makes it through dinner on autopilot. Years of comportment lessons from her mother and governess make events like this simple for her and she doesn't need to devote much thought to what comes next - Soup, appetizer, salad, main course, dessert, mignardise. All robotic and automatic, one after the other. She makes polite conversations with those nearest her, laughs when necessary, and the entire time, she is telling herself no one can know, no one could possibly know. She makes a mental list of those who would dare insinuate something so horrid. One of her husband's former associates, perhaps? The only thing she is certain of, by the end of dinner, is that she has never wanted to succumb to the solitude of Burke Manor more than she does right now.

[lvdobagmans]

Someone at Burke Manor wanted to make sure this reached you.

Finding the envelope in the pocket of his suit had immediately improved Ludo's mood. For one glorious second, he thought luck had finally remembered him. A fan letter, perhaps, or some sort of game hidden among the evening's entertainment, something designed to catch his attention because, really, why wouldn't it? The thrill of possibility was enough to make him grin as he unfolded the note, already imagining what waited inside.

The grin didn't survive the first line.

A bitter taste settled in his mouth so quickly it almost felt physical. It was ridiculous, really, to let a few anonymous words get under his skin, and yet they lingered there all the same, burning at the tip of his tongue while his gaze drifted across the room. Suddenly every conversation seemed to be happening somewhere else, every laugh belonged to somebody else, every set of eyes appeared fixed on anyone but him.

The wizard forced himself to fold the note and tuck it away, refusing to give whoever had written it the satisfaction of a visible reaction, but the damage had already been done. He wanted to find them, wanted to know who thought they had the right to say such a thing, and he especially wanted to know who they thought had replaced him. Because they were wrong, they had to be wrong. The crowd might be distracted tonight, but favourites came and went, and Ludo Bagman had never been meant to fade quietly into the background. He was the one people watched, the one people cheered for, and he wasn't about to let anyone forget it.