Post by Willow on Dec 18, 2009 10:26:01 GMT -5
ooc- Figured I needed to get this out of the way, anyone can feel free to walk in.
When a heart breaks, no one hears it, but they can see in how that person talks, how that person looks, how that person acts. The person falls apart from the inside, and sometimes, they don't ever bounce back.
Fortunately, Willow was gradually sewing herself back together. Having her family helped, even if they were rather troubled recently. She didn't blame them for how Torrid had reacted. Willow had chosen that, and she didn't regret it. That was what she told herself.
She asked herself all the questions. Had Torrid written her? No. Had he been around even before she'd told him that? No. Willow tried to shove the guilt away by blaming it on him, and it had worked, for awhile. But she ran out of excuses. So now, Willow had left the woods, or at least for awhile. She would stay in town, work, and just take a break from her family.
She would heal.
And part of the process, Willow believed, was facing what she was afraid of. Willow had come up from town, and walked across Firefox grounds, ignoring the snow on the ground and the snowballs whistling past. She came to a stop outside the greenhouses, eyes fixed on the one closest to the woods. With a soft sigh, she kept moving, and remembered.
Torrid James Nightshadow, the one she had loved the most, had been the one she'd been the most scared to tell.
Willow's voice had more emotion now, real passion. "I have a family. They're not exactly...traditional, in the way a family should be. I'm never going to bring a friend over to visit. But I love them. I belong there, Torrid. They're my pack, my family. It's number two on my happiest moment's list." Her lips formed a twisted smile, daring him to guess number one.
--
"Willow? Hi, I'm Torrid, but peeps just call me TJ. And Morgan Pendragon, the Ravenclaw Prefect, just calls me Teej. Anyways, I really like you're drawings. You have some real talent." TJ smiled. The girl was an excellant artist, and even her sketches looked real. Whistling in an impressed tone, the Ravenclaw boy looked at the sketches and drawings before smiling again.
"I guess I do use magic alot," she said. "I guess it's because before I came here, I didn't...well, I'm Muggleborn, see," she explained quietly. She darkened a line there, then siphoned away another smudge. "Do you paint?" she asked, looking back up at him, eyes dark with curiosity. She liked him already, and was loosening up much faster than she had with Silvain.
--
Willow was halfway across the campus, aiming to invade the gryffindor common room or other such nonsense, when she caught the scent. Even as a human, she could still tell one person from another. Torrid was one of her earliest memories, and therefore, one of the first to fade. But she still had his scent from the letters he sent, the ones she could rarely reply to.
And now he was here.
Willow stopped, pausing, double-checking the smell, but there was no mistaking it. Torrid Nightshadow was here. She spun on her heel, facing the greenhouses, where she could see a figure through the frosted glass. A beat later she was running, rushing to reach the greenhouse. The door opened almost magically at her touch, and then she paused in the doorway.
Should I tell him? she thought, feeling dazed. Willow steadied herself by setting one hand on the nearest box of a plants, a flock of laughing lilies.
"Torrid?" Her voice didn't sound steady at all, which made her more nervous than ever. Willow realized her heart was about to explode out of her chest. Him. He was here.
--
She paused for breath. "So I went back. I found Fenrir." She left out Romulus. Ohgawd, she'd been cheating on Torrid. Technically. Well. To her, that's what it felt like. I'm a horrible person, Willow thought.
Well duh, she knew that.
"I asked him to sire me, Torrid." She took another breath. "I'm a lycan."
--
“… does this make you happy, Willow?”
Willow sat down with pen and paper, using an overturned bucket as a chair. She stared at the paper and knew what to write. It only took a moment or so, and she dug in her pocket for the pictures. There were three. She and Torrid, on the grounds. One, taken in town, her with Felix.
And last, a wolf with grey fur, streaked with reddish brown, silver-green eyes watching the camera with affection.
Dear Torrid,
I love you. But this is me. And I'm not sorry for that.
Fortunately, Willow was gradually sewing herself back together. Having her family helped, even if they were rather troubled recently. She didn't blame them for how Torrid had reacted. Willow had chosen that, and she didn't regret it. That was what she told herself.
She asked herself all the questions. Had Torrid written her? No. Had he been around even before she'd told him that? No. Willow tried to shove the guilt away by blaming it on him, and it had worked, for awhile. But she ran out of excuses. So now, Willow had left the woods, or at least for awhile. She would stay in town, work, and just take a break from her family.
She would heal.
And part of the process, Willow believed, was facing what she was afraid of. Willow had come up from town, and walked across Firefox grounds, ignoring the snow on the ground and the snowballs whistling past. She came to a stop outside the greenhouses, eyes fixed on the one closest to the woods. With a soft sigh, she kept moving, and remembered.
Torrid James Nightshadow, the one she had loved the most, had been the one she'd been the most scared to tell.
Willow's voice had more emotion now, real passion. "I have a family. They're not exactly...traditional, in the way a family should be. I'm never going to bring a friend over to visit. But I love them. I belong there, Torrid. They're my pack, my family. It's number two on my happiest moment's list." Her lips formed a twisted smile, daring him to guess number one.
--
"Willow? Hi, I'm Torrid, but peeps just call me TJ. And Morgan Pendragon, the Ravenclaw Prefect, just calls me Teej. Anyways, I really like you're drawings. You have some real talent." TJ smiled. The girl was an excellant artist, and even her sketches looked real. Whistling in an impressed tone, the Ravenclaw boy looked at the sketches and drawings before smiling again.
"I guess I do use magic alot," she said. "I guess it's because before I came here, I didn't...well, I'm Muggleborn, see," she explained quietly. She darkened a line there, then siphoned away another smudge. "Do you paint?" she asked, looking back up at him, eyes dark with curiosity. She liked him already, and was loosening up much faster than she had with Silvain.
--
Willow was halfway across the campus, aiming to invade the gryffindor common room or other such nonsense, when she caught the scent. Even as a human, she could still tell one person from another. Torrid was one of her earliest memories, and therefore, one of the first to fade. But she still had his scent from the letters he sent, the ones she could rarely reply to.
And now he was here.
Willow stopped, pausing, double-checking the smell, but there was no mistaking it. Torrid Nightshadow was here. She spun on her heel, facing the greenhouses, where she could see a figure through the frosted glass. A beat later she was running, rushing to reach the greenhouse. The door opened almost magically at her touch, and then she paused in the doorway.
Should I tell him? she thought, feeling dazed. Willow steadied herself by setting one hand on the nearest box of a plants, a flock of laughing lilies.
"Torrid?" Her voice didn't sound steady at all, which made her more nervous than ever. Willow realized her heart was about to explode out of her chest. Him. He was here.
--
She paused for breath. "So I went back. I found Fenrir." She left out Romulus. Ohgawd, she'd been cheating on Torrid. Technically. Well. To her, that's what it felt like. I'm a horrible person, Willow thought.
Well duh, she knew that.
"I asked him to sire me, Torrid." She took another breath. "I'm a lycan."
--
“… does this make you happy, Willow?”
Willow sat down with pen and paper, using an overturned bucket as a chair. She stared at the paper and knew what to write. It only took a moment or so, and she dug in her pocket for the pictures. There were three. She and Torrid, on the grounds. One, taken in town, her with Felix.
And last, a wolf with grey fur, streaked with reddish brown, silver-green eyes watching the camera with affection.
Dear Torrid,
I love you. But this is me. And I'm not sorry for that.