Desafíe la Luna
Date: Backdated to Oct. 13
Time: Midnight to Dawn
Place: Hogwarts
Characters Involved: Fleur Weasley
Rating: PG
Outside the large clock on the front of the stone castle rang out; crying to the world that it was midnight. Inside her bedroom Fleur huddled in the large bed crying to herself. The moon was full and high overhead, but held none of the beauty it should have for the Frenchwoman. It haunted her, and even as she turned her back to the window she could feel it upon her skin. Not bringing any change to her body; no wolf emerged, but the moon’s light, warmth made her feel sick anyhow, because somewhere miles away Fenrir Greyback was reveling in the curse of the moon. He was enjoying the change that ripped flesh from his body and revealed the wolf within, the bloodlust that caused him to stalk her husband. Her stomach lurched with nausea as she slid from the bed to pace.
She paced and she paced until a roughly tread path was worn into the carpet, and then she paced some more. Her arms crossed, hands grasping her biceps, rubbing her arms to create warmth, but not even the flames from the fireplace could keep her warm tonight.
Wandering eyes found the large stained glass window on the far side of the room. The moon hung just on the other side, distorted by the ornate glass. Her feet carried her to the ledge, her hands pushed it outwards, open, and she could feel the wind darting into the room, chilling her skin even further. Her blonde hair and the short white nightgown whipped at her pale skin as the wind pulled, grasping with imaginary fingers at the soft fabric, the silver locks. Gripping both sides of the window frame her leg raised slowly, sliding one slender foot upon the stone ledge, followed by the other.
Breathe.
In.
Out.
Her eyes slid closed as her grip tightened. She could end it. She could end it all; if she just let go. The moon came into focus, colors renewed as she looked down at the ground beneath her, far beneath her. This life. Madness. This nightmare. She could find her own way out. She could find her own way out from this mess she lived. She could spend eternity, her eternity, with Bill. It was only a short fall really, a blink, a second. One hand slid away from the steel casing around the window.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Tears fell like rain down her face, sliding from her jaw and falling to the ground. Would they find the Earth, or just evaporate into the cold autumn air? Would she follow their path if she fell? Would it be beautiful if she did fall? Her hair and skin so white, like the silken fabric whipping about her thighs, would she look like an angel falling from the sky?
A blood curdling scream wrenched across the midnight sky as a rather ambitious wind caught her legs, her hair. Panting heavily she squatted, grasping at the stone ledge, and pulling her body, her center of gravity, lower. Her heart fluttered rapidly in her chest, her breath catching in her throat as she pulled air into her lungs with ragged breaths.
“Non.” Shaking her head, her hands slid up the stone, grasping at the window frame as she pulled herself back to her full height.
Breathe.
“Non.” The wind whipped at her body, her hair and nightgown whipping around behind her. Eyes wide she stared up at the moon as if challenging the hated orb that stared back with its own brand of hate. The silvery glow washed over her, illuminating her slender form as if she were a full blooded veela.
She stood in the window, with her arms outstretched her head and shoulders steeled against the breeze. Hands grasped the steel of the windowpane, even as it cut into the soft skin of her hands, and she challenged the wind, dared it even to take her from the ledge, her body arched outward, but her grip was firm, resolved to win this battle of wills.
She stood and stared at the moon, willing it away, to lift its curse from her life, her love; praying for its mercy. She stared at the hated face of the moon until the pink-hued edges of morning finally rose in the horizon. Painting the sky with brilliant colors and pushing the moon from its canvas, it was over. Life began again, but the moon would return to lay upon her again a curse she had never been gifted. A curse that wrought fear and pain upon her in its own form as much as any lycanthrope had encountered, but her choice was made upon that ledge.
Staring in the face of the easy escape she had made her choice, and as her grip upon the pain loosened her resolved tightened.
She slid from the window pane, her skin chapped from the wind and lips tinted blue with cold, and walked on shaky feet across the very path she had worn out hours before. Her feet padded through the room until they found their way to the writing table. She didn’t need the familiar owl to bring word that her husband was safe, because she already knew. Her love was so strong that she could feel him, just out of reach, but he was alive. The wards had held.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
She set quill to paper and scratched out a note. Begging him to come to her as soon as his strength regained. She needed to see him, to hold him, and to say she was sorry. The past few days had killed her, leaving him in his anger and her hurt, wondering where they stood, racking her brain with guilt. She was resolved, ready to do anything, and if the most she could do was be locked in this damn tower, than here she would stay. She would do anything for him, and suddenly she needed him to know that. She needed him to know that he was all that kept her breathing.
