𝗛𝗼𝘄 𝗡𝗼𝘁 𝗧𝗼 𝗦𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘄 𝗔 𝗦𝗹𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻 | 𝗗.𝗠.

59 | ﴾ A Case Of The Morbs ﴿

Five voracious days had passed by at Castle Bellarose.

Under a steadfast gray sky the baroque acropolis stood in determined weep, weathering for another season the blustering scrape of wintry ocean wind on it's ancient facades of hoary pearl brickwork.

Back up in that tall, wavering tower on a giraffe's neck of outmoded architecture, a song of sheer whistling madness had taken up shop in Audette's ears due to copious loose bricks all rattling in place like inconsiderate chicklets, allowing fiercely channeled air to dither past.

The door was broken down, the bedposter draperies scratched across in routine fiest, and in an effort to delay having to get up Audette painstakingly cultivated a case of inexplicable illness through excessive moaning and groaning.

"Oh ara your grace, enough silly donkeying with yah. Have you morphed yourself into a heifer overnight?" Aine rolled her eyes as she drew apart and tied all of the heavy weight curtains lining the windows one double set at a time.

No she had not, but she very well might at the end of the month.

Thankfully the Trunchbull was not in attendance that mopey morning.

Letter? Audette sat up and wrote in hopeful golden sparkles with her wand, but Tierney shook her head sadly. This action was mirrored by Cian at her side - Audette's personal butler still in a trainee status - who was now responsible for relaying her postage from the bustling estate owlery.

"Still nothing yet from that fine Lord Malfoy, milady," laying out a fresh gown Tierney meekly reassured Audette, although both governesses exchanged queasy glances across the room, "Surely he's quite a preoccupied young man, what with preparing for that big third trial in a matter of weeks time. Papers say the champions are building their own armor this round - what pressure that must be, eh?"

Yes, he must be dreadfully preoccupied building a set of stupid armor.

It must have been obvious that something was astray between Audette and her quintessentially mischievous betrothed, emphasized by the deflated pout she sent to her comforter. She was extremely vexed - in fact she might find it a preposterous delight to push him naked into the newly developed manticore enclosure...

Yet she missed him in equal ferocity, and every day stretched longer and longer without any resolve.

So much for her plans to approach the hell of January with combative euphoria in her heart, following a holiday packed with fresh engagement butterflies and ravenous love making. Somehow that morning she knew the fifth of January was going to feel more like thirty hours in duration rather than the standard twenty-four. 

Audette laid back in the bed and slammed a tufted golden pillow over her face. If she could scream Bloody Mary to relieve accumulating stress, she certainly would.

"Got a case of the morbs, Lady Mal-Bell-Mal...m-milady?" Cian stuttered in confusion of how to address her, inspecting Audette's behaviour curiously. Oh how blessed he was to still be ignorant of the qualms related to romantic antics.

Aine patted Audette's hand, quite aware that a case of the morbs had settled in deep to the bone, "He'll write, or better yet he'll visit before you know it. Here's the brass; time travels slower for men than for women. What feels like a thousand blinding years to you is a matter of harmless days to him. Nothing's banjaxed yet I would hope."

Well if that was how the math operated, then fifteen Draco days were equivalent to three thousand Audette years spent in boiling scorn, and that didn't exactly paint a picture of hope.

Once again, she was dragged out of bed and dressed up like a lavish human doll - this time in a gown of the rosiest pink imaginable. Bows of reflective tone were tied into her golden waves in loose piggy tails she found to be childish, and then off she was sent in another set of disabling ivory slippers with very poor capacity to circumvent authority figures.