Wizarding Realm -> Cover the carcass of time with flowers
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 Cover the carcass of time with flowers, Alric <3
Sighild Larsson
 Posted: Feb 15 2017, 04:27 AM
Quote

"You're just another set of bones I laid to rest."

AGE:
18
YEAR:
Hogsmeade Resident
HOUSE:
Durmstrang Alumni
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'8
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
126
Rep: 2 pts [ + | - ]

Sighild Larsson
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 13



Spring was still too far away for Sighild's liking - and if she focused on it, she could feel the cold soaking through the walls of her apartment, painting frost tracery on her windows. She liked to trace those while waiting for her tea water to boil, glacier eyes following the people who passed by underneath her window, wrapped in thick coats and long scarves because the biting cold of winter had not left Hogsmeade yet, single remains of snow still visible on the rooftops and on the trees. The Larsson girl sighed deeply before turning away from the window once the tea kettle whistled, pouring herself a cup before making a decision. On some days, it was hard enough for her to leave her bed and get dressed, especially in those dark days of winter. But today, she was going to make a change. She blew on her tea, watching the steam rise before taking a careful sip and placing the cup back on the kitchen counter.

Half an hour later - when the tea was cooled down long since - Sighild was dressed to impress, just like she always used to dress herself, back in those days when she did not have to hide. Hildie adjusted the cape she had thrown over her dress, and placed the scarf so it covered the - magically glamoured - scars on her neck. A fine drizzle had started a mere few moments ago, but it was not going to stop her. Casting a quick charm, she made her cape waterproof and placed the hood carefully over her curly, ginger hair. Then she grabbed her bag and left the apartment, keys jingling as she dropped them inside the leather bag. The still unfamiliar scent of the staircase welcomed her, and the young woman was glad as it was replaced by the smell of winter rain on the streets, wet soil and chimney smoking mixing to that typical aroma of her new home.

She hurried through the streets and alleys, walking towards the center of the small and dreamy village. The tiny flower shop was her destination, different plants - both magical and non-magical filling the window and being hunched together underneath a pink parasol that was meant to give shade and was yet also keeping the drizzle away. She ducked a little to stand underneath it as well, slender hands gliding over smooth leaves and soft petals. If spring was not coming to her yet, she was going to bring it into her home by covering every window sill with tiny plant pots, and the tables with colourful and nicely smelling flowers. Just as she was about to pick a bouquet, her cool gaze fell on a familiar face among those people who hurried through the streets. Hildie should have known better than to shop flowers on a Saturday, when the students of Hogwarts were allowed to roam the village.

Her eyes widened and she immediately ducked some more in order to hide herself in between the plants around her. It was too late to hurry into the shop, and she assumed the bell above the door would ring and give her even more attention while she was once more trying to escape an old friend from Durmstrang days - another friend who most likely assumed she was dead, decaying in the Larsson mausoleum. Sighild could not allow Alric to see her, and yet she had made her own escape way hardder than it should have been by getting stuck in between the wooden flower shelves and buckets filled with plants outside the little shop.

@Alric Bolstridge
(clothes)

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Alric Bolstridge
 Posted: Feb 15 2017, 01:28 PM
Quote

"all that is gold does not glitter---"

AGE:
18
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Hufflepuff
CLASH:
AEGIS
HEIGHT:
6'0"
STATUS:
Taken
POSTS:
575
Rep: 28 pts [ + | - ]

Alric Bolstridge
© Cat // She/Her
Awards: 6



His face was riddled with all the telltale signs of embarrassment. Reddened cheeks, tussled hair, timid eyes that couldn't stand to look directly at another. If Alric had had longer hair, he might have been able to hide behind it, but he didn't, and his shame remained on display for any and all who could recognize it. Granted, it wasn't so obvious what the badger had to be ashamed about. By the looks of him, he appeared normal, dressed warmly with his usual bag hung over his shoulder. But looks were deceiving, and Alric was no exception. Underneath his jacket, hidden yet still underneath his shirt and undershirt, was a shoulder bandaged tightly, heavy with the stench of a healing elixir and stained a faint purple from where the liquid had seeped through.

