IT'S OCTOBER 29th...Right now Cynthia is regretting being an overachiever, as according to Madame Maxime, she is the perfect candidate to their school's champion.
She gazes at the pale blue carriage being drawn by the abraxans and was eagerly waiting by the château's entrance ready to bring the students of Beauxbatons to Hogwarts.
She don't want to go to Hogwarts. Just why couldn't it be hosted in Durmstrang? She rather go there than Hogwarts, and she refuse to have Dumbledore or any of them in general to step into Beauxbatons.
A voice shouted at the horses, demanding them to take off. The giant round wheels of the carriage left the ground in seconds, the weight now being carried by wings.
Looking out the window of his compartment, Cynthia looked outside to see the château disappear behind some clouds. They were up so high already.
Right now Cynthia wished for Zeus to strike her out of the sky. Anything to not go to Hogwarts. Yet Zeus wouldn't dare. After all he dose not want to risk Hera's rage of injuring her favored.
"I hate this." Cynthia scoffed, as Séraphine was putting Cynthia's hair into intricate braids.
"Why? Aren't you English? I thought you'd love this. After all Hogwarts is where you were meant to go originally." Séraphine said.
"English and Greece." Cynthia pointed out.
"I don't like Hogwarts, and I especially don't at all like the English Magical Community." She sneered.
"I'd rather be stayinh in France. Yet you know how Madame Maxime wants me to be Beauxbatons's champion. So I'm being held hostage against my will." She said in a sarcastic tone she picked up from Percy.
Speaking of both Percy and Jason, were rather livid when Cynthia had delivered the news on where she is going. They are protective over her after all. While her mother Hera, on the other hand gave her full permission to use her abilities to make their lives a living Tartarus.
"I'd be surprised if you weren't the champion. You are Beauxbatons top student. You already outrank the seventh years."
"They're weak." She shrugged.
"We had talked about this already. Just because they aren't able to defeat you doesn't mean they're weak." Séraphine told her.
Cynthia rolled her eyes. Séraphine sighed at her attitude, but she is quite used to it.
Cynthia reminded Séraphine of winter despite her locks of fiendfyre.
As winter is death. Yet it is the creation of new life, for Spring. If not for winter snows, so many plants would be unable to rest and grow.
Winter is what ensures the strong survive, and the weak pass away peacefully in the cold. When the snows melt, it encourages the rot of last seasons' leaves, the renewal of the soil, the water that grows the new plants.
Winter is both life and death.
Cynthia is life and she is death.
She is a cruel winter.
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