Do you believe in love at first sight?
Standing at the side of the grave, Minerva remembered the first time she'd seen Morag in Fiona's arms.
It had been love at first sight.
That tiny body, resting yet not at rest, against Fiona's breast - that small so-perfect hand waving and the softness of it, the fragility of the bones as Minerva caught it.
She caught her breath.
The agony on her sister's face caught her, held her trapped in the moment of memory, feeling the pained thump of her heart that reflected *exactly* the thump when she had first seen Morag.
The thump of her heart reverberating, dredging a new memory with each beat - Morag on her first broom, the sun reflecting off the glowing ginger hair - Morag with her nose scrunched and lips pursed, her fingers covered in ink as she struggled to concentrate on My First Transfigurations, a gift from her aunt, of course - Morag, face white against the pillow and paler than death against her hair as her mother told her of the loss of her magic.
Minerva refused to allow the image of Morag's bloody broken body to rise to the surface of her mind, knowing that Fiona could see nothing else.
She watched the coffin being lowered into the grave.
A heart could fall in love in a moment and break as quickly. Her hand steady under her sister's arm, the falling clods of earth echoed in the coldness of her heart.
(OOC - my apologies again to the mods - I have had computer difficulties this past week that have made writing impossible. I appear to have a stable system now, and plan to bring Minerva up to date this weekend.)
It had been love at first sight.
That tiny body, resting yet not at rest, against Fiona's breast - that small so-perfect hand waving and the softness of it, the fragility of the bones as Minerva caught it.
She caught her breath.
The agony on her sister's face caught her, held her trapped in the moment of memory, feeling the pained thump of her heart that reflected *exactly* the thump when she had first seen Morag.
The thump of her heart reverberating, dredging a new memory with each beat - Morag on her first broom, the sun reflecting off the glowing ginger hair - Morag with her nose scrunched and lips pursed, her fingers covered in ink as she struggled to concentrate on My First Transfigurations, a gift from her aunt, of course - Morag, face white against the pillow and paler than death against her hair as her mother told her of the loss of her magic.
Minerva refused to allow the image of Morag's bloody broken body to rise to the surface of her mind, knowing that Fiona could see nothing else.
She watched the coffin being lowered into the grave.
A heart could fall in love in a moment and break as quickly. Her hand steady under her sister's arm, the falling clods of earth echoed in the coldness of her heart.
(OOC - my apologies again to the mods - I have had computer difficulties this past week that have made writing impossible. I appear to have a stable system now, and plan to bring Minerva up to date this weekend.)