I'd fly over rooftops
The great boulevards

Rhaelle Senya Maenlarys

Wisher’s Isle was a beautiful place. It was hard to say what made it so, but whenever she was there, she felt thoroughly happy — that meant, happier than usual, which was undoubtedly an impressing feat of the island. She used to come here often with her grandparents when she was little. Maybe this was where she and her brother had their enthusiasm for dragons from? She didn’t think about it all too much. It didn’t matter after all as long as they were both passionate about it. She wasn’t sure why she had started to study at Lufkin in the first place. Though, of course, she had already been studying Magizoology there. And she worked at St Mungo’s. It had simply been the obvious choice. But then, during her second semester, she had thought back to this island, to the dragons she had seen there as a toddler, sitting on her grandma’s arm. And then she had said to herself that Wisher’s Island was far closer to her parents’ than London. The next moment, she had written to the university and asked to be accepted, and after a little more paperwork, everything was done.

It would be a little more difficult now with St Mungo’s and Magizoology back at Lufkin, but if she divided up her courses intelligently, she was sure she could manage. She would just reduce her Magizoology pensum so that she would be finished at the same time as Dragonology. It was actually ideal. And there were always weird hours to work at St Mungo’s that she could somehow make fit. Somehow everything always fit — like today. The sun was shining and bright and it was warm and after looking around a little on campus, she had the whole day to run around on the island. Just maybe she should not go to Ambrosia bakery. Their stuff was just too delicious — the second most remembered thing from her childhood visits here after the dragons. But sweets were not healthy, and she was a nurse. She was telling patients all the time what they were allowed to eat. She had to be a good example and keep to a diet that she could medically approve of.

So she was walking across the coast without a goal and with only a slight longing for chocolate éclairs. The landscape made up for it (almost), and for some reason, it was impossible anyway to feel depressed on Wisher’s Isle. Maybe that was just her? It didn’t matter. It was Semester break and she had the whole day to do whatever she wanted. Tomorrow she’d be at St Mungo’s and would later on go to the animal shelter. She really liked to be at the hospital no matter the time, but it was nice to be able to work during the day when she didn’t have classes. It was a little difficult to chat with the patients when they were asleep. The sight of Wisher’s Well made her stop in her pace. There, she had wished as little girl that some day she could work with dragons. She stepped closer and sat down, peering into the water. Her first wish was about to become true. So, should she make a second one? But then, why? There was nothing to wish for, everything was perfect.

I wOke up in a dream
(In the middle of the night)

Wish I Could Fly

It was a child's fantasy, Rhaelle was aware. It was no logical sense, it was nonsensical in the small childish way. A tourist trap, a simple way to have gold. And yet. . .

The longer Rhaelle spent on Wisher's Isle, this strange place more tranquil than rugged yet with a fury of dragons, he more she could see herself staying. It was not Faroe, nor the castle her ancestors had lived in, where rugged terrain or plateaus abandoned, where the bellow of dragons was watched by the crashing of waves, yet. . .it was strangely comfortable, a child's daydream.

Still, there was one part of the Isle Rhaelle had yet to visit, precisely for the reason that it was foolish. A wishing well, said to grant any wish. Were such a thing truly successful, then there were a thousand ways the world would be different. Still, what was a Sickle? Worthless. It was, she told herself, nothing to contribute so someone who might wish to take it, or to give for upkeep of the island.

It was a child's thing, and doubtless she'd leave easily if there were others. She minded her cousin's children well enough when asked-- a Maenlarys and their sister deserved no less. Helga and Sigrid were of good enough blood. It was nothing to have them starting with eggs and simulacra. Helga had reached the age where she ought to be aware of the edge of comfort and wariness that came with dragons, and Sigrid simply needed o be trained for it. The more time she spent with them, the more Rhaelle was satisfied with her marriage. She had little desire for children, and Shaera would have enough for both of them. She knew Aegon half-hoped that caring for their cousins might inspire Rhaelle to breed, yet her mother knew it was not to be. Rhaelle might be convinced for Faroe, if the family was high enough and willing to keep the arrangement private, but until then. . .

There was, however, someone at the well, and she thought she half-recognized the glint of blonde. "Lady Lucy?"

Had the well really worked magic for her when she was a child and had made her wish? Probably not. At least she had never heard of any magic that might do it. And everything that she had done to fulfill her wish of working with dragons would be perfectly achievable with natural means. There was nothing magical about her life, apart maybe that Elliot had got a happy ending. And he deserved one after all. He was the best person in the world. It was only just that he’d get compensation for all his suffering. Everyone in her family was happy now. Corwin was slightly worrying about getting married, but sitting here next to the well in the green grass, everything was far too calm and serene for her to worry for her friend. Everything would turn out alright for everyone.

