" 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧! "
Life is not a fixed, predetermined thing, but instead a dramatic performance. Hogwarts is his stage, the students are his audience - and the new transfer student, Ju...
The perception of time depends on the thinker. Is it circular, vertical, or horizontal—forwards and back? It even depends on the field. Is time simply the progression of everything, the measure of motion and 'before' and 'after.' Or does the definition of time depend entirely on the object's velocity relative to the observer? The term is gravitational time dilation: an object falling into a black hole slows the closer it draws to it, taking an infinite amount of time to reach it. Can you separate the onlooker from the event?
None of that mattered at the moment. The sun's rays touched the girl next—and before it reached her the moonlight did, the soft grass below her, the water nearby that pushed forward and receded, the hare that brushed past her at one point, the sound of the songbirds' chirps, and metal between her ribs. There was a rhythm to it. This had happened before.
After all that the cities would fall into the sea, the sun would rise in the west, and some books, flung open by the strong winds, would have their pages blank. All of that would come later. But now there was only a girl, and it took an hour for her to begin to breathe.
She opened her eyes. The world turned.
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋
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Every person was made of the following things: an appetite, a deep-seated desire, good reasoning or otherwise, thoughts, and old relationships.
Some of the most twisted relationships were between old friends—those who have watched each other, loved each other and grown close to the point where they lived inside the other. Their proximity, both physical and emotional, caused them to join and melt. As a result, there came false encouragement, false pity, innuendos upon innuendos, destructive jealousy, and the use of previous trauma in new arguments. A habit formed. A pattern, a trend. Ancient, mental libraries were filled with stories of girls born in meadows who stood up and thought of one thing before anything else: to find the capital's train station (or airport, if there wasn't the former), and wait.
The girl was naked but there was a red cloak in the hollow of a nearby tree, and she put it on without thinking too deeply about its origins and its purpose. She was operating on autopilot now; anything else would have caused her stomach to churn.
She couldn't discern her raison d'être nor any memories before the field. She only allowed herself to reflect once she found a map in a tourist gift shop.
"Estavayer-le-Lac, Suisse; 1976." The problem with this country was that Switzerland lacked a specific capital, therefore her journey's end could be absolutely anywhere. There were roughly nine contenders, which only increased the difficulty of her task. The nearest partial-capital was Neuchâtel, but she discarded that option since Bern was quite close and more important. The problem was that she was sure she didn't speak a word of German. To test this assumption, she greeted a tourist and received an incomprehensible speech in return. The time it would take to reach Lausanne was shorter. Roughly nine hours by foot. Three by bicycle. Only one if she found a station.
