Post by Deleted on Feb 23, 2018 14:51:26 GMT -5
Where you tend a rose my lad, a thistle cannot grow
TAG: @terrianne | OUTFIT
It was finally Friday!
Merlin's Beard, Sylvie felt like she had been waiting for the weekend for months.
Sitting propped up against the stone wall of the corridor, Sylvie pulled the charcoal stick across the page, rounding it out near the edges as the familiar outline of a nose took shape on the parchment. It was a familiar feature to her, one that she felt she had seen a thousand times.
It was her favorite way to spend the class change, especially when she had the next period off. Sylvie had drawings of practically every student at Hogwarts and this was her favorite time to catch some inspiration. The way that friends laughed as they made their way to Transfiguration. The way that some of the boys watched the girls on the other side of the corridor. All of it was…fascinating.
Sylvie’s charcoal stick paused, her hand hesitating as she drew a few runes off to the side, writing a secret code of sorts for her to remember later. There was always a little bit of chicken scratch off to the side of her drawings. Always a little bit of mystery behind what she wrote. She liked the idea that only she (and a few others who spoke the languages at Hogwarts) would be able to read her thoughts. In some ways, her sketch book was like a secret journal.
So lost in thought, the young Gryffindor didn’t realize that someone was nearly standing on top of her until it was too late. Flushing a bright shade of red (that nearly matched the stripes of her tie), Sylvie slammed her sketchbook closed and looked up. “Sorry, what?”
Merlin's Beard, Sylvie felt like she had been waiting for the weekend for months.
Sitting propped up against the stone wall of the corridor, Sylvie pulled the charcoal stick across the page, rounding it out near the edges as the familiar outline of a nose took shape on the parchment. It was a familiar feature to her, one that she felt she had seen a thousand times.
It was her favorite way to spend the class change, especially when she had the next period off. Sylvie had drawings of practically every student at Hogwarts and this was her favorite time to catch some inspiration. The way that friends laughed as they made their way to Transfiguration. The way that some of the boys watched the girls on the other side of the corridor. All of it was…fascinating.
Sylvie’s charcoal stick paused, her hand hesitating as she drew a few runes off to the side, writing a secret code of sorts for her to remember later. There was always a little bit of chicken scratch off to the side of her drawings. Always a little bit of mystery behind what she wrote. She liked the idea that only she (and a few others who spoke the languages at Hogwarts) would be able to read her thoughts. In some ways, her sketch book was like a secret journal.
So lost in thought, the young Gryffindor didn’t realize that someone was nearly standing on top of her until it was too late. Flushing a bright shade of red (that nearly matched the stripes of her tie), Sylvie slammed her sketchbook closed and looked up. “Sorry, what?”