Wizarding Realm -> My mind was flung wide open - found that demons danced inside
Staff
House points
Gryffindor
0471
Hufflepuff
0466
Ravenclaw
0216
Slytherin
0260
Head Students
Prefects
of the months

 
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll

 My mind was flung wide open - found that demons danced inside, Sigurd
Gretchen Kirke-Faust
 Posted: Dec 4 2016, 08:29 AM
Quote

"you come by it honestly, the ugliness inside you"

AGE:
15
YEAR:
5th
HOUSE:
Ravenclaw
CLASH:
Viridian Guild Leader
HEIGHT:
5'
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1052
Rep: 51 pts [ + | - ]

Gretchen Kirke-Faust
© Robin // She/Her
Awards: 72



Asked Tine if I could borrow professor Connor :’D

The only sound in the classroom was the scratching of quills on parchment, every so often interrupted by a sigh or a student scratching their head. Gretchen was seated on the first row, at the desk closest to the door. The tip of her fishtail braid reached her desk as she hunched over the parchment, eagerly writing away. Astronomy wasn’t her best subject, but that only meant she was determined to prepare herself better for these classes. As she continued to fill in her blank star chart, she wistfully thought back to some of the fun astronomy classes, in which they were actually outside, stargazing, or celebrating an equinox. Though as much as she missed those types of classes, she was glad professor Connor was willing to share some of the OWL exercises to make sure his students were well-prepared.


Gretchen straightened up, trying to see her star chart from a different perspective, and was content with what she saw. The Ravenclaw wasn’t the best at math, and her understanding of science left much to be desired, but thanks to her family’s paganism she at least knew most of the stars and constellations by name – and mythology. Astronomy didn’t require one to know the story behind these names, but it didn’t hurt to remember them that way. Once she’d have to start calculating the movements of planets, she usually flunked, but if this exercise was on the OWL exam then Gretchen could at least count on some points. She’d just have to work hard for the math part, because the Faust refused to score less than an Acceptable, and even hoped to get an Exceeds Expectations for this class.


Under her desk, Billy the kneazlecat had found himself a comfortable spot on top of his owner’s leather bag – which practically disappeared under the mountain of fur. He had his tail wrapped around him, and his snout buried between his front paws, hiding the white part of his fur and leaving what looked like a big, fluffy black cushion with ears poking out of it. He only looked up once his witch stirred. In her eagerness to complete the star chart and to be the first student to hand in the assignment, she had accidently knocked over her bottle of ink, and while the girl had been quick to grab it, yanking her parchment to safety with her other hand, her right hand and sleeve were now blotted with black ink.


“Professor?” Her ink-stained hand shot up. “I finished my star chart, could I hand it in and be excused, please? I’d like to go to the bathroom and clean this up, if that would be alright.”


Professor Connor, friendly and understanding as always, nodded and collected her piece of parchment with a smile and a “Thanks, miss Kirke-Faust.”
As the girl rose from her chair, Billy looked up at her with a questioning expression, reluctantly preparing himself to get up too until she motioned for him to stay.
“I’ll be right back,” Gretchen whispered to her cat, and excused herself from the classroom as her fellow fifth years continued working on their assignment.


Gretchen’s robes rustled as she hurried down the stairs, never one to saunter, and entered the nearest bathroom. The very sight of the marble sinks, the bare stone walls and tiled floor seemed to make the room colder, and the witch was grateful for the amount of sweaters, woollen robes, and winter cloaks she owned. As she washed the ink of her hands, the sound of the running water masked the footsteps on the other side of the door. She only realised she had made the mistake of having her back to the door when she heard it creak open.


---
@Sigurd Nilsson

--------------------
user posted image
user posted image
user posted imageuser posted image
PMWebsite
^
Sigurd Nilsson
 Posted: Dec 4 2016, 04:36 PM
Quote

"I keep a close watch on this heart of mine"

AGE:
15
YEAR:
fifth
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Aegis
HEIGHT:
5'7
STATUS:
POSTS:
239
Rep: 13 pts [ + | - ]

Sigurd Nilsson
© Sammeh the savior, the protector, THE GUARDIAN OF HOPE //
Awards: 18



Tine approves of my shameless action of dragging Marco into this <33


Every scratch on parchment was like a metronome: calculated slow strokes with pauses in between. Not because Astronomy was exceptionally difficult; it was like almost any other class Sigurd took: he had to work for it to earn it. Its stuttering movement was only because for once the Slytherin wasn’t exactly focussed on his work, having to remind himself to actually finish his assignment. Instead his mind and eyes kept drifting back to the girl up front like his cat eyeing birds in the garden. Sigurd understood how unnerving the glass wall could be as his knuckles went white around his quill.

