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chapter one. the sorrow we knew ! word count. 3042 !
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THE END OF SOLSTICE BROUGHT PERFECTION. Every midsummer, Erienne would drink in the beauty of everything, an elixir of tang. The grass was sparkling, creating opalescent scenes from the morning ersa and the sun's visible rays. The dust was floating and almost gave the illusion of snow in the August heat. The window was drenched in an display of opaque curtains, giving the sky a blockage of ivory. T'was a hazy cerulean, although the sunlight gave a golden tint. The clouds moved rapidly, creating teacups and dragons, shifting in the blink of an eye.
The lotus ridden pond rippled from the draft and created small waves, lapping over green toad stomachs. Electric blue dragonflies flew overhead. A lime green hummingbird hovered over the multiple willow and oak trees in the yard. Moving its wings at a rapid pace, it appeared to fly to the open window. It was a beautiful painting, strokes accentuating every detail. A shade for every element. Framed with aureate and hung inside a duplicate.
The real house stood, covered in brick, a childhood dream house. Inside, a body was visible, covered in an ivory cotton comforter. Cascades of silky black hair messily spread out into the pillow, creating an ethereal halo over the face. Her eyes were open, and a range of emotions was detectable through the hickory iris. Enne had been awake for the entire night, twisting the latch on her window continuously and sitting on the rough texture of her roof. She stayed stargazing and observing every crook and cranny on the moon. Accompanied with the radio and bottles of liquor. The music flowed out the speakers, tuning in muggle music, and she waved to 'song about me' and 'lovers rock', her nightie flowing ringlets around her, like a goddess dancing through the stars. Could you guess her favorite band?
The alcohol made her drunkenly recite poetry and ballads, chaotically scribbling verses in the worn out notebook. It was a creative liberty, the romantic notes, moonlight, and bitter taste made another heaven. It wasn't wise to drink before the first day of Hogwarts, but it would have been worse to not. Not the hangover which the girl had grown used to, but everything else. For the past weeks, maybe even months, nights had a different meaning than waiting for the adventures of the next day, as she expected when she was a child. They would instead be drowning in tears and panic. For the newspaper headlines and killings made her mind ( and magic ) a nightmare. Voldemort was on the rise and every inch of her was cowering in melancholy.
