DIVINE VIOLENCE.

when: early evening, january 25th, 1979 where: the zabini estate, ballroom who: bellatrix & narcissa

bella would know narcissa in any crowd, could pick her out just from the slope of her neck and the elegance of her gait. no mask could hide her sister from her, despite the slow drift that had started between them, the gulf of things neither of them were saying. it was easy to pretend everything was as it was, and on occasion, bellatrix liked to indulge that fantasy, that work of fiction, and tonight was one of those times.

she found her sister easily by the dance floor, linking her arm with narcissa and clasping her sister’s hand on top of hers – possessive, demanding, and obsessive as always. she didn’t know how to love without consuming. “i should have nipped this running for office thing in the bud when i had the chance,” bellatrix muttered under her breath to her sister. “perhaps it was foolish of me to think rodolphus’ political aspirations would have no affect on me, but… god, if anyone else tries to make small talk with me, i will hex them, and it won’t be my fault. i mean, can you blame me?”

she glanced over at her sister, sharp and scrutinizing. “what’s wrong?” she asked, shrewd. and perhaps nothing was wrong, perhaps she misread the glimmer in narcissa’s eyes, but that’s what happened when you grew apart, not together. “you look absolutely miserable.” or maybe she was just projecting. the reason she acted out so much at these kind of parties, especially in her reckless youth, was because she knew, with absolute certainty, that she would never belong in frilly high society. not like narcissa did anyways. “or maybe that’s just the dead fucking goat on your face.”

♕

𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙰, 𝙰𝚂 𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂, 𝙸𝚂 𝙰 𝙵𝙸𝚁𝙴𝙲𝚁𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙵 𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂, but Narcissa is used to taming them. Tonight, it’d been her gripes about Rodolphus running for office. Of course, a politician’s wife, as expected, needed to be docile, smiling, polite — and of course, there is no one that is further from that stereotype as her own sister. Squeezing her sister’s hand, she strides along, regal expression in place as she leans in to whisper into her ear. “Think of it this way, Bella; once he is elected, you are free to do as you wish. The power that you will have, through Rodolphus, of course. You needn’t hex anybody then,” she replies. She knows it is a useless reassurance for Bella, but as always, she tries.

At her questioning of her expression, Narcissa furrows her brow deeper, blue eyes flitting around the room. “Bellatrix! — I do not look that miserable,” she chastises, although the corner of her mouth turns up at her crass comment of her mask. “You saw the… scum walking around. I would have liked to think that Khadijah Zabini would have more dignity than to extend her invitation to her lovely home to her lessers… but then again, it isn’t my home, is it?” Exhaling, she passes one of her friends’ husbands, and offers him a polite smile, not even bothering Bellatrix to do the same. Narcissa knows she will not. “Anyways, what else was I supposed to wear? Father, and Lucius, for that matter, would have had a fit if I’d decided to wear anything else.”

𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴, 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙽𝚂 𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃, right as Narcissa is thinking of leaving, she gets her shoe stuck in some chewing gum, with not a spell that she can remember that could help lift it up. The sweets that they made these days seemed hardier than a pewter cauldron, and her wand had been left in her pockets, resorting to using her hands to attempt to pull it off.

It’s only as she spots someone come out that she turns, waving them over, desperate for help. “Excuse me!” She calls out. “Would you - would you mind lending me a hand? I’ve gotten my shoe stuck and… admittedly, I do not remember the spell to get it up.” She gestures to the poor shoe, which no doubt would have to be repaired.

­

Risha slightly narrowed her eyes as it was Narcissa Malfoy who had decided to join her. Sure, they were both masked but it was clear who the other person was. Apparently as it had been clear to her as well who she was. What did surprise her, however, was the fact that it was Narcissa Malfoy who decided to talk to her. They crossed paths during the many Pureblood parties but exchanging words was a whole different thing however.

“Yes, love indeed. Don’t we all need more love in this world? Not just from a significant other but also in general?” She said to the woman, a smile forming on her lips at the words that the blonde said. No, this was not insinuating the fact that she needed more love from another man than her husband. She had learned from that mistake. At least she hoped so.

“I am definitely enjoying myself, Narcissa. How about you?”

♕

𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙰 𝙽𝙰𝚁𝚁𝙾𝚆𝚂 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙴𝚈𝙴𝚂 𝙰𝚃 𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙰, although not enough to be judgmental, before nodding slowly. “I suppose, although you must be careful where you spread this love.” She’s sure that Risha isn’t too daft that she’d have to spell it out for her. “The last thing you’d want is for other people to think of you as… well, you must know what I’m talking about, no?” Narcissa smiles, though it’s far from a genuine warmth. She means blood traitor, of course, though again, she knows enough to not spew such controversial language in a party like this.

“I’m enjoying myself quite well, thank you.” She sips on her wine, regarding her conversational partner with a careful eye. “Though you mustn’t stand around and be idle. Have you spoken to the others?” Meaning, the other Pureblood wives they’d so often mingled with. “It gives off the wrong message.”