A dead Faust was a good Faust, that’s what everyone in the family had always taught each of their children. Sigurd had never put a lot of thought behind it, just accepted it like everything else his elders fed him. Uncle Terje often spoke about them like something that wasn’t entirely human, because they simply couldn’t be. He often did this at family parties with a tongue as bitter as the Akevitt he drank. Uncle Geir, on the other hand, swore their name under his breath like a vile curse whenever something the kids couldn’t understand yet went wrong. His dad just opened up expensive alcohols and the liquids would drip on their obituaries. It was the only reason why they even paid for different kinds of papers.

Now, with Preben back from the hospital wing and the weight of Sigurd’s words ‘you sound just like dad…’ still heavy in the pit of his stomach, he understood it better than ever. Suddenly it was no longer a unrelatable bedtime story of muggles undeservingly mastering magic. The monster was real, it had been here all along and he let it hurt someone he cared about. It made him unsure even if he was more furious at the Faust girl or himself for letting it happen. His eyes wandered to the front of the room again, teeth gritting as the braid disappeared around the corner and into the hallway.

It was an impulsive thought, raising his hand and muttering the most convincing performance of the age old line “Professor, I don’t feel so well. May I go to the bathroom?”. Connor had empathetically replied with “You feeling ok?”, but Sigurd was already out of the door and on his way to the nearest bathroom. In all honestly, he had no clue what he was going to do…except for the fact that it had to hurt without ever leaving a trace. It was, after all, what his family did best. A Nilsson could make a statement without ever inflicting a single ounce of violence. She had been stupid enough to leave a trail, to make her revenge so glaringly obvious. The Norwegian wasn’t going to make the same mistake.

A part of him wanted to drag this out, make it slow until they both felt every second ticking by. Yet as soon as he opened the door, saw her standing there; it was the first time in a long while that he’d felt so angry. Not the same kind of anger from the greenhouses with Erik, where it hurt to breathe and his fingers spread wide and shaking from the lack of courage. This was white anger, white knuckles and white face, jaw so tightly locked he barely got out the words. And when they did, they were searing.

“You sycophantic pathetic little mudwallower!”

His first reaction was to grab a hold of his wand, every sprouting idea of a plan dying in the heat of the moment. She didn’t even deserve an explanation, could probably name at least 4 choices of action that led to this type of punishment. Oh, how well he understood it all now.

“ œtlamara!”

---

@Gretchen Kirke-Faust

--------------------

I'LL BE A STONE, I'LL BE THE HUNTER
A TOWER THAT CASTS A SHADE



staff!edit: Tine says Sammeh is the best Cookie Slytherin around <33
PM
^
Gretchen Kirke-Faust
 Posted: Dec 17 2016, 08:06 AM
Quote

"you come by it honestly, the ugliness inside you"

AGE:
15
YEAR:
5th
HOUSE:
Ravenclaw
CLASH:
Viridian Guild Leader
HEIGHT:
5'
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1052
Rep: 51 pts [ + | - ]

Gretchen Kirke-Faust
© Robin // She/Her
Awards: 72



Everything seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. Gretchen twirled around, just in time to see Sigurd Nilsson’s face, distorted with anger, yelling a curse at her. The witch drew her own wand without hesitation, but as she realised she had no idea what the Norwegian had just yelled, and no clue on how to defend herself against it, she also knew it was too late. The spell hit her like a punch to the ribcage, a searing pain spreading from her chest, knocking the wind out of her. She staggered back, knees bending slightly, fighting the urge to double over, her knuckles turning white around her wand. She had to think of something to retort with, to hurt him right back, but suddenly she couldn’t breathe. The girl raised her wand arm, but couldn’t aim as the picture started to blur. She lifted her other hand to her forehead, as if that would calm the starting headache. Her eyelids grew heavy, and she could barely keep them open as she squinted, trying to focus, but the room remained very much out of focus, almost grotesquely so. Sigurd’s figure loomed in the doorway, his wand still drawn, and Gretchen seemed unable to do anything about it, unable to defend herself. She was vulnerable, weak, trembling. Fear overshadowed the throbbing pain, and she took another step back, hitting the now overflowing sink with her lower back. Sigurd’s figure seemed to distort into a monster, shadows lunged at her from every corner of the room, and her wand fell out of her numb hand.


