اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
اوووه! هذه الصورة لا تتبع إرشادات المحتوى الخاصة بنا. لمتابعة النشر، يرجى إزالتها أو تحميل صورة أخرى.
𝟗𝐭𝐡 𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑
Recovering from a nightmare was the toughest healing process. For Calypso it was going through the seven stages of grief. It was like an unending reminder of what she really is. A savage. A bastard. A misfit. No matter how hard she tries to fit in the puzzle, she will never fit. Fear, blood, and bitter war was soaking her skin and soul, rendering her innocence dead and deceased in the hands of mortal flesh made by gods before her. Despite his straying mind, Harry accepted the short giving's in life like a candle burning off its wax, slowly and effectively. The reminder of having to watch someone die was like stabbing him numb. He was done with playing pawn, but he couldn't even fight his own thoughts. How can he save people when he can't save himself? Was he the smoke of the candle? The product of the burning fire that can only render someone to gasp for air.
They were like in a game. Gaining knowledge to grow. The long process of forging themselves from stick and stone until they wield themselves with gold and gems. In the end, the game will require innocence.
Like a pattern, Calypso Black entered the Potter Library with a downcast expression. Her gaze was worn down, exhausted and darkening with the lack of her even non-existence sleep. Soundlessly as possible, she made her way to her brother who was laid over the plush cream couch in front of the fire place with a book hovering over his face. His eyes was moving reading a passage before he wordlessly and wandlessly turn to another page. She slipped down on the floor, pressing her back on the couch and laying her King book on her lap.
