Post by AISLING EUGENIE DOLOHOV on Aug 29, 2014 7:45:32 GMT -5
SAY SOMETHING
The night was mild with the bright moon hung upon the dark skies. It was cold and dark in the new headquarter where all the young followers of Black Army were summoned. There was not much talking, though you could still here them whispering cautiously about what was about to happen. They had found the traitor.
Among the crowd sat a young girl with her face hidden behind her dark curls. Her face looked young yet her eyes showed far older age than her appearance could tell. She seemed to be lost in the mass of teenagers discussing the reason why they were called to the headquarter. At the corner of her brown eyes, she saw some haughtiness and nervousness in people's smiles. She could felt curiosity in the way they spoke. She blinked, gazing the space before her until her eyes fell upon a figure sitting in the front row. All she could see was his broad shoulders and his curly bronze hair. He was still and quiet like a statue, cold and expressionless like a stone. When it came to Black Army business, Drew Reinhardt always looked so serious that Aisling forgot that he had such an odd sense of humour, too. The Drew she saw at the ball with that Hufflepuff girl, who was one year younger and two times prettier than her, and the Drew she was looking at today had nothing alike.
But then, her attention came back to herself again when she heard them talking about the traitor. The serpent among them. And it was said that he had been found. A 'he', much to her surprise. Still her heart was racing in her chest so fast that she tried hard to keep her breath steady lest others could hear its pounding like drumbeats. The serpent among serpents? It should sound hilarious. For the record, those people sitting there could be considered to be anything but innocent. Innocence was a luxury they could not afford to possess. Aisling Dolohov looked like a typical young member of this dark force – young, fierce, fiery, ambitious – except she was not, because inside her there was also sentiment – the chemical defect found in the losing side in a battle.
All the smiles died out when a high-ranking, senior commander of the Army made her entrance in the room. The atmosphere was so intense that it started to suffocate every courage one could manage to have. The woman's sharp eyes scanned the room for a few seconds, and Aisling did her best not to avoid the gaze. She was not to show her nervousness, she had promised herself, and Drew that she would take care of herself. And she would not die until she was dead. No one said a word for nearly two minutes – which was possibly the longest two-minute period she had ever known. Then the woman cleared her throat to capture everyone's attention, even though they were all in the position to stuff in their head everything she had to say and not to miss a single word coming out of her unnaturally red lips. ”Many of you may have guessed why we are here today.” The little speech commenced. ”We all have been aware of the fact that there was a traitor among us. An idiot who did not know what we were capable of, or what he was not capable of. Underestimating our mistress is the last thing each and every one of you would want to do, young bloods. Remember youth is not your only problem. Those hedious and filthy mudbloods out there are your problems. The disorder of this wizarding world which allows impurity in our world is your problem. And keep it in mind, you will never ever want the Black Army to be one of your problems, because we will take good care of you before you can solve it.”
It was so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. And it felt as though breathing was a crime in such an intense situation. The woman flipped her fingers and someone went in with a flat tray. On the tray lay an old wand, which looked unusually familiar to Aisling. She could have sworn she had seen it before. More than once. Before the truth was revealed, the girl already felt as though something was squeezing her heart. It hurt like an instict. “What represents a wizard?” The woman asked in her low voice.
”His wand.” Someone answered hesitantly.
“And what does it mean when his wand is taken from him?” Another question was brought up.
“He's... dead.”
She was still alive. Aisling Dolohov was still alive, unharmed. So they still had no idea that she was the traitor. Then who was the traitor that had taken the consequences for her deed? “This wand belonged to Thomas Reinhardt, whose heart has stopped beating and whose tongue has stopped saying things he should not have said to people he should not have seen.” A cold smile grew on her lips as her fingers stroked the wand. Then, without a warning, she broke the wand into two, expressionlessly like she was breaking the hard shell of an egg.
That very moment, Aisling felt as though she was paralysed. She had toungue but she could not speak, she had feet but she could not run, she had hands but she could not stop the woman from destroying the wand – Thomas's wand. She sat there, eyes widened, speechless, breathless, emotionless. Memories rushed back to her mind, flooded her in pain and fears – memories of the man who had always loved her like a daughter. When she was very little, he would swing her into the air whenever he came to visit, he would let her dance on his thighs and piggy-back her around the room. He would tell Drew off when he made her cry and protect her from her father's wrath when she did something wrong. The wise man that she knew now lay still two feet under the surface. This was wrong. She was supposed to be the one who lay there and the one whose wand had been broken five minutes ago. What was happening? Were these Black Army people losing their minds? She wanted to scream out that they had been idiots and killed the wrong person, but the sake of cowardice kept her lips shut. The woman spoke again and drew her attention. “I would like to acknowledge someone for having done such an uneasy job. Would you mind stepping up, Drew?” Now all eyes were on the bronze-haired boy who had been sitting so quietly for the last hour. Some of them gasped in profound surprise. And one of them was squeezing her chair to keep the tears to herself. “Brave young man, we are very proud of you, for what you have done is not an easy job to accomplish. It must have been hard for you to cast the curse on your own father, but I'll tell you no one has ever performed that curse more perfectly at your age than you did. Good job, Drew.”
