Post by Deleted on Jun 15, 2014 4:27:40 GMT -5
vera irene blenkinsop
CANON OR ORIGINAL: original
AGE: eighteen going nineteen (born January 3rd)
FACE CLAIM: sophie turner
YEAR: n/a (homeschooled)
HOUSE: n/a
OCCUPATION: tomes & scrolls owner
BLOOD TYPE: pureblood squib
WAND TYPE: n/a
PETS: a snow owl
ABILITIES: n/a
freestyle
Being the first born of the Yaxley, you were meant to be something great, like all the Yaxley's before you.
Since you shed your first tear, you had been familiar to people praising and admiring you, even if it was only because of your background. You used to blush when they told you that you were smart beyond your age, that you were prettier than all the rose buds in your mother's garden, that one day you would make your Mum and Dad so proud. Sometimes, people have to make things up, either for politeness or their own benefits. The lies being repeated too many times would automatically become the truth, or a belief, like the mathematicians' belief in Euclid Theorem and the Christians' belief in Jesus. It was fierce as fire and solid was soil. Gradually, you started to believe what the world told you about your future. Your life was easily planned out when you were only five years old: showing magic at the age of six or seven, going to Hogwarts at eleven, graduating at seventeen, becoming a ministry worker at eighteen, getting married with a fine gentleman at twenty, having your first kid at twenty-two, and dying in wealth at very old age.
You pushed yourself to learn everything to prepare for that future. You could read and write at five. You did not allow yourself to run wild like other kids at six. You liked to wear pretty dresses and learned to make them at seven. You behaved properly like the little lady that you were. You knew well who you were and you lived up to your name. Everything that you needed was a sign.
A sign of magic.
Your mother anxiously looked at you in search of a prominent change. Your father sometimes pressed a rose bud in your hand and asked you to make it blossom. But all you could do was staring at it until your eyes became watery. Your father told your mother that you still needed time so as to put her mind at ease. All your childhood memories about them was their restlessness, their anxiety and disappointment. You turned eight when the cold of December was slipping away, letting the warmth of Spring spread in. Your birthday began early in the morning with your father waking you up: there was a surprise trip for you. It was a long journey to the country, far away from home. "Were you to get lost, would you be able to find your way back home?" Your father asked so suddenly. Without hesitation, you shook your little pretty head.
It was a dragon farm where they were taking you. The owner came to greet them, but in his voice, there was a lack of enthusiasm. You tried not to notice the pity in his eyes when he looked at you. They told you to think that you were visiting the zoo and not to disturb them as they talked to the man and his wife. Preoccupied with the amazement the dragons brought, you agreed instantly.
[...]
You soon enough turned eleven. Despite the family's hoping, no letter from Hogwarts arrived at your door. They hoped until the very last day of September, when all the kids at your age were getting on the train to Hogwarts where they would learn to be something great.
The train went out of sight, so did all the hopes. You could not explain why the bud did not blossom when you constantly stared at it. You could not explain why the letter never came. You could not explain why you felt so redundant, as though you should not have been born in this world. Your parents started to blame each other for all the things you could not explained.
You did not remember much about what they said, except for the word 'squib'. You was not old enough to understand what it meant, but you were sure it was not something pleasant. At the age of twelve, you were neither a child or an adult. You was stuck in between. You belonged to nowhere.
On the day you turned twelve
Since you shed your first tear, you had been familiar to people praising and admiring you, even if it was only because of your background. You used to blush when they told you that you were smart beyond your age, that you were prettier than all the rose buds in your mother's garden, that one day you would make your Mum and Dad so proud. Sometimes, people have to make things up, either for politeness or their own benefits. The lies being repeated too many times would automatically become the truth, or a belief, like the mathematicians' belief in Euclid Theorem and the Christians' belief in Jesus. It was fierce as fire and solid was soil. Gradually, you started to believe what the world told you about your future. Your life was easily planned out when you were only five years old: showing magic at the age of six or seven, going to Hogwarts at eleven, graduating at seventeen, becoming a ministry worker at eighteen, getting married with a fine gentleman at twenty, having your first kid at twenty-two, and dying in wealth at very old age.
You pushed yourself to learn everything to prepare for that future. You could read and write at five. You did not allow yourself to run wild like other kids at six. You liked to wear pretty dresses and learned to make them at seven. You behaved properly like the little lady that you were. You knew well who you were and you lived up to your name. Everything that you needed was a sign.
A sign of magic.
Your mother anxiously looked at you in search of a prominent change. Your father sometimes pressed a rose bud in your hand and asked you to make it blossom. But all you could do was staring at it until your eyes became watery. Your father told your mother that you still needed time so as to put her mind at ease. All your childhood memories about them was their restlessness, their anxiety and disappointment. You turned eight when the cold of December was slipping away, letting the warmth of Spring spread in. Your birthday began early in the morning with your father waking you up: there was a surprise trip for you. It was a long journey to the country, far away from home. "Were you to get lost, would you be able to find your way back home?" Your father asked so suddenly. Without hesitation, you shook your little pretty head.
It was a dragon farm where they were taking you. The owner came to greet them, but in his voice, there was a lack of enthusiasm. You tried not to notice the pity in his eyes when he looked at you. They told you to think that you were visiting the zoo and not to disturb them as they talked to the man and his wife. Preoccupied with the amazement the dragons brought, you agreed instantly.
[...]
You soon enough turned eleven. Despite the family's hoping, no letter from Hogwarts arrived at your door. They hoped until the very last day of September, when all the kids at your age were getting on the train to Hogwarts where they would learn to be something great.
The train went out of sight, so did all the hopes. You could not explain why the bud did not blossom when you constantly stared at it. You could not explain why the letter never came. You could not explain why you felt so redundant, as though you should not have been born in this world. Your parents started to blame each other for all the things you could not explained.
You did not remember much about what they said, except for the word 'squib'. You was not old enough to understand what it meant, but you were sure it was not something pleasant. At the age of twelve, you were neither a child or an adult. You was stuck in between. You belonged to nowhere.
On the day you turned twelve
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HEY MY NAME IS ANISE, AND I ALSO PLAY A LOT OF OTER CHARACTERS. I FOUND THE SITE THROUGH MEANS HERE.
TEMPLATE BY ELIZA @ SHADOWPLAY & RCR