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chapter nine, unhappy girl
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DAPHNE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT SHE'S thinking when she decides to chase after Lily.
Well, that isn't the wholetruth. She's actually going over all the different scenarios where she'd get to punch James Potter in the face. ( Unfortunately, she'd probably never get to act on it. She isn't very good at fighting people. )
It's eery to see the corridors so empty, the starry night sky winking at her from beyond the stained glass windows. Her arm hair stands on end, an autumnal chill biting at her flesh and raising goosebumps around her freckles. All of the stairs are starting to make her legs ache, too. There are marble busts on every surface that stare her down with blank eyes that seem to follow her no matter where she stands. Spiders spin their webs and the enchanted candles flicker smoothly — fire hazard, much? The portraits are dozing in the safety of their aureate frames, melodramatically scowling at Daphne when she disturbs them with her tiptoeing.
An owl screeches in the distance, making her jump. Her heart pounds in her ribcage and she has the odd feeling at the back of her mind that she's being watched. Every hallway melts into an identical copy of the one before and she finds herself in Theseus' shoes, navigating her way through a never ending labyrinth that's starting to drill a migraine into her head. Silence rings in her ears, the severe lack of noise making her skin crawl.
She's just beginning to wonder if she's lost Lily completely when a muffled whimper echoes from the corridor in front of her. Relief floods through her veins. Daphne spins around a sharp corner, her eyes zeroing in on the unhappy girl cradled upon an uncomfortable stone windowsill.
The amber candlelight glistens on her fiery hair, reddening it against the contrasting black glass behind her. Her pretty pink dress is all wrinkled from the way she's curled up into herself, dusty because of the ancient ledge. She gently traces the condensation on the window with her manicured fingertip as she cries, tear tracks of mascara lingering on her under eyes and cheeks: droplets breaking through the rippling fake blood on her complexion.