In the wee hours of morning, the badger had been out, poking his nose into the usual business of secret hallways and mysteries yet uncovered. He had found himself in an old corridor he couldn't recall wandering down before, prompting his eyes to go to work, singling out any oddity within view. Thinking back now, hours later, Alric still wasn't clear on whether or not his excitement had created phantoms for him to chase, but nonetheless, it led him to the compromising position of being crushed under an old statue. Only now did the boy feel heavy with guilt over the fate of the statue that smashed his shoulder to pieces. Whoever it had been of—whatever they had done for the school—they'd been important. The detail in the old man's face seemed far too intimate to have been worked into a replica of just anybody. But his name had long become eroded, and whatever secret message that may or may not have been etched into the stone wall behind him hadn't truly been worth seeing his statue crack the way it did, or slid off its pedestal as gracelessly as it had.

Perhaps he paid the price with his shoulder. The skele-gro used had been agonizing enough, making his bones feel as if there were melting inside before he felt a twist and crack as they hardened into place. The pain had resonated in waves through his body, prompting the elixir to try and dull the ache. Though nothing given had made him feel any better about hiding the truth about how he had gotten injured. But... he told himself he'd find the corridor again. He'd restore the statue, as it was only right to do so. Alric just needed some air—needed some time to be away from the castle, away from its disapproving eyes at the mess he'd made on his own.

Hogsmeade seemed like the only place to go. It was hidden well behind the forest that divided the village and the castle, its cover sounding exactly like what the badger needed to clear his head. He had a bit of money jingling around in the pockets of his bag, and the fresh smell of the oncoming rain cooled his face so satisfyingly that Alric could nearly—

He froze. No thoughts came whizzing through his mind, no muscle flinched to move, no sound, momentarily, made it through to his ears. All that he could comprehend in that briefest of eternities was a powerful wash of shock and doubt and excitement and fear all bundled into one. He felt like a very cold wave had crashed into him, ripping any warmth from his body without any remorse, and that left him with nothing but this feeling like he had been robbed. Robbed of his sanity, robbed of any trace of control. He felt lied to and cheated and like his heart had been put through a blender, but none of that hurt as bad as the fact that he didn't even know who to blame. His memory of her, through the years of disconnection, amounted to nothing but what he saw before him. Her hair that fell like waves of liquid fire, her eyes that mimicked crystals in their striking glacial blue. She had the same narrow shoulders, the same freckled face. She still wore the most lavish of clothes, so clean and fine fitting that it'd be almost like she'd stepped out of the cover of a fashion magazine. The only thing that seemed different—and in such a subtle way that it almost seemed like a poor attempt to deceive anyone who knew her—was in the complexion of her skin. It was almost grayer, somehow, like a sense of its innocence had faded and it could no longer glow as warmly as in his memory.

Sighild Larsson. That name brought the hairs on his neck to stand on end, and made his eye twitch faintly, the only movement he had managed since first laying his sights on her. Larsson was a name he tended to avoid. He knew Severin was about, but the school was so big it was easy enough to avoid him. Which sounded heartless, Alric knew. But. He just couldn't face him, not after what he had seen in the papers.

Attacked by werewolves. That had been the fate of the poor boy's family. What did someone say to that? To the sole survivor of his entire family? Severin was every much a victim as the family he had lost, and while Alric knew condolences were expected, he couldn't help but feel like they weren't sufficient enough. And he'd been hurt, too, left on his own to mourn the loss of a friend because it didn't feel right to anyone to share the upset it all caused him. He hadn't kept in contact with the witch, though he'd tried. With the years adding up since he'd last spoken to the girl, it almost seemed idiotic for him to want to mourn. He had only fond memories of the red head, ones that he cherished along with every other stored in his mind from Durmstrang. But in a way he felt like mourning her would only be to mourn his memories, and that felt so inefficient, like he couldn't honor the witch she'd grown up to become—the one he'd never know. Or so he thought.

But no. It couldn't be her. Every fiber of the wizard's body rebelled against that idea. It had to be an imposter, or just a trick of the rain. The familiarity he sensed had to be manufactured. Believing this, Alric frowned and made his way directly to the witch, lips pressed firmly together, as if to hold back words he really wanted to say. Looking directly at her, the boy lowered his face to make it clear who he was addressing, unflinching even as her mimicked features pierced through his skin. "Who are you?" He questioned, flesh burning with anger. If this was the work of polyjuice, he would end it, because no one could disrespect the dead like this.

---
@Sighild Larsson
[ ✮ ]

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Sighild Larsson
 Posted: Feb 15 2017, 02:33 PM
Quote

"You're just another set of bones I laid to rest."