Lucius had been glad to see his wife dressed tastefully when they prepare to leave for the event. Her own colors nearly matched his own, her dress was elegant and regal, her mask intricate and beautiful. He had wondered for a moment about her choice–as his wife, she had plenty of money–but of the choices at her disposal, it was certainly a smart choice. She knew what was acceptable and what was presentable. It was another reason she was worthy of being his wife and why he was glad to have been paired with her rather than one of her sisters.

Or someone, it seemed, like Khadijah. He sighed, sounding and feeling almost weary. “I suppose some people don’t understand proper company. Perhaps she can learn but…we’ll have to see.” He said. He took a glass of wine for himself from the tray. “She is of good enough blood. If she can learn how to conduct herself properly, she could have potential to join us.” He turned his head, giving his wife a look that told her he meant to recruit her if she proved worthy.

“It isn’t just embarrassing yourself,” he added levelly. “There’s already been an attack on the manor. Now there’s this party, anyone could be here and could try to pull anything.” He didn’t feel love for Narcissa, not really, he often questioned if he cared for her at all. But he did know how it would look if she were injured or taken advantage of, particularly after the attack on the Manor and his father’s death. “People will think that the masks give them power.”

♕

𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙰 𝙽𝙾𝙳𝚂 𝙰𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙷𝚄𝚂𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙳'𝚂 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃, in usual agreement, though she is always careful to not sound too obsequious. Only she knows that there is an art to being obedient and maintaining her sense of pride as a woman, for there is nothing more embarrassing than being a helpless, sniveling mess. She had pride, even if it’d always been second to her prestigious surnames. “You’re right,” she assents, “although you do have to wonder if people can truly be reformed even after they’ve taken to Mudbloods.” Sourly, she thinks of her sister, though she does not dare mention her name out loud. For all intents and purposes, Andromeda is dead to her. “Zabini... and perhaps the other Fawleys could be convinced...” Thinking out loud, she scans the crowd for familiar faces, though the dratted masks obscured most of the identities of the partygoers. “I do hope I do not end up talking to anyone undesirable with all these masks.” 

Turning, Narcissa is grateful for how much the mask hides, allowing too much of her surprise to flash across her face. “Yes. Of-of course.” In a rare moment, she stumbles over her words. Nothing else to say, she nods, returning back to her absent-minded gaze across to the crowd. Lucius Malfoy is not a caring man, and she has never deluded herself into thinking so… and yet, the seemingly soft gesture jolts her. There is still much she does not know about her husband. “Of course, I would like to think that I could hold my own against a couple of Mudbloods.” 

Sirius felt ready to start conversing with the rest of the guests. He had to socialise from people in both of the fractions he had pledged his loyalty to; both friends and enemies. He had to keep maintaining the low profile he held, especially to the Mundus Novus, even though most of the fellow allies didn’t seem to trust him. He had to keep the facade. So, when he noticed a woman he was almost 100% sure it was his cousin Narcissa, he approached her.

When he heard her voice and made eye contact with her, he immediately knew that the woman behind the goat mask was his cousin. He chuckled at her, feeling rather pleased with her fright. “To be honest it wasn’t my intention, but i’m not complaining” he said in a kind manner. “You’d be surprised, but people dig dark and mysterious people.” he offered her. “But i gotta say, I didn’t have you for a woman to seek further wealth” 

When: January 25th, 1979, 10pm. Where: Zabini estate  Who: Cygnus + open

Cygnus felt nothing short of a fool. This was not the first masquerade ball he had attended in his life, but he certainly hoped it was to be his last. He hated the feel of a mask settling over his face obscuring his identity. For his whole life, Cygnus’ focus had been making his identity known, carving his reputation in blood. Masquerade balls felt like the very antithesis of this - blending into the crowd rather than standing apart as a member of the House of Black should. Never mind the fact he was wearing a monkey mask. It was as ornate as he could have made it, but still - it felt almost humiliating. 

Tonight afforded opportunity. Anyone who was anyone would be here, including the heads of opposing factions. Cygnus and Orion had met as soon as the invitations had arrived, agreeing to stomach a ball in the event that they may be able to seek new recruits….or prevent the other factions from seeking their own new recruits. His family ring lay heavy on his finger. That was a piece of his identity that he had been unable to part with for this disguise - the ring hadn’t left his finger in decades.

He’d finally managed to shake off his hag of a wife and find space to breathe, a glass of whiskey firmly in hand. He downed the glass in one swift gulp, far faster than whiskey was meant to be drunk. The glass was swiftly plucked from his hand and replaced with a full glass by the waiters who seemed to be ever present. Pausing for a moment, Cygnus glanced to the person who stood beside him. His eyes settled on their mask, and he frowned.

“What, pray tell, do you believe is the point of separating us into different animals. Each action holds such a heavy meaning these days, there must be something…unless Zabini wanted us purely to engage with soul-searching before we came to get too drunk and forget all about the mask that indicates our deepest desires…”

♕

𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝙸𝚃 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁, there is nobody else Narcissa respects more, perhaps aside from Lucius. Cygnus Black is hardly a warm parental figure, but she’d always bent, at his whims, to his authority. Perhaps, a part of her knows for certain that even her birth had been the biggest disappointment, for the man had wanted a son, someone to pull the Black name along. And with two daughters with little respect for their elders, Narcissa had become determined to win the affection ( as much as it could be called that ) of her father.

