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Chapter ten.
ONCE UPON A TIME IN A WORLD OUT OF REACH, there was a young girl with a drive of ambition. She would dream until she reached the highest of clouds and would swim until she reached the deepest of oceans. She often made up scenarios in her mind, throughout both day and night to provide her with some light in her dull little life. She created thousands of worlds and fictional scenarios that contributed to immersing herself in her own little fantasy.
She used to dream about a castle, tall and structurally built, with towers that spiralled into the mists of the sky's depth and moats that sank below the abyss of the Earth. Its walls were raised in intimidation of the enemy and the people of the country knew they should not dare to attack such a beautifully cherished building.
The keyword there was dream.
At the realisation of her father's disappearance, Alora was struck by an inevitable gloom. She was only a child, arguably not even. She was a toddler. She had just turned two years old the very same day that he was forced to leave. That meant that because of his spite and anger, Alora was left with no parents to care for her.
That's why she started to dream until the world was nothing more than still and her thoughts were settled. It wasn't a mature obligation or an act of enrolment, it was a sheer childish mannerism she had learnt to unfold and expand on within her mind.
Dreaming then developed into reading, and reading developed into knowledge, and then knowledge developed into power.
Something that those who knew of her had been petrified about.
At the ripe age of five, however, Alora had been forced under the influence and the strict ways followed by the Malfoys. This meant that any enjoyable time she had until that moment had been ripped away and replaced by strict idiosyncrasy.
That's when she started to hate dreaming.
Lucius Malfoy and Lord Voldemort had a... chat, before he abruptly left. One that regarded Alora and her future in many ways.
The once strikingly handsome Riddle was engulfed in alien-like traits. His eyes were morphed into tightly held slits and his jet black hair was becoming coarse and thin. His skin was no paler than the beard of Albus Dumbledore but was also no darker.
A trait that had been passed towards Alora's genes.
Her skin was kissed by a milky shade of light as the glistening of the moon and stars cascaded over her features. The breeze was not yet as unbearably cold as it was due to become in the upcoming weeks. As the summer had just come to an end, there was still a warm buzz that stirred the air with a slither of passion.
The carriage travelled past many trees that were extremely large and blocked any reminiscent views on the horizon. Until around halfway through their journey, when the dozens of trees turned into tens, then fives, slowly they opened the land up to a large and paintable canvas.
