A wicked wind will blow your ribbons from your curls

[batshitscary]

Comments

[spindleform]

*He has tried to sleep tonight, but instead of drifting off he has only been a witness to the slow creep of the clock. Lying on his side on top of the sheets with his back is to the window, he feels the chill creep up his spine first.*

[batshitscary]

*Separated by walls and wards, the Dementor isn't nearly close enough to trap Regulus in his own head. However, the distance is sufficient enough to induce a sudden wave of overwhelming misery.*

[spindleform]

*Just beneath Regulus' skin feels weighted by the sorrow, injected with metal sinking down toward his bones. His brows pull together and he turns his head into the bedding, not yet recognising the induced misery of the presence of Dementors from his own that he carries about normally.*

[batshitscary]

*The chill is maddening, like the first realization of just how cold it is outside on a winter day after the residual warmth of the indoors departs.*