Suddenly a voice greeted her. And in such a ridiculous manner. She had never asked of anyone to call her a lady. She wasn’t one. Ladies were creatures that looked fashionable and sat in a plushy armchair all day drinking tea and gossiping. Ladies were sweet old women. She was just Lucy McGuffin and to have anything put before her name made her feel like she was attending a carneval. Nobody used to talk to her like that. She had in fact thought that this nonsense had been abolished. Whoever had decided to reintroduce it… they were the target of Lucy’s less pleasant thoughts. “Just Lucy,” she said automatically before standing up and offering her hand. Now that they were standing before each other, Lucy was certain that she had seen her before. Somewhere formal maybe… Then her memory suddenly spewed out the picture of a little girl sitting before everyone in the Great Hall to be sorted. Lucy had always loved the Sorting, and she could a name and a face for some time afterwards until thoes she little interacted with disappeared from her memory. Now at the social gatherings that had recently exponentially increased she usually didn’t pay attention to names and just kept to the people she knew who wouldn’t glare at her for… whatever reason. Smiling too much probably, at least that was Aunt Eleanor’s eternal complaint. Nevertheless she had picked up some names, and after she had connected all these dots, it felt like the name was dangling before her. Something foreign though… “Hi,” she added, in time telling herself that if the girl addressed her as a lady, she might expect the same in return. “Lady Rachel? How nice to see you.” That didn’t sound right. But close? Hopefully close.

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[attr="class","title1"]I Woke in A Dream
In the Middle of the Night

[attr="class","subtitle1"] Wish I Could Fly

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Rhaelle took the offered hand, giving it a firm shake. "Of course. And it's mine as well, I believe. Is it your first time here?"

She let her lips twist in displeasure momentarily at the thoroughly common name. Still, what might one expect from such a conventional name as Lucy? She had little doubt if her father's family had never left Ireland, her name would have been known. Still, she ought to take pride in that. Half-British she might be on her English mother's side, Hogwarts-educated and British-Ministry-and-schools trained, but she was foreign and would remain so. She was only visiting, truly. But by cursed visions, how much longer?

She could not deny her presence at the well. She might feign ignorance-- yes, she could work on that. She had lived in Ireland less than two years, and Rathlin was an island, after all, still larger than Wisher's. Moreover, everyone on the island was positively gleeful, and it grated on her. Yes, she could easily claim she had little knowledge of the well. If Lady Lucy didn't know her enough for her name, then she wouldn't know Rhaelle well enough to know how unlikely that was.

"I am Lady Rhaelle Maenlarys." Never fully mind that her father's family hadn't been in Britain for some centuries. Never mind that her mother's father was supposedly unknown. Alioth, after all, honored her part-Black mother and father's first name, did it not. That Rhaelle could not demand use of a title she might not truly have was a fact. Did she doubt her usage of it? No, Maenlarys ruled Faroe, after all, and her bloodline was pure and ancient. She would expect it of equals and lessers, though not of those whose bloodlines were honored more here. "Your family is more . .forgive me, I apologize. Which part of Ireland, again?"

[attr="class","tags1"]☆ Lucy Janet MacGuffin , 311 words | i'm so sorry it's so short and so bad words ☆

[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai

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There was something odd about this girl — odd in the sense that she didn’t belong to the kind of persons that Lucy felt immediately close with. Not that this was anything bad. Everybody was different, and that was what made everyone beautiful in their own very specific way. Certainly the girl was also beautiful. Just from the first feelings Lucy got when she watched the girl watch her, she didn’t become all too confident that it would be easy for her to understand the other. It was a fleeting feeling though, until she decided that she was imagining things. There was no reason in the world why they wouldn’t get along. Her reserve couldn’t be due to some vain and insipid reason. She was most likely just shy, the poor thing. She would just have to wait and keep chatting, and in the end they’d get along swimmingly. This was usually the case. She got along with everybody, so this could not be any exception. Maybe it had something to do with the background. She had observed it time and time again — that people who, like herself, had a mostly wizarding background tended to be a little stuck-up. She hoped that she herself had never committed such a mistake, but it was a detail that sometimes bothered her. That she might be thought better for something as inane as for who her parents were. She didn’t understand why some seemed to carry this air around them, but usually she found it easy to discover more positive character traits than the one peculiarity that had struck her first.

“No, I used to come here quite often with my grandparents when I was little. It’s just so lovely here,” she said, waving her arms widely around her to indicate the whole island. “Is this your first time to Wisher’s Island? It’d have to be paradise for anyone who hasn’t been here before. I've always loved it.” Oh, well, she had got the name wrong. But she had been close. Very close as far as everyday names went. If she ever had a child, she’d take care that she wouldn’t burden the poor thing with a name nobody could remember. “I’m sorry, Rhaelle of course,” she said apologetically. “How silly of me, it’s a lovely name.” The sort of name that she had to ask to spell when she was filling out St Mungo’s reception form. Thank goodness she could talk without knowing how to write that name. “Nothing to apologize, why should you know where we lived? We’re not that spotlight-y people. We’re from pretty much in the middle. And in the west,” she replied, a little confused as to what Rhaelle was talking about. “My family’s been there for centuries. There’s a lot of land, it was lovely for me as a child to grow up there.”