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･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.
LYDIA FLETCHER BEGINS HER day with an overwhelming panic.
It consumes her so suddenly and violently like a raging storm looming over her that she feels as if her entire world has been shocked frozen. This is only because she knows for a fact that, as always, hidden behind the cover of a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard (a cherished relic from her childhood that brought her solace) at the bottom of her trunk at the end of her bed under a pile of folded clothes she had yet to unpack is a royal blue pouch made of the softest silk material, embroidered with tiny flecks of shimmering golden stars. It had been a gift from her grandmother when she was just a child, not quite sure yet how to put it to use. It would treasure jewelry and coins and other forgotten trinkets for a handful of years until one day Lydia wrote a letter that would never be sent and tucked it away in the pouch's cosmos. Over time, the letters would grow in number, each detailing an influx of emotions and intense infatuation that felt as if, in that moment, they would never fade. It was just that writing her words and pouring her heart out on paper seemed a whole lot easier than voicing the truth out loud when sometimes she did not want to speak it. When sometimes she knew that the passion in her heart was just a fleeting burning wildfire that would soon fizzle into nothingness, and saved her from the pain of a heartbreak.
It was a source of comfort, and the secret of it being there poised itself as a sense of security. It is why normally she would not think twice of looking for them, because no one except for one other person knew of their existence. But on that fateful day, when Lydia had woken up rather late and had frantically been getting ready for her second day back at school, she had resorted to trifling through the trunk's contents in search of an extra jumper only to discover that the book had been moved, left open with the pouch in disarray.
And, just like that, the letters were gone.
Years of unrequited feelings and pent up emotions locked in her heart now exposed to the world, some old and faded and some more recent and stronger in desire. Gone.
Foolishly, she had thought that maybe she still had a chance. That maybe the universe hadn't shamed her too harshly, and the letters hadn't been sent. She had spent nearly half an hour rummaging through the trunk, around the empty dorm, through her wardrobe, in her suitcase, under her bed, desperately hoping to find the letters had been discarded elsewhere in a close proximity but they were not. And, favouring not to earn a detention on her second day back to school, Lydia takes off hastily towards the Great Hall.
Typically, the brazen brunette can be found always with her friends, surrounded by an aura of whimsical enchantment and a beaming smile laced with a type of joy that seemed to never be thwarted even on the gloomiest of days. But today, when she sinks into an empty spot on the bench at the Ravenclaw table across from her best friend, the usual spark in her eye is clouded by sheer panic. Phoebe Cauldwell notices this. Her shock of honey brown locks surround her heart-shaped dark face in a perfectly curled mane, and her glossy eyes rimmed with a light coat of mascara stares back at her curiously after lifting from a heavy looking textbook. Around her, the hall is saturated with eager chatter and bubbling laughter, tables filled with plates of delectable goods from eggs prepared every which way, sausage, bacon, ham, cereal, oatmeal, pancakes, waffles, and fruit. Lydia picks at none of it, instead pouring herself a cup of black steaming coffee and downing it in one gulp.