The Faust was vaguely aware that this anguish was caused by Sigurd’s spell, this inability to think rationally, this fear. Why he had run after her to inflict pain, she didn’t even question. It could’ve been because of the Hate Potion she had slipped his brother, but could he consider her guilty of what it had turned Preben into, when that was who the Quidditch star was underneath all along? It didn’t matter what the direct incentive for this attack was, the true reason was that they hated her and her family. This was always going to happen, it was what she had been preparing herself for for the past five years. Yet now she lay on the cold bathroom floor, her legs haven given up on her, water from the sink spreading over the tiles and soaking her cloak, her mind in shambles, scrambles, total disarray.


Coldness pressed against her limbs, the sound of rushing water behind her fading
away, replaced by a steady, anxiety-inducing hum, droning to the rhythm of her heart.
Despairing her helplessness, her shoulders shook while fear had numbed the rest of her
body. Fingers cramped to reach her wand, the distance only growing with every try.


Too strong to give up, too weak to resist. Messing with her perception, messing with her
mind. A splotch of red in the water, from a wound she couldn’t feel. Couldn’t feel
anything, but terror. Tears joined the sink’s water in silent defeat as shades surrounded
her, enemies everywhere, an army against one. She closed her eyes, willing the demons away.


--


Billy wasn’t the perfect kneazlecat that Arthur Kirke-Faust had envisioned when he wanted to get his daughter an intelligent pet to watch over her. He was proud, grumpy, and often self-absorbed, but he was loyal. The critter doted as much on his owner as she doted on him, and he never left the witch’s side, keeping his yellowish-green eyes on her at all times. …Well, apparently not at all times, though it was usually on Gretchen’s own insistence that he stayed put. Today was no different, and when the Nilsson boy left the classroom right after her, he knew it was a mistake. The cat shot up and ran after the Slytherin, the door almost hitting his tail as he squeezed through the opening before it shut. He followed Sigurd down the stairs, the young wizard having an unfair head start, given how much easier it was to descend stairs with long legs, and when Billy reached the floor below, he was ready to rely on scent to find his target – except he didn’t have to. Sigurd’s yelling led the critter to the nearest bathroom, where he found his witch whimpering and weeping on wet, tiled flooring. The ball of fur seemed to explode, every single hair on edge, a big angry feather duster the size of a medium dog, ears flat and pointy teeth bared. A low, haunting, growling sound emitted from the creature, as if it was a radio with bad reception, because it didn’t look like a cat could possibly produce such a noise himself. He set his eyes on his witch’s attacker, seemingly preparing himself to bite the wizard’s hand off before he could fire another spell.


Except, Sigurd didn’t seem to be in a condition to fire any more spells.


---
@Sigurd Nilsson

--------------------
user posted image
user posted image
user posted imageuser posted image
PMWebsite
^
Sigurd Nilsson
 Posted: Jan 11 2017, 04:44 AM
Quote

"I keep a close watch on this heart of mine"

AGE:
15
YEAR:
fifth
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Aegis
HEIGHT:
5'7
STATUS:
POSTS:
239
Rep: 13 pts [ + | - ]

Sigurd Nilsson
© Sammeh the savior, the protector, THE GUARDIAN OF HOPE //
Awards: 18



His hand started to tremble.

He did not notice at first, too busy trying to calm down the heartbeat hammering against his ribs like thunder. The spell required constant focus and he refused to stop until thoroughly satisfied. His breath was uneven. For no apparent reason, within seconds Sigurd found himself against the bathroom door, feet taken several steps backwards at the sight of the girl. Miserable, scared, exactly what he wanted. Then why? This was supposed to be satisfying. Yet the feeling of the cold surface against his back was startling, a shiver going down his spine as he whipped his body towards it almost violently in fear it was someone else rather than a lifeless barrier.

In fear.

