o. a rose equals chaos

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COUNTING STARS   
»»————- act one. young, wild & free
PROLOGUE━━ a rose equals chaos

 young, wild & freePROLOGUE━━ a rose equals chaos

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ᵒ .༄ ࿐ ࿔* ✨🌙💫
♯ ❝ANY HOUSE WOULD BE
PROUD TO HAVE YOU! ❞
⋆⋅ ━━━━ ‧ ༻✩༺ ‧ ━━━━ ⋅⋆

BIRDS CHIPPER A HARMONIC MELODY IN THE EARLY MORNING HOURS, THE SUN JUST APPEARING IN THE ORANGE TINTED SKY in Tinworth, England on September first. Morning light peeked through the idyllic baby blue curtains in a small and cosy bedroom located on the second floor with a beautiful view of a colourful garden. And inside, a young child with wild chestnut coloured hair strewn over her pillow slept soundlessly—at least for the moment.

As much as their surroundings had been tranquil in the little suburban street, it could not often be said that the Rose family of three (--and two cats ) fitted into that peaceful spectrum. Not with a father, as blundering and uncoordinated as Cardell was. The amount of happy little accidents, as the man preferred to call them, that took place on a day were impossible to trace, even if her mother did try. Lilith normally gave up counting after lunch.

And this peaceful morning would be no different as cursing sounded from downstairs, accompanied by the irritating noise of the fire alarm ringing loudly through the home—again.

With a deep sigh eleven year old Annabelle Rose sat up in her bed, her wide chocolate brown eyes glistering in the light as she blinked quickly trying to wake up fully. With a yawn she pushed the soft grey coloured duvet aside, the cold morning air sending a shiver down her spine. It wasn't until she stood up, that the little eleven year old realised what day it was when her gaze settled on her packed trunk next to her bedroom door.

With newfound energy Annabelle stood, pyjama-clad body rushing down the stairs, skipping steps as she went before jumping down the last few with a huge smile plastered on her face, not even minding the continues blaring of the smoke alarm, knowing with certainty that the cause was her father working his magic with the Muggle stove in the kitchen. Just as she approached the kitchen, the all too familiar banter between her father and mother graced her ears, making the little girl grin as she pushed the door open.

Her mother Lillith, a beautiful woman with gorgeous wavy flowing dark hair, stood with her hands on her hips while her father Cardell, a sturdy and serious looking man (--who was anything but serious.) yet again tried to figure out how the stove worked. It was nothing new for eleven year old Annabelle as she silently said down at the round kitchen table.

Her mother was in fact a Muggle, one who insisted that her father didn't rely on magic for everything and her father, a wizard from a long line of purebloods was everything but familiar with most things Muggle. But there was no lack in trying for the man, as he continued to try his hardest at everything... even if it ended in disasters—quite literally.

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