Post by Ivory and Onyx on May 24, 2008 23:58:37 GMT -5
A loud crash reverberated through the surrounding halls in the main castle.
"I HATE YOU!"
It was common knowledge that the Evermonte twins fought incessantly, but not like this. Which girl actually made the preceding remark and why was indiscernible, but it was certainly not the only such comment made on either side. Shrieks of varying decibels echoed off the cold stones and hung in the air like the shrieks of the bygone dead. The fight traveled up two floors and three octaves, leaving a trail of broken furniture and singed tapestries. It came to a head in the Ravenclaw common room, culminating in a few sickening thuds sure to leave bruises in the morning.
******************
Several minutes later saw a dark figure bursting from the brightly lit archway into the darkening twilight, bare feet skimming the dewy grass as she pelted aimlessly away from the castle, blinded by tears and the images flashing before her mind's eye.
Fenrir's Wood loomed with venomous welcome before her, but her feet guided her to another region of the grounds she had as yet only seen from a distance, but it seemed appropriate to her mood. As the figure neared the crypt her foot caught a fallen gravestone and she fell, sprawled face first on the ground. She did not rise.
The slim figure lay for several minutes, face buried in her long black sleeves, her sweeping black skirt in disarray about her legs, as the tears flowed from her eyes, springing from a pain much deeper than her stubbed toes.
Finally, with great effort, the Onyx regained her feet. And she danced.
She had learned ballet in her youth, but the well-defined structure never suited her. But this, this was a wild, passionate thing, welling up from within and gushing from her body like a geyser from the earth. The rising moon glinted off misty black eyes and long black hair whipping in the evening breeze. Onyx's body moved like a dark spectre among the gravestones. It was a painful joy, every emotion, every movement of the soul displayed to the night sky.
The tombs were her stage, the stars were her audience, her tears her costume, the moon her spotlight, and her passion her choreographer.
"I HATE YOU!"
It was common knowledge that the Evermonte twins fought incessantly, but not like this. Which girl actually made the preceding remark and why was indiscernible, but it was certainly not the only such comment made on either side. Shrieks of varying decibels echoed off the cold stones and hung in the air like the shrieks of the bygone dead. The fight traveled up two floors and three octaves, leaving a trail of broken furniture and singed tapestries. It came to a head in the Ravenclaw common room, culminating in a few sickening thuds sure to leave bruises in the morning.
******************
Several minutes later saw a dark figure bursting from the brightly lit archway into the darkening twilight, bare feet skimming the dewy grass as she pelted aimlessly away from the castle, blinded by tears and the images flashing before her mind's eye.
Fenrir's Wood loomed with venomous welcome before her, but her feet guided her to another region of the grounds she had as yet only seen from a distance, but it seemed appropriate to her mood. As the figure neared the crypt her foot caught a fallen gravestone and she fell, sprawled face first on the ground. She did not rise.
The slim figure lay for several minutes, face buried in her long black sleeves, her sweeping black skirt in disarray about her legs, as the tears flowed from her eyes, springing from a pain much deeper than her stubbed toes.
Finally, with great effort, the Onyx regained her feet. And she danced.
She had learned ballet in her youth, but the well-defined structure never suited her. But this, this was a wild, passionate thing, welling up from within and gushing from her body like a geyser from the earth. The rising moon glinted off misty black eyes and long black hair whipping in the evening breeze. Onyx's body moved like a dark spectre among the gravestones. It was a painful joy, every emotion, every movement of the soul displayed to the night sky.
The tombs were her stage, the stars were her audience, her tears her costume, the moon her spotlight, and her passion her choreographer.