𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄; ʜᴘ (𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃)

𝟎𝟏𝟒; ᴍᴏᴏɴʟɪᴛ ʟɪᴇs

REGULUS STEEPED INTO his dormitory, the silence greeted him with a somber embrace. The air was still, and a sense of emptiness pervaded the space.

Regulus' eyes darted around the room, scanning the familiar territory. His gaze lingered on Sephtis' side of the chamber, drawn to the pristine desk that was always kept in immaculate condition. The polished surface gleamed in the dim light, a reflection of Sephtis' fastidious nature.

But amidst the usual order, Regulus' sharp eye caught sight of a strange object that was out of place. A book, its cover worn and ragged, lay on Sephtis' desk. It was a curious sight, for Sephtis was not one to leave anything amiss.

'Stalker.' Sephtis thought.

Regulus' curiosity piqued, he approached the desk and gingerly picked up the book. As his fingers traced the faded letters on the cover, he felt a shiver run down his spine. What secrets lay within the pages of this tome? What had Sephtis been studying in solitude?

The Prince by Niccolò Machiavelli lay in Regulus' hands, a relic from a world unknown to him. The title embossed on the cover in faded gold letters, spoke of a time and place far removed from his own.

'Oh right. Too good for muggle books.'

It was a book that Regulus had never heard of, written by an author whose name was foreign to him. He couldn't help but wonder if it was a muggle book, for it was something that a pureblood like him would never read. But it was also something that a muggle born like Sephtis would.

Muggleborn? Yeah they know he is far from that.

Regulus held the book delicately, as if it were a precious artifact. The black leather binding was worn and frayed at the edges, a testament to the book's age and history.

As Regulus flipped through the pages, he saw that the book was not only ancient, but also well used. The margins were filled with Sephtis' elegant cursive writing, each word a testament to the young wizard's intellectual prowess. The ink had faded with time, but the words were still clear, a testament to the impact that the book had made on Sephtis.

The pages shown before them is adorned with a mesmerizing display of Sephtis's handwriting. It is a testament to his refined taste and elegance, a cursive scrawl that exudes a regal aura. Each stroke of the quil is deliberate and precise, yet fluid and graceful. It is a style of handwriting that is reserved for those of high status, a signature of his aristocratic upbringing.

They are struck by the intricate details and the way the letters flow seamlessly into one another. It is almost as if the words are dancing before their eyes, each one perfectly placed to create a symphony of beauty. Yet, despite its ornate nature, it is still difficult to read. Only those who possess a discerning eye and a keen intellect can decipher its secrets.

Though , just like Sephtis himself, it is impossible to deny the allure of his handwriting. It is a reflection of the man, a work of art that captures his essence. It is a reminder that Sephtis is not just a person, but a force of nature, one that commands respect and admiration wherever he goes.

As they gaze upon his handwriting, they cannot help but feel a sense of awe and wonder. It is a rare gift, one that only a select few possess. And yet, Sephtis wields it with ease, effortlessly creating a masterpiece with each stroke of his pen. It is a reminder that sometimes, the greatest works of art are not found in museums or galleries, but in the everyday things that surround them.

Regulus couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder and awe as he held the book. It was as though he had stumbled upon a long-lost treasure, a relic from a world that he had never known. And yet, in Sephtis' annotations, he saw a window into that world, a glimpse of a mind that was both brilliant and mysterious.