petrichor ; harry potter

2.0 | kalon

Kalon
beauty that is more than skin-deep.

December 24, 2000

They stepped into the cold building. The smell was something Ciana would never forget. The smell of death lingered in the air, casually. It reminded her of the war.

Mrs. Cressida held onto her hand, squeezing it here and there; Reminding her that she's here. They walked to the reception, the Welcome Witch, Mi, writing something down.

Mrs. Cressida coughed and Mi looked up, stopping her writing. "Hello, are you here to see someone or check-in?" She took out a clipboard, getting them ready.

"See someone."

Mi nodded and put the clipboard away, looking at the two women in front of her. By the looks on their faces, it seemed like it wasn't a good visit. Mi swallowed her pity, "Who?"

"Dante Cressida," Mrs. Cressida blinked and sighed.

"Okay..."Mi trailed off, looking through her files for the name. When she found it, she took it out, and looked through it quickly, "So, he's on the second floor, left-wing, room 20...as you know...you would know the room...yes yes..." She started to list things to herself under her breath. Ciana chewed on her bottom lip. When Mi finally looked up she didn't notice how fidgety the women were, "You may go. He was already checked out earlier today, and seemed in good enough shape to have visitors," She paused and gulped, "I'm very sorry."

They nodded and tried their hardest to give a smile. Mrs. Cressida took Cianas's hand and started to pull them away. Ciana let out a quick "Thank you," before following behind her mother.

They walked the steps up to the second floor, and to the left to their fathers' room. They stood outside for a moment. No movement. It was like they were paralyzed, not able to move, not able to breathe or cry. They weren't able to think, think about what was happening in that room. Who was in that room? Denial at its finest. It would become too real for them. For her.

"We—We should go in..."Ciana cleared her throat, hanging onto her mothers' arms like it was her only lifeline.

"Yes...yes, we should," With that, Mrs. Cressida turned the doorknob and the door creaked open. Alerting the occupants of the room. Mr. Cressida was laying on the hospital bed, his head rested lazily on the pillow, and his right hand outstretched. He looked sick and exhausted. His cheeks were hollowed, and his skin was green. Ciana had to look away.

There was a healer at the end of the bed, going through his stats. He looked up as they walked in, and he gave a weak smile and put the clipboard down. "Hello, I'm Paskal, Dante's healer. He's doing well today. He's up for talking today, so...I'll leave you to it." Paskal gave them a nod and left the room. It was quiet.

Mr. Cressida's labored breathing making up for the silence. Mrs. Cressida gulped and let go of her daughter's hand to walk over to the side of his bed. She moved a chair and sat down, taking his hand. He took a deep breath and looked up, trying to smile at his wife. "Hello, my love," Mrs. Cressida moved his hair out of his eyes, "How are you?"

"As—As good as e-ever," He coughed, and Mrs. Cressida let out a soft chuckle. Ciana kept her stare to the floor, she couldn't move, even if she wanted to. Mr. Cressida moved his head with a wince, looking at his daughter, "Ciana?" She kept her stare to the floor, she couldn't look at him. "Darling? Look—Look at me," He coughed, "Please."