AGE:
18
YEAR:
Hogsmeade Resident
HOUSE:
Durmstrang Alumni
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'8
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
126
Rep: 2 pts [ + | - ]

Sighild Larsson
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 13



Sighild had spent one year learning how to live when you were dead. It seemed to be something so much harder to do, but life went on even if one was locked in a patient’s room in St. Mungo’s, where the walls were littered in the pictures she had fastidiously cut out of the newspapers, although the healers and nurses had tried so hard to keep them from her. She had gotten her slender hands on them anyway, had taken them from fellow patients and sometimes even picked them out of the trash. The young woman had absorbed every word and every photo, those horrible paparazzi photos of her little brother, how he was entering the Ministry, entering St. Mungo’s - oh, to know he was close and yet so far - and how he looked more gaunt with every photo she saw of him. By the time they had helped her to find an apartment in Hogsmeade, she knew all the headlines and articles by heart, knew how their family name had been dragged through the dirt several times.

All she had left was her pride, and even that was slowly being crushed. She had thought it would be easy to reveal herself to Severin - but it was not. Sascha knew she was alive, Theodore and Petra did as well. All of them had welcomed her with her arms wide open, but Severin was not coming. Had Preben talked to him? Had he spilled the truth about Hildie, about the scars that marked her neck and the creature that was gaining control of her once every month? She could not blame them, could not blame her brother for despising her as well as her ex-fiancé. They had grieved, and eventually, they had started to accept her death just when she walked back into their lives. There was no chance she wanted to repeat this experience once more all over again, rather trying to hide behind those flower plots, hoping Alric’s familiar gaze had not fallen on her yet.

Things had stopped working the way she wanted them to a while ago, and Hildie had little hope. Unfortunately, what little hope she had was crushed as Alric approached. He looked so out of place without the usual frame she had known him in, the walls of Durmstrang, the familiar faces around them - eventually one or two events outside school. They had been friends, as Sighild had always been a very social person, trying to knot ties for life. In her future plans, faking her death had never been a point on her list, never something she had imagined to do. It was too late. Instead of trying to hide any longer, the young woman stood straight, glacier eyes full of fear as the boy she used to be friends with was right in front of her. Who are you?

There was a certain edge in his voice, something between anger and surprise that she could not quite fathom yet. “Hello Alric. I think you know who I am. Although I will not ask you to understand any of this,” she said quietly, her accent still strong in her words as she spoke, her features softening. No, Sighild did not expect him to understand this situation, and her grip tightened around the strap of her bag while her gaze trailed towards the street for a moment, just to give herself a moment to breathe. She should have known better than to leave the safety of her own four walls, but now it was too late, with no turning back.

@Alric Bolstridge

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Alric Bolstridge
 Posted: Feb 15 2017, 05:55 PM
Quote

"all that is gold does not glitter---"

AGE:
18
YEAR:
7th
HOUSE:
Hufflepuff
CLASH:
AEGIS
HEIGHT:
6'0"
STATUS:
Taken
POSTS:
575
Rep: 28 pts [ + | - ]

Alric Bolstridge
© Cat // She/Her
Awards: 6



All at once, the boy felt nauseous. Like he'd just downed a bitter drink and needed to expel it from his body just as soon as it hit. He blinked to try and dispel it, breathed slowly with struggling control to clear his mind, and silently watched the witch's lips, reading her words in his head as he heard them out loud. Feeling lightheaded, the wizard stood erect again, the meager distance it provided grounding the wizard, if slightly. There was an underlying desire to walk away; to tuck her answer under his arm and leave it to examine later. Part of him felt that same idiocy seep in, as if it were incredibly entitled of him to expect her to have notified him that no, she hadn't been dead as the papers had said. Alric was no more relevant in her life as the drizzle of rain that slid off her hooded cape.

And yet his eyes stung as he felt transported into the past, that same familiar lilt in her honeyed voice erecting the same halls they used to walk down with their friends, summoning the same familiar smells of water and burnt wood, of spilled ink and worn leather. He was back in the unforgiving cold of Durmstrang, back in the thick of the mud he trudged through on his explorations, back underneath the warmth of his old blankets in his old bed. He was home again in all her familiarity—but real life dragged him back, still clawing at his eyes for tears that he felt he had no right to shed.

That was where he stayed for a moment, his eyes stinging sorely but remaining dry as it once again felt like he was only sorry, only heart broken, for the memories he had of Sighild and Durmstrang. In a way, he almost even wondered if the way he felt—if the betrayal and the anger—was merely the residual frustration he held in secret from himself over the fact that their friendship had seemed to end as soon as he left. And not just with Sighild—no, he couldn't put all the blame on her. He'd lost connection to everyone and everything that he had come to call home; ripped away from it out of some misplaced fear he parents had that if he remained at Durmstrang, he would become poisoned and troubled. Of course, he supposed they had been right in a way, the venom of the darker magic he learned there still diluting his once innocent blood. But that was beside the point.

