Post by Flora Megaera Carrow on Apr 11, 2019 22:58:04 GMT -5
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[attr="class","stephtable"]
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[attr="class","title-flora"] Prick! Goes the Scorpion's Tale
[attr="class","subtitle-flora"] What a pretty and dangerous line, my love
What bitter yet delicious wine, my love
What bitter yet delicious wine, my love
[attr="class","wordz-flora"] Flora was displeased.
Truthfully, this was neither so uncommon nor common a reaction. Flora was, more often than not, some emotion or lack of that she could not fully pin down. She usually didn't care to do so-- it was not her soul-half, so it was not important. She was far more like their mother than she would have liked in that regard, in that twin-called-Flora was colder and sharper, more distant and prone to most things. The damned claustrophobia was a singular weakness twin-called-Hestia did not share, and when she was Hestia, she was not claustrophobia.
It was only when she wore the guise and name of Flora as she did most often that the walls seemed to move, that everything pressed in and her heart began to beat faster, her breath to come in spurts and gasps. Sebastian understood that mostly, and it was perhaps that that allowed her to feel. . .
It was not the emotions Hestia felt for her Kvothe, she knew that. She had been Hestia long enough to know the fluttering feeling when Hestia thought of the Quidditch coach, and it was different. It was perhaps a sort of fondness, she supposed. Fondness was acceptable, and was this not beneficial? He was getting older, though he was still somewhat attractive as far as men went. She was still fertile, and that was as good as a prospect she'd had since she was a young women and engaged to Eoin.
Flora was unsure of what to do with this information. If she was Hestia, perhaps she would have a better idea. Or Hestia of course, would also know better. Hestia was the lucky one, still immune and healthy. They switched a lot more often now, still keeping it hidden which Carrow twin had magic, denying that either was less than perfect. It meant less and more when they switched more, as now there was a difference in twin-called-Hestia that she herself could not have. Twin-called-Flora had magic when her soul-half slipped into that identity, but she could not do the same.
The confusion held and helped. Neither Carrow twin was weak, and their second cousins were kept too cowed to say anything else. Desmelda and Melantha weren't even true twins and could not understand. Uncle Amycus and Aunt Alecto. . . as always, twin-called-Hestia was closer, and twin-called-Flora stayed from them. They were relatively secure in their magic, and it had only been the female Carrow twins that had been so cruelly separated and torn apart.
But she was not here to think of the magic that had been sucked from her bones, that she could not put back, no matter the Mudbloods she experimented on. No, this was something far more disgustingly mundane: that she had the urge to write another letter to Sebastian and she could not find the proper words to do so. She gave a frown at the parchment in front of her and balled up the latest attempt, throwing it into the trash beside her.
Truthfully, this was neither so uncommon nor common a reaction. Flora was, more often than not, some emotion or lack of that she could not fully pin down. She usually didn't care to do so-- it was not her soul-half, so it was not important. She was far more like their mother than she would have liked in that regard, in that twin-called-Flora was colder and sharper, more distant and prone to most things. The damned claustrophobia was a singular weakness twin-called-Hestia did not share, and when she was Hestia, she was not claustrophobia.
It was only when she wore the guise and name of Flora as she did most often that the walls seemed to move, that everything pressed in and her heart began to beat faster, her breath to come in spurts and gasps. Sebastian understood that mostly, and it was perhaps that that allowed her to feel. . .
It was not the emotions Hestia felt for her Kvothe, she knew that. She had been Hestia long enough to know the fluttering feeling when Hestia thought of the Quidditch coach, and it was different. It was perhaps a sort of fondness, she supposed. Fondness was acceptable, and was this not beneficial? He was getting older, though he was still somewhat attractive as far as men went. She was still fertile, and that was as good as a prospect she'd had since she was a young women and engaged to Eoin.
Flora was unsure of what to do with this information. If she was Hestia, perhaps she would have a better idea. Or Hestia of course, would also know better. Hestia was the lucky one, still immune and healthy. They switched a lot more often now, still keeping it hidden which Carrow twin had magic, denying that either was less than perfect. It meant less and more when they switched more, as now there was a difference in twin-called-Hestia that she herself could not have. Twin-called-Flora had magic when her soul-half slipped into that identity, but she could not do the same.
The confusion held and helped. Neither Carrow twin was weak, and their second cousins were kept too cowed to say anything else. Desmelda and Melantha weren't even true twins and could not understand. Uncle Amycus and Aunt Alecto. . . as always, twin-called-Hestia was closer, and twin-called-Flora stayed from them. They were relatively secure in their magic, and it had only been the female Carrow twins that had been so cruelly separated and torn apart.
But she was not here to think of the magic that had been sucked from her bones, that she could not put back, no matter the Mudbloods she experimented on. No, this was something far more disgustingly mundane: that she had the urge to write another letter to Sebastian and she could not find the proper words to do so. She gave a frown at the parchment in front of her and balled up the latest attempt, throwing it into the trash beside her.
[attr="class","tags1"]☆ @ open, 502 words ☆
[attr="class","credz1"]❤fai