In an instant his eyes focussed back on the Faust girl as if the answer to all this nonsense was there. From the corner of his eye the shadows of the cubicles seemed to change. He didn’t dare to look. The wand was wavering at the steady shake of his palm by now. Yet the boy didn’t stop it; not that he could if he wanted it to. Instead his lips grew thinner with each agonizing drum that was ringing in his ears, mingling with her noises into an agonizing symphony. There wasn’t a girl on the bathroom tiles. No mess of a person he would’ve laughed at. Only a blurred image through the tears stinging in his eyes. It made his chest hitch. He didn’t wipe the forming tears away, nor did he stop his wand from shaking like an old wizard’s. He couldn’t.

It fell onto the ground, a sharp tic of wood against tile.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Yet the anger humming under his skin suddenly nothing more than a vague memory. No longer a priority. The shaking hands went to his hair, willing out the dark thoughts if they just held onto his hair tight enough. Scrambling over the floor. The feeling of a wall was back, now rather comforting as Sigurd found himself in the corner between door and cubicle; the cold pressure against his shoulder and back. He could no longer hear himself, voice cracking and his breath at a pace of galloping horses, simply whimpering to make it stop in the familiar syllables of his mother tongue over and over again.

There was another sound. High pitched, angry, terrifying. Everything was. The darkness of shut eyes was endless and harrowing but the light beyond them was too. Moments ago the Slytherin had been in control, finally the powerful giant. Sigurd had never felt so small in his life. Even his wand was left forgotten as his form wanted to crawl more into itself. He wanted it to stop. It did. Instantly. When it did, in the blink of an eye and as quick as lightning, the boy opened his eyes again ever so slowly to only see the Ravenclaw girl. The only thing he could do as his breath slowly evened out again was wonder how she did it.

---

@Gretchen Kirke-Faust

--------------------

I'LL BE A STONE, I'LL BE THE HUNTER
A TOWER THAT CASTS A SHADE



staff!edit: Tine says Sammeh is the best Cookie Slytherin around <33
PM
^
Gretchen Kirke-Faust
 Posted: Feb 11 2017, 08:26 AM
Quote

"you come by it honestly, the ugliness inside you"

AGE:
15
YEAR:
5th
HOUSE:
Ravenclaw
CLASH:
Viridian Guild Leader
HEIGHT:
5'
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1052
Rep: 51 pts [ + | - ]

Gretchen Kirke-Faust
© Robin // She/Her
Awards: 72



Nothing had ever hurt this much.


Gretchen’s chest moved up and down with every ragged breath, like a pump desperately trying to get air into a blown-out tire. The spell was starting to wear off, and the room – previously a mixture of dark shadows and white noise – came back into focus, but the terror remained. Professor Connor’s Astronomy class, with their fellow fifth year Ravenclaws and Slytherins dutifully – and not so dutifully – taking notes, seemed miles away. The sink was still running, the water now licking the feet of the slumped figure close to the door.


Someone turned off the tap, and with the sound of running water gone, which had drowned out everything else like an indistinct humming, the final obstruction to total awareness was lifted. It was like waking from a dream, where the lines were blurry and the physics were vague, where everything melted into the psychedelic environment and you didn’t question it.


The first noise she recognised was Billy’s low growling, which came from somewhere behind her, but it took her a while to recognise the second sound as her own sobbing. For about a minute, but what seemed to be forever, she couldn’t do anything but lay there, her clothes and hair drenched, the crying only interrupted by the occasional gasping for breath, and her body shaking like a mountain that had been a volcano all along. With every shudder, she send ripples through the puddle of water surrounding her, feeling more awful with every wheeze and every sob. She couldn’t even bring herself to lift her hand to wipe the snot from her face. Pulling herself together seemed like an enormous task that the whimpering girl didn’t have the energy for, the memory of her usual strength, control, and courage, was almost laughable.


In-between the blubbering, a miserable snicker erupted as that thought presented itself. At least her mind was starting to form sentences again, while one couldn’t quite call it ‘rational’ yet, cohesive thoughts were forming – no longer simply vague impressions, which took the shapes of colours and scents rather than words. For instance, it occurred to her that, since she could hear Billy, he must be in the room with her. The kneazlecat must’ve followed her, or Sigurd, and he must’ve been the one who turned off the tap. When she asked herself why he would consider that a priority over keeping an eye on her attacker, her eyes fell on the huddled figure next to the door, finally recognising the mess of limbs as Sigurd Nilsson – weeping, just like her.