The point which he stubbornly clung was that...

Alric diverted his gaze, cheeks flushing from a mix of shame and uncertainty. Shame from the fact that he held no right to demand anything from Sighild. Uncertainty from whether he was ready to admit hidden realities about himself; whether he was ready to admit to any faults in his personality.

His eyes slowly turned to her hand, her knuckles appearing white from how strongly she held onto the strap of her bag. Unknowingly, Alric had done similar, his stance a near mirror image of her, though taller, darker, and with a hint of lingering anger that he wasn't certain he could get rid of.

"You aren't a ghost," he said, more a statement to settle the obvious, to test how the truth of her existence might taste in his mouth. It seemed bitter, seemed distasteful. And yet it also seemed sweet, like he ought to have embraced her and given thanks to Merlin for her life being spared. But hesitation planted him firmly in his spot, his heart still beating with an ache that knotted his gut.

"Does your brother know?"

That was all that really mattered, he supposed. His feelings meant nothing, regardless of how much he wanted to believe they mattered.

---
@Sighild Larsson

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Sighild Larsson
 Posted: Apr 17 2017, 05:12 AM
Quote

"You're just another set of bones I laid to rest."

AGE:
18
YEAR:
Hogsmeade Resident
HOUSE:
Durmstrang Alumni
CLASH:
Viridian Guild
HEIGHT:
5'8
STATUS:
Pureblood
POSTS:
126
Rep: 2 pts [ + | - ]

Sighild Larsson
© Tine // She/Her
Awards: 13



The past year had taught her to flee by instinct, to run like the beast she contained deep within whenever she felt like it. But a Larsson did not run away, and Sighild had as much pride in her name to remind herself who she was. She was not going to let the beast define her, especially not when facing someone she had once called her friend. It was hard to lose everything and pick up the pieces again, to explain what she had done in order to survive - and in this case, she had pretended to die in order to survive. How did one explain such a thing? It was a story taken straight from a story book, a fairy tale that had gone terribly wrong. Who would want to read the story of the girl who turned into a wolf once a month, the girl who had to give up everything because her parents had died, her brother was in a terrible state and she herself was no longer human, but a beast. Her pale, icy gaze wandered over the boy, shame somewhere hidden and caught in those glaciers - emotions that rarely saw the light of day yet now they felt so easy to be poured into Alric’s hands.

He had been the one to leave first - he had transferred, but that was not his fault. Many had transferred while Hildie had stayed behind and watched them leave. Preben had transferred as well, yet the ties between Nilssons and Larssons had always been close - until now, until the day she had lost all her rights to be friends with any of them when the wolf had dug its teeth into her neck, which was now carefully covered. Sometimes at night, she still felt the pain that had robbed her off her consciousness within seconds, and she woke up covered in sweat, sure to feel the creature’s breath on her neck. She was not worthy of their attention any more, and Hildie knew it.

You aren’t a ghost. The statement almost made her laugh, if the lump in her throat would not have been as thick right now, slowly choking her into a state the wolf had not managed to do. Slowly, the young woman shook her head and sighed. “No, I am not a ghost,” she replied quietly, and her voice almost broke if she had not enough self-control to breathe it all away and stay strong, keep her head upright and her voice steady. She wanted to meet her old friend as an equal, especially as he was not aware how much less of a human she was since they had last met. Had he cried about her, grieved the loss? Sighild did not know, but she could imagine it - especially now they were standing in between the flowers of the shop, rain drizzling down on them. Had it rained when an empty coffin had been lowered into the mausoleum? She did not know either, but she liked the idea of being buried while even the sky was weeping.

Sighild was selfish in her ways, and she knew it - everyone who pointed her at Severin was right, because she should have told him before. But she could not, because she had heard about his fragile state. Slowly, the red-haired young woman shook her head. “It is even more complicated than it looks right now, Alric,” she almost whispered back at her, shaking her head sadly while her hand reached for one of the flowers placed in the buckets around them, hands tenderly running over the soft, velvet-like petals without destroying them. “Have you...have you seen him?” she added after a moment of hesitance, her glacier gaze still fixed on the rose-coloured petals rather than on her old friend’s face. She should buy a bouquet of those for her apartment, as a little life in her four walls would never be hurt the grave she called her home.

@Alric Bolstridge

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