BAD LUCK BLACK! ─── Harry Potter

xix. The Sea Consumes

     Cold. Like a gelid sea, Lorelei is submerged. A flagrant chill that aspirates in her lungs. She feels the breath pulled from her; she can see the thin trails of tactile breath toiling from her lips. With grace, the corporeal figurante glides distantly, and it abandons her. She cannot breathe. Her flesh is tainted by its glacial touch. Above all else, it is foreign.

    This icy temptress lulls the insanity in her fragile mind. Memories crack and crumble like icicles shattering upon vast caverns. They waltz, the danseuses. Lorelei is subjected to the shameful dance of remembrance. Painfully, she feels nodes pinning her eyelids open, always seeing. No escaping what is to come. They sting from this wintery mix. There is nothing more damning than a thesis of reminiscence.

     Lorelei is chained, even still, with the weight of every breath and being.

     In her hands, Lorelei fiddles with an aureate chain. The links are tarnished, naturally and by her lack of care. At the base is a mineral, which she has long forgotten. Though it is enrapturing with its silky luster and the rich browns stripped across the surface. When the light catches it, the specks of gold ignite like a pool of melted chocolate. The crystal's fragile, and it rests within a simple pendant. Spidery brass claws hold it firmly in place. There is nothing special about it.

     And yet, it means everything to Lorelei. Or it did.

     Her flesh is burnt by its touch. Redness clings to where it used to lie. Soon, it will scab, but it might never heal. With strength, Lorelei yanks the weighty chain from her neck. Forthwith, a lightness flutters inside of her. A freeness she associates with soft plumes of dandelions bespeckling a blue horizon.

     Lorelei stares at the crystal, the ovular piece of earth. She wants to glare, but she's tired. Oh, she's tired. By body and mind. In the glimmering puddles of umber, the danseuses resume their practiced waltzes. Without fail, Lorelei painstakingly attempted hooking this necklace to her; the clasp was always so small, and her nails too short. Still, despite the frustration, she wore it proudly. It brought her comfort.

     On the days she'd forgotten it, things had gone wrong. Gum would adhere to her shoes, uncouth birds would leer at her; she'd cross paths with spider's webs. A stationary cloud would rain upon her, and she'd bask in the dreariness. Those days, it felt like a matter of life or death, like a part of her had been severed. Lorelei doesn't feel that. Now, she feels whole.

"Here. I got this for you."

     No. She shuts her eyes . . . A skillful ballerina can dance with their eyes closed.

"It isn't much, I know. But I thought it matched the other one—the bear."

A young Lorelei eagerly ripped open a small parcel. The paper was a doleful brown, and it was lined by tan twine. She smiled; several of her teeth were missing. Under all that pesky wrapping, Lorelei pulled out . . . another box. She frowned.

"Open it," someone laughed.

She didn't protest. Inside, behind tissues and foam, was a necklace. Lorelei gasped. Eagerly, she tore it from its protection and cradled it in her palms.

Another laugh.

     Lorelei winces.

Confusedly, she ran her finger down the smooth surface of the mineral.

"It's called tiger's eye."

Now, she's befuddled. "What's that?