Seeing her own emotions mirrored on the face of someone she so loathed turned her stomach. Her mouth pulled back in a grimace, taking a few more wheezing breaths as the crying finally stopped, and she pushed herself off the cold, wet, bathroom floor. Her braid followed her head almost reluctantly, weighted down by the water, and half of her clothes had turned darker, one side clung to her body while the other side hung down shapelessly. The blood came from an abrasion on the side of her face, which only added to the current surreal state of her visage, stained with tears and mucus on one hand, but with her magical makeup, still perfectly in place, on the other.


He did this. He had no right to be crying. …Or, it dawned on her, a logical reason. Why did he stop? She was at his mercy, he was completely in control of the situation. If it was a conscience thing, why not just leave? He wasn't the kind of person who'd allow her to see him like this. Not under normal circumstances, anyway. They had that much in common.


Was it fate, that this had to happen with her in the room? Not just an archenemy, but one whose family was so into different and peculiar types of magic, and everyone who was considered strange because of them... The Faust couldn’t not notice what was happening. Was the universe pulling some kind of sick joke on them?


“You’re… you’re an empath,” she laughed through her grimace, though the sound she just produced sounded about as much like laughing as the wailing of a new-born kitten. “Oho… hah… that’s… so ironic. You. A Nilsson.” She spit out the last word as if it was something that had left a bad taste in her mouth, angry at her own helplessness and desperate to take it out on him, needing to be cruel to feel strong again.


“Why did you use a hex like that? How stupid−”


In her mind’s eye, she saw Sigurd at her grandfather’s funeral again, a little blond six-year-old kid hiding behind his celebrating family. She tried to imagine what that little boy had felt that day. Anger, fear, hatred? Confusion, at all these emotions that weren’t his?


“You- You didn’t know?”


---
@Sigurd Nilsson

--------------------
user posted image
user posted image
user posted imageuser posted image
PMWebsite
^
Sigurd Nilsson
 Posted: Mar 10 2017, 06:39 PM
Quote

"I keep a close watch on this heart of mine"

AGE:
15
YEAR:
fifth
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Aegis
HEIGHT:
5'7
STATUS:
POSTS:
239
Rep: 13 pts [ + | - ]

Sigurd Nilsson
© Sammeh the savior, the protector, THE GUARDIAN OF HOPE //
Awards: 18



Everything was still blurry around the edges, the witch in front of him out of focus and distorted. She didn’t look the way she was supposed to, but she didn’t look terrifying either. Upon realizing it were tears, the sole of his right hand made quick work of removing every single one of them. Quickly and determined. He looked at her again, drenched miserable wounded animal of a girl. Still she didn’t look scary. She looked like something that would normally cause him amusement if his heart wasn’t still hammering in his throat like a wild beast, making his breath tremble unevenly as his blue eyes kept on staring at her from his spot in the corner. There was no smile, no schadenfreude, and most definitely no fear. His limbs slowly untangled themselves, deliberately moving him into a less embarrassing posture in front of a Faust.

It was then when he noticed how vulnerable he really was. With nothing to defend himself with, his eyes made the decision to look away from her for a second, desperately searching the floor for his wand. He reached for it, scrambling with both hands scrambling over the cold tiles until the comforting lines and ridges of wood nestled in his grip. It was then that he got up, not even bothering to brush off his robes. The wand was already aimed once more; the only thing that kept him somewhat confident. It was, after all, a tool that had survived centuries against Fausts. It had seen the hardships from the beginning to the end, although his ancestors probably didn’t face their enemy with tear stained cheeks or hair in total disarray. They didn’t cry on floors without ever understanding why. His elders had decided to pass it on, to plant seeds in a garden they would never see blooming. His hand still shook, now at the thought of their dreams withering.

you’re an empath

Of course…

“No!” It came out too fast, too determined, too frightened. A part of his mind seemed to have accepted it already with ease, shoving the puzzle piece where it belonged with just a bare skimming over the details just to fill in the void. Another part refused, didn’t want to see the full picture yet. It scared him, more than he’d ever want to admit. His sleeve instinctively wiped away the warm tearstains on his left cheek. A bobby pin clinked on the floor as it fell out of his hair.

People like him didn’t get empathy; the world wasn’t ready for that kind of sick joke.

So Sigurd tried again: “Stop lying, I’m not- I’m not anything you say I am!”