Good job, Drew. Drew Reinhardt. Thomas Reinhardt. Good job, Drew. That curse. Uneasy job. Brave young man. Good job, Drew.
tag: @drew
note: feelsssssss!
Among the crowd sat a young girl with her face hidden behind her dark curls. Her face looked young yet her eyes showed far older age than her appearance could tell. She seemed to be lost in the mass of teenagers discussing the reason why they were called to the headquarter. At the corner of her brown eyes, she saw some haughtiness and nervousness in people's smiles. She could felt curiosity in the way they spoke. She blinked, gazing the space before her until her eyes fell upon a figure sitting in the front row. All she could see was his broad shoulders and his curly bronze hair. He was still and quiet like a statue, cold and expressionless like a stone. When it came to Black Army business, Drew Reinhardt always looked so serious that Aisling forgot that he had such an odd sense of humour, too. The Drew she saw at the ball with that Hufflepuff girl, who was one year younger and two times prettier than her, and the Drew she was looking at today had nothing alike.
But then, her attention came back to herself again when she heard them talking about the traitor. The serpent among them. And it was said that he had been found. A 'he', much to her surprise. Still her heart was racing in her chest so fast that she tried hard to keep her breath steady lest others could hear its pounding like drumbeats. The serpent among serpents? It should sound hilarious. For the record, those people sitting there could be considered to be anything but innocent. Innocence was a luxury they could not afford to possess. Aisling Dolohov looked like a typical young member of this dark force – young, fierce, fiery, ambitious – except she was not, because inside her there was also sentiment – the chemical defect found in the losing side in a battle.
All the smiles died out when a high-ranking, senior commander of the Army made her entrance in the room. The atmosphere was so intense that it started to suffocate every courage one could manage to have. The woman's sharp eyes scanned the room for a few seconds, and Aisling did her best not to avoid the gaze. She was not to show her nervousness, she had promised herself, and Drew that she would take care of herself. And she would not die until she was dead. No one said a word for nearly two minutes – which was possibly the longest two-minute period she had ever known. Then the woman cleared her throat to capture everyone's attention, even though they were all in the position to stuff in their head everything she had to say and not to miss a single word coming out of her unnaturally red lips. ”Many of you may have guessed why we are here today.” The little speech commenced. ”We all have been aware of the fact that there was a traitor among us. An idiot who did not know what we were capable of, or what he was not capable of. Underestimating our mistress is the last thing each and every one of you would want to do, young bloods. Remember youth is not your only problem. Those hedious and filthy mudbloods out there are your problems. The disorder of this wizarding world which allows impurity in our world is your problem. And keep it in mind, you will never ever want the Black Army to be one of your problems, because we will take good care of you before you can solve it.”
It was so quiet that you could have heard a pin drop. And it felt as though breathing was a crime in such an intense situation. The woman flipped her fingers and someone went in with a flat tray. On the tray lay an old wand, which looked unusually familiar to Aisling. She could have sworn she had seen it before. More than once. Before the truth was revealed, the girl already felt as though something was squeezing her heart. It hurt like an instict. “What represents a wizard?” The woman asked in her low voice.
”His wand.” Someone answered hesitantly.
“And what does it mean when his wand is taken from him?” Another question was brought up.
“He's... dead.”
She was still alive. Aisling Dolohov was still alive, unharmed. So they still had no idea that she was the traitor. Then who was the traitor that had taken the consequences for her deed? “This wand belonged to Thomas Reinhardt, whose heart has stopped beating and whose tongue has stopped saying things he should not have said to people he should not have seen.” A cold smile grew on her lips as her fingers stroked the wand. Then, without a warning, she broke the wand into two, expressionlessly like she was breaking the hard shell of an egg.
That very moment, Aisling felt as though she was paralysed. She had toungue but she could not speak, she had feet but she could not run, she had hands but she could not stop the woman from destroying the wand – Thomas's wand. She sat there, eyes widened, speechless, breathless, emotionless. Memories rushed back to her mind, flooded her in pain and fears – memories of the man who had always loved her like a daughter. When she was very little, he would swing her into the air whenever he came to visit, he would let her dance on his thighs and piggy-back her around the room. He would tell Drew off when he made her cry and protect her from her father's wrath when she did something wrong. The wise man that she knew now lay still two feet under the surface. This was wrong. She was supposed to be the one who lay there and the one whose wand had been broken five minutes ago. What was happening? Were these Black Army people losing their minds? She wanted to scream out that they had been idiots and killed the wrong person, but the sake of cowardice kept her lips shut. The woman spoke again and drew her attention. “I would like to acknowledge someone for having done such an uneasy job. Would you mind stepping up, Drew?” Now all eyes were on the bronze-haired boy who had been sitting so quietly for the last hour. Some of them gasped in profound surprise. And one of them was squeezing her chair to keep the tears to herself. “Brave young man, we are very proud of you, for what you have done is not an easy job to accomplish. It must have been hard for you to cast the curse on your own father, but I'll tell you no one has ever performed that curse more perfectly at your age than you did. Good job, Drew.”
Good job, Drew. Drew Reinhardt. Thomas Reinhardt. Good job, Drew. That curse. Uneasy job. Brave young man. Good job, Drew.
tag: @drew
note: feelsssssss!
TEMPLATE BY ELIZA @ Delusional & SP
