the right fit.
Nov 1, 2019 10:35:59 GMT -5
Post by ALAIN GREYSON on Nov 1, 2019 10:35:59 GMT -5
[googlefont=Libre Baskerville]
i'm a wolf.
Oh rabbit, my claws are dull now so don't be afraid
Most nights Alain felt as if he were choking on the air that filled his lungs. Too many nights he woke in a cold sweat, shivering on the food floor of the guest room because he was too used to not having a bed. Of not having the luxury and comfort that he was more than used to after being born and bred into a well-to-do family that had been able to afford to send him to Hogwarts despite his and his brother's conditions. Blankets didn't help the chill in his bones and he could only ever give a wistful glance toward the bed.
He wasn't used to sleeping alone, so sleeping in the bed was such a foreign concept. Especially when there would be no one to reach for in the middle of the night. The silence in the home they were supposed to share was absolutely deafening. More than once he had zoned out to the hum of absolutely nothing, only to snap out of it a few hours later when the sound of Victoria entering the house from work shook him out of his silent panic attack.
Recently, even touching his own wand sent him into a spiral. He couldn't use it, no matter how hard he tried. For being a wizard, he was feeling utterly useless when it came to magic. But how else were you supposed to feel when your wand was found at a crime scene, used, and having injured another person to within an inch of their life?
So he had wrapped it in a piece of cheesecloth he had found in the kitchen, stuffed it into a box, and had carried it with him to Diagon Alley and Ollivander's Wand Shop. He had the mind to trade his old wand for something different, new. But he would even settle for keeping both, even if the new wand felt foreign and different in his palm. Anything was better than not being able to function whenever he subjected himself to his own form of self-torment.
Ducking his head and keeping his eyes averted from the other people on the street, Alain tried his best to ignore the stares. Of course, his face was well known. There had been no end to the media coverage surrounding his trial and conviction. His father had made sure to hold nothing back just so he knew what to expect when he finally set foot into the real world once more. He ventured to give an older with a kind smile, but it only earned him the pleasure of seeing the woman fast walk right past him with a scathing look.
From there, Alain resigned himself to staring blankly ahead, trying not to get ahead of himself with meeting people. A few more blocks and he was slipping into the front door of Ollivander's, lingering up at the counter and waiting patiently for someone to serve him. There wasn't anyone else in the shop, yet, at least. That gave him a moment of peace. When he waited a little too long, he looked for the bell on the counter, bringing his finger down on the plunger in a half-hearted attempt to ask for service.
The sooner he was able to wrangle himself free of the offending wand's grasp, the easier he was sure he would breathe.
557 words - open to adults
He wasn't used to sleeping alone, so sleeping in the bed was such a foreign concept. Especially when there would be no one to reach for in the middle of the night. The silence in the home they were supposed to share was absolutely deafening. More than once he had zoned out to the hum of absolutely nothing, only to snap out of it a few hours later when the sound of Victoria entering the house from work shook him out of his silent panic attack.
Recently, even touching his own wand sent him into a spiral. He couldn't use it, no matter how hard he tried. For being a wizard, he was feeling utterly useless when it came to magic. But how else were you supposed to feel when your wand was found at a crime scene, used, and having injured another person to within an inch of their life?
So he had wrapped it in a piece of cheesecloth he had found in the kitchen, stuffed it into a box, and had carried it with him to Diagon Alley and Ollivander's Wand Shop. He had the mind to trade his old wand for something different, new. But he would even settle for keeping both, even if the new wand felt foreign and different in his palm. Anything was better than not being able to function whenever he subjected himself to his own form of self-torment.
Ducking his head and keeping his eyes averted from the other people on the street, Alain tried his best to ignore the stares. Of course, his face was well known. There had been no end to the media coverage surrounding his trial and conviction. His father had made sure to hold nothing back just so he knew what to expect when he finally set foot into the real world once more. He ventured to give an older with a kind smile, but it only earned him the pleasure of seeing the woman fast walk right past him with a scathing look.
From there, Alain resigned himself to staring blankly ahead, trying not to get ahead of himself with meeting people. A few more blocks and he was slipping into the front door of Ollivander's, lingering up at the counter and waiting patiently for someone to serve him. There wasn't anyone else in the shop, yet, at least. That gave him a moment of peace. When he waited a little too long, he looked for the bell on the counter, bringing his finger down on the plunger in a half-hearted attempt to ask for service.
The sooner he was able to wrangle himself free of the offending wand's grasp, the easier he was sure he would breathe.
557 words - open to adults
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