He was lucky the tremble didn’t resonate in his voice, even though every part of his insides felt like a house on shaking foundations. There had always been stories about Fausts meddling in the wrong kind of magic, even beyond what was considered dark. How they drove people mad. Therefor there was no reason at all for believing her. In a way he’d won, after all, although in that moment it didn’t feel like it. He looked at her again, better this time, at all the things that would’ve made his family proud. He didn’t feel any better on the inside. Not the kind of glee his family shared over alcohol and obituaries, or stories that only had a happy ending if a Faust was dead. Her words were the metaphorical bone buried in his garden. Sigurd knew it was there, felt every syllable fester to make him hurt. Finding it and getting it out was proven to be nearly impossible.

Small tears gathered at the corners of his vision again, blurring the cubicles, the taps and Gretchen. She looked utterly terrifying.

---

@Gretchen Kirke-Faust

--------------------

I'LL BE A STONE, I'LL BE THE HUNTER
A TOWER THAT CASTS A SHADE



staff!edit: Tine says Sammeh is the best Cookie Slytherin around <33
PM
^
Gretchen Kirke-Faust
 Posted: Mar 28 2017, 10:17 AM
Quote

"you come by it honestly, the ugliness inside you"

AGE:
15
YEAR:
5th
HOUSE:
Ravenclaw
CLASH:
Viridian Guild Leader
HEIGHT:
5'
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
1052
Rep: 51 pts [ + | - ]

Gretchen Kirke-Faust
© Robin // She/Her
Awards: 72



Gretchen didn’t feel the desire to get up, regardless of whether she’d even have the energy for it. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, but her eyes didn’t leave him, they were glued to Sigurd’s distorted façade. As she looked up at her attacker with his messy hair and trembling limbs, she didn’t feel smaller. Her cheeks were still stained with tears, but her eyes were glossy with cold resolve. Most of the bathroom was still blurry, tears clinging to the edges of her vision and stuck in her eyelashes, but she could see him clearly and that was all that mattered.


Billy crept closer, his witch’s wand between his teeth and the tips of his long hair brushing the water on the bathroom floor – a little ‘blop’ sounded every time the critter moved a paw, sending circles through the small pool that had overcome the tiles. Professor Connor’s Astronomy class was a far-away island that the two castaways couldn’t possibly swim back to. When he reached his owner, Billy refused to sit down, only partly because of all the water that he didn’t want to drench his butt with. The large cat (or small tiger) stayed on all fours instead, raising his behind slightly as if ready to jump at any movement from the enemy. As soon as Gretchen took the stick from between his teeth he bared them, a low growling sound accompanying him as his eyes fixed on the piece of wood that their enemy was pointing their way. Billy eagerly waited for his witch to point her own, but she didn’t. Gretchen took her wand from her loyal pet without taking her eyes off the Nilsson in front of her, but then just held it, raising nerve and frigid resolution as a weapon instead.


“Oh… Really… Well, if you think I’m lying…” Exhaustion clung to her voice, the crying having taken its toll, but it was steady all the same, an almost eerie calmness accompanying it. “Except, you know I’m not lying. If you tried, you might even be able to tell. Not that it matters, because you know.


She looked at him, everything her ancestors had been afraid of, everything she had been afraid of for as long as she could remember, and she refused to be scared. At least in this moment, now it was his turn to experience fear. What this would mean later – that someone she both loathed and feared possessed the gift (and curse) of empathy, that her fake confidence and charm wouldn’t fool him anymore, and that he could possibly be privy to everything about herself that the witch desperately tried to lock away – wasn’t important right now. She could continue hiding and avoiding later, she could fear again later. Right now, she had to be brave, like every ancestor before her who found themselves on the receiving end of a Nilsson wand. Next to her, her cat’s growling grew louder, once more confused as to why his witch was choosing words to defend herself, while also knowing that he should be used to it by now.


“Either way… Are you really going to inflict more pain on me to find out? How long will your little victory last if it backfires again, proving me right?”


There was nothing but cold hatred to read on Gretchen’s tarnished face as she addressed her classmate, a façade that promised that there was an ocean stirring underneath the calm surface, and she was quite willing to flood the room and drown him with it.


“Because believe me, Nilsson, I feel a variety of emotions because of you – none of them are positive.”