Striding over to the man, as majestic as ever in his get-up, she nods, eyes downcast. “Father,” she greets, knowing that her head of blonde locks would be enough for him to recognize her behind the mask. “I suppose it’s just a way to break the ice between strangers…” She trails off, realizing that, as always, she has not given much thought to the question at hand. “Well, Zabini is neutral, but I suppose she could be sympathetic to our cause, too. Allow us — you and Uncle Orion to have your pick out of the bunch?” Watching her father carefully, she clasps her hand in front of her, never quite able to pull the rock that had made a permanent home in her stomach. “Have you spoken to Bella?” 

Location: The Zabini Estate     Date: January 25th, 8:32pm     Interaction: Eleanora Avery & @deathqueen​​​

The challenge of the invite had given her a headache — mentally and physically. To choose her strongest desire had been the thought that ravaged her mind for the last few nights. Power was the obvious choice for her, the desire to wield control over everyone and anyone but all of that was just a means to achieve her ends. That left her with an ornate pig mask embellishing her dark features. Fame. She wanted to be known for the power that surged through her bones and spilled from her fingertips, for her ability to command respect in any room she entered with nothing more than a gaze and a razor-sharp smile. Eleanora had never craved love; when she loved herself so fiercely and pridefully, there wasn’t anyone that could surmount her in affection towards her self. Heavy was the head that wears the crown, they said, and oh, how she could agree with that now.

She had arrived a tad on the late side and to no surprise, the party was already in full swing. Her hands ran over the sparkles of her dress, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles as she glanced around the room, aiming to lock eyes with a familiar face. While not entirely welcome, Lucius Malfoy was a difficult man to miss— he strut around, proud as a peacock with his darling wife trailing step-in-step with him. The masks that adorned their features left little to the imagination, the Malfoy name stamped red-hot across their foreheads. She waited— half a second — for a stretch of space to open up before she glided to the blonde, arm reaching out to link in Narcissa’s. 

“A goat— interesting choice. A beautifully rich woman like yourself vying for wealth? That husband of yours doesn’t shower you in enough riches? Should have demanded a bigger ring, hm?” 

♕

𝙰𝙷, 𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚁𝙰 𝙰𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 — there is no woman as maddening as she, another Pureblood woman sullied by selfish desires to fan their ever-growing egos. It’d been quite interesting to see the myriad of masks donned by the partygoers, the other’s true desires laid bare for everyone to see. Some had made perfect sense, Ophelia and Alecto with the monkey, and Narcissa had expected Eleanora to wear the same — but no, as the beauty came into view, she realizes that her mask is of a pig.

How ludicrous. Fame, like it even mattered in the scheme of things.

Narcissa knows her own mask is equally as confusing, but money is the only thing that has ever mattered to the blonde. Fame, power, respect, even love could be bought with wealth. “None of the other options appealed to me. I have no use for power or love, and I already have plenty of respect and fame attached to my name. Wealth — now, a woman can never be too rich.” Forcing a smile for the other, she cocks her head, examining Eleanora’s mask once more. “I suppose I could say the same to you. What does a woman like you have use for fame?”

𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙰 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸𝚃 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙱𝙴 𝙸𝙼𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙱𝙻𝙴 to avoid her own kin at the masquerade, but with it being a masquerade, it’d made it difficult to tell who she’d been talking to. Taking a brief moment for herself by the table of hors d'oeuvres, she picks up a delicate little pasty when a large black shadow appears by her side, and she jumps. Not a shadow, but a beak, attached to a rather impressive mask covering the entirety of the person’s face.

“Merlin — you gave me a fright,” she voices, fingers fluttering towards her chest. “That is… quite the mask you have on.” She wants to comment how looking for love in such a frightening mask would be entirely counterintuitive, but she keeps her mouth shut, too polite to comment such a thing. “Have you been successful?” 

𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙰 𝙷𝙰𝙳 𝚂𝙿𝙾𝚃𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙰 𝙵𝙰𝚆𝙻𝙴𝚈, she had no intentions of speaking to the woman — she’d always seemed… odd in comparison to the other witches Narcissa had spent time with. Perhaps it’d been the cultural barrier, but Narcissa never quite took to Risha. Of course, she knows plenty of Pureblood women with no interest in being married, but Risha is married. To one of the Fawleys, no less.

But Narcissa supposes it’d be in poor form not to greet a fellow wife, and she smiles as she saunters over to the other. “Risha Fawley — are you enjoying yourself?” Taking in her mask, Narcissa frowns a bit, tilting her head. “Love, is it? I hope that’s not insinuating what I think it is.”

𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙷𝙰𝙳 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚅𝙴𝙽 𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙰 𝙸𝙽𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃. Exclusivity is clearly not a word she’d thought of when sending out the invites to the party; the blonde has already ran into far too many individuals of a… lower pedigree, and though she didn’t like to meddle, it’d been tiring trying to avoid everyone like a maze. It’s only when she’s about to give up that she spots the fellow beauty, and Narcissa strides over, greeting the woman