Accalia Hope Lupin-Black (Or Black-Lupin) Daughter of Cassandra Lupin and Regulus Black. Has her mum's joy but with her dad's anger. As kindhearted as her mum, but as cunning as her dad. Her dad's loyalty, and her mum's short-temper. Her dad's arti...
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❝ 𝐒𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝. ❞
─────𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞
TW: mentions of vomiting, dumbledick, mentions of being disgusted at selfs scars
Being rudely, and aggressively, shook awake from an awful nightmare that will soon become reality pretty much sets up how Accalia's day will be going.
Especially since the person shaking her awake shouldn't be able to touch her at all, or interact with the living.
Accalia's eyes flew open, a hand on her chest as she tried to calm her heartbeat before putting it over the scar Bellatrix gave her after murdering her mum. Her eyes immediately found Dorcas' sad and worried ones as the woman removed her hands from her shoulders and sat down.
"Did—did you wake me?" Accalia asked breathlessly.
"You were screaming and shaking and crying," Dorcas said, not with pity, but understanding.
"I realized that," she said bitterly before wincing. She wiped under her eyes as she apologized.
Dorcas waved it off, "Marls used to come back to the flat and try to argue with me for hours after Order crap just to get frustrations out. Want to tell me what your nightmare was about?"
Accalia moved uncomfortably as she sat up and against her headboard. "You can, um...you can go like check on people in your ghostly weird way, right?"
"Yes..." Dorcas looked at her confused. "Why do you ask?"
"I, uh. Can you make sure Estelle and Sirius are okay?" Accalia whispered, picking at the blanket Antonio gave her last year.
Dorcas nodded and gave her a wink, "I'll be right back."
Accalia let out a low breath. She quietly got out of her bed and practically tiptoed her way to the bathroom. Quietly closing the door, she turned to the mirror above the sink and traced the scar on her cheek.
"Sierra," Accalia said quietly, looking at herself through the mirror. "Sierra, please..."
'I'm sorry, my child'
The manic laughter rang through her mind like an annoying ballerina in a jewelry box, ring over and over again. She had managed to get rid of it, hide it in all the little cracks of her mind, overshadowing it by lesser trauma, but it's escaped and fought it's way right to the front.