---
@Sigurd Nilsson

--------------------
user posted image
user posted image
user posted imageuser posted image
PMWebsite
^
Sigurd Nilsson
 Posted: Mar 31 2017, 01:56 AM
Quote

"I keep a close watch on this heart of mine"

AGE:
15
YEAR:
fifth
HOUSE:
Slytherin
CLASH:
Aegis
HEIGHT:
5'7
STATUS:
POSTS:
239
Rep: 13 pts [ + | - ]

Sigurd Nilsson
© Sammeh the savior, the protector, THE GUARDIAN OF HOPE //
Awards: 18



He felt drained. The heavy weights of crying settling in his bones and pulling on everything within. His heart a steady drum that matched the pitter-platter of the faucet. It didn’t drown out the cat, however, the horrible critter Sigurd refused to look at in order to keep both his eyes and his wand aimed at Gretchen. Just standing there, the witch made him even more paranoid. Afraid it was all just one big plan to catch him off-guard. And, in a way, it was working because his mind couldn’t keep itself straight. Not just tired, but also full of emotion. Horrible.

He didn’t want to try and sense anything, because it would only prove how right she was. Deep down he had the knowledge that he couldn’t do it, at least not in the blatantly easy way she was making it out to be. It was a constant on switch, and he had yet to find the off to shut everything down. Why else would he draw names on his parchment surrounded by hearts, or laugh out of nowhere while chewing on his lunch. Everything felt too natural in those moments, until he stepped out of his own body hours later to stare in confusion about what he’d done. He never questioned anything before it was too late. Every single emotion was his, unknowingly stolen and moulded to fit like a glove. How much of it was actually his and his only, was as clouded as the water mixed with her blood.

Maybe, maybe this situation wasn’t that bad. She clearly overestimated his abilities.

Ignoring her wouldn't solve all his problems, but at least it gave him time. “I could use a body-freezing curse to get you off of that soapbox.” He argued, trying to drain every syllable of emotion. He remembered how effortless it used to be, now every part of his brain seemed to be drowning in feelings and the only way out was through his mouth. The Slytherin wondered how much feeling was his own right now, standing close to a girl who had been spoon-fed the same kind of hatred all her life. Not that it mattered; he wouldn’t look back at this moment hours later and feel pity for the fact that she looked ruined. Nor would he doubt his actions, as they would grant him a pat on the shoulder once he was home. If he ever felt like telling his parents, that was. He didn’t.

When would that stupid cat keep quiet.

Then it hit him, eyes going wide for just a second. How every thought had accepted her argument without question. Everything was suddenly linked to empathy because it felt too natural not to. If his body stood any more immovable it would stay that way, imitating said body-freezing curse perfectly. His muscles refused to move on his command, no matter how much anything ached. He wanted to go to bed and sleep for a lifetime. In his head, she’d won, but that didn’t mean he would admit it out loud. If it really was empathy -and what else could it be- there could be a way to shut it down, to get rid of it or suppress it. He’d lived without it for a lifetime, getting rid of it was the main goal.

“I wouldn’t doubt that.” It was a line the boy knew was supposed to be filled with pride, yet in that moment he didn’t see the point. All his efforts had only backfired, and here he was, unable to turn around in fear of being cursed as well. His wand just needed a few words, but Sigurd didn’t want to fight out this age old war. At least not now. Later on, he’d call it defeat but for now his chin was kept high as he spoke. “You know, one of us is going to have to leave first.”

---

@Gretchen Kirke-Faust

--------------------

I'LL BE A STONE, I'LL BE THE HUNTER
A TOWER THAT CASTS A SHADE



staff!edit: Tine says Sammeh is the best Cookie Slytherin around <33
PM
^
1 User(s) are reading this topic (1 Guests and 0 Anonymous Users)
0 Members:

Topic Options
Add Reply
New Topic
New Poll


 


 



Infinity Rising Wolf Out jcink forum Last Resort Shadowplay Lochland Grove OOTA  photo hr_banneri2014_zpsclfhj2jt.png Avalon a Panfandom RP Kousei, an island paradise for the natural and supernatural awaits Code 8 The Beginning A Change of Heart Storybrooke War Is Brewing Forum Roleplay Site A BRILLIANT MAGIC Ascension Of Darkness DW


AUTUMN 2017
Welcome to Wizarding Realm! We are an alternate universe Harry Potter site set in the present day at Hogwarts. All of our lovely students are back from their summer terms refreshed and (hopefully) ready to buckle down for classes. Join us! :D Please Register using Proper Case!!
BE A LIGHT TO EACH OTHER ♥