Time: Midnight to Dawn
Place: Hogwarts
Characters Involved: Fleur Weasley
Rating: PG
Outside the large clock on the front of the stone castle rang out; crying to the world that it was midnight. Inside her bedroom Fleur huddled in the large bed crying to herself. The moon was full and high overhead, but held none of the beauty it should have for the Frenchwoman. It haunted her, and even as she turned her back to the window she could feel it upon her skin. Not bringing any change to her body; no wolf emerged, but the moon’s light, warmth made her feel sick anyhow, because somewhere miles away Fenrir Greyback was reveling in the curse of the moon. He was enjoying the change that ripped flesh from his body and revealed the wolf within, the bloodlust that caused him to stalk her husband. Her stomach lurched with nausea as she slid from the bed to pace.
She paced and she paced until a roughly tread path was worn into the carpet, and then she paced some more. Her arms crossed, hands grasping her biceps, rubbing her arms to create warmth, but not even the flames from the fireplace could keep her warm tonight.
Wandering eyes found the large stained glass window on the far side of the room. The moon hung just on the other side, distorted by the ornate glass. Her feet carried her to the ledge, her hands pushed it outwards, open, and she could feel the wind darting into the room, chilling her skin even further. Her blonde hair and the short white nightgown whipped at her pale skin as the wind pulled, grasping with imaginary fingers at the soft fabric, the silver locks. Gripping both sides of the window frame her leg raised slowly, sliding one slender foot upon the stone ledge, followed by the other.
Breathe.
In.
Out.
Her eyes slid closed as her grip tightened. She could end it. She could end it all; if she just let go. The moon came into focus, colors renewed as she looked down at the ground beneath her, far beneath her. This life. Madness. This nightmare. She could find her own way out. She could find her own way out from this mess she lived. She could spend eternity, her eternity, with Bill. It was only a short fall really, a blink, a second. One hand slid away from the steel casing around the window.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
Tears fell like rain down her face, sliding from her jaw and falling to the ground. Would they find the Earth, or just evaporate into the cold autumn air? Would she follow their path if she fell? Would it be beautiful if she did fall? Her hair and skin so white, like the silken fabric whipping about her thighs, would she look like an angel falling from the sky?
A blood curdling scream wrenched across the midnight sky as a rather ambitious wind caught her legs, her hair. Panting heavily she squatted, grasping at the stone ledge, and pulling her body, her center of gravity, lower. Her heart fluttered rapidly in her chest, her breath catching in her throat as she pulled air into her lungs with ragged breaths.
“Non.” Shaking her head, her hands slid up the stone, grasping at the window frame as she pulled herself back to her full height.
Breathe.
“Non.” The wind whipped at her body, her hair and nightgown whipping around behind her. Eyes wide she stared up at the moon as if challenging the hated orb that stared back with its own brand of hate. The silvery glow washed over her, illuminating her slender form as if she were a full blooded veela.
She stood in the window, with her arms outstretched her head and shoulders steeled against the breeze. Hands grasped the steel of the windowpane, even as it cut into the soft skin of her hands, and she challenged the wind, dared it even to take her from the ledge, her body arched outward, but her grip was firm, resolved to win this battle of wills.
She stood and stared at the moon, willing it away, to lift its curse from her life, her love; praying for its mercy. She stared at the hated face of the moon until the pink-hued edges of morning finally rose in the horizon. Painting the sky with brilliant colors and pushing the moon from its canvas, it was over. Life began again, but the moon would return to lay upon her again a curse she had never been gifted. A curse that wrought fear and pain upon her in its own form as much as any lycanthrope had encountered, but her choice was made upon that ledge.
Staring in the face of the easy escape she had made her choice, and as her grip upon the pain loosened her resolved tightened.
She slid from the window pane, her skin chapped from the wind and lips tinted blue with cold, and walked on shaky feet across the very path she had worn out hours before. Her feet padded through the room until they found their way to the writing table. She didn’t need the familiar owl to bring word that her husband was safe, because she already knew. Her love was so strong that she could feel him, just out of reach, but he was alive. The wards had held.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
She set quill to paper and scratched out a note. Begging him to come to her as soon as his strength regained. She needed to see him, to hold him, and to say she was sorry. The past few days had killed her, leaving him in his anger and her hurt, wondering where they stood, racking her brain with guilt. She was resolved, ready to do anything, and if the most she could do was be locked in this damn tower, than here she would stay. She would do anything for him, and suddenly she needed him to know that. She needed him to know that he was all that kept her breathing.