In which the untold story of Walburga Black unfolds.
She was a witch before she was a wife, mother, and cruel woman.
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"You failed as a mother; I failed as a son. Can you sit here truthfully, and say you love me? Look in my eyes, and say that you...
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The wedding dress was tight—too tight, she thought to herself as her aunt helped her into it.
As Walburga stood before the mirror, her reflection adorned in ivory lace and silk, she couldn't help but catch a glimpse of the woman she had become. The veil framed her face, adding an air of solemnity to the occasion.
"You look beautiful, Walburga," Melania said as she took a step back to marvel at her canvas. She had come early to help her niece get ready.
The room was filled with a mixture of nerves and excitement, and the scent of the roses seemed to intensify as the moment approached.
It surprised Walburga, who had planned to get ready alone. However, her company was welcomed as Melania used her wand to charm Walburga's long raven hair into light curls.
"I wish I could say your mother would be proud - but we both know that woman was never one to care for you."
Walburga's eyes met Melania's in the mirror, a flicker of sadness crossing her features at the mention of her mother.
"I've long since accepted that, Aunt Melania," Walburga replied with a trace of resignation.
Melania, though, was undeterred by the somber note. With a gentle smile, she continued her work, adding a final touch to the elegant ensemble.
The wedding dress, a symbol of tradition and familial expectations, clung to Walburga's form. It was not exactly white - not thinking herself not fit to wear a pure white dress she chose her grandmother's dress - its Ivory lace was intricately made by witches that lived on the outskirts of Ireland.
Melania, with a cigarette in hand, lit it before her eyes captured Walburga's through the mirror.
Exhaling smoke, she spoke with a measured intensity, "Remember who you are when faced with heartache; never let him win in that stance."
After a moment of thoughtful consideration, Walburga responded "I know who I am, and I know the man I will marry. You need not remind me, after all, he is the son you bore."
The cigarette continued to release thin tendrils of smoke, creating a momentary haze around Melania's figure.
She took a slow drag before replying, "That boy will break your heart if you let him, need I remind you how this family has treated its women in the past - your mother?"
"I am simply trying to help you, you must remember you are a Black - you did not marry into this forsaken family, you were born into it; you know how to play the game. I know my son and, I know how cold he is capable of being."
The smell of cigarettes filled the room as the two of the last Black women stood in a silent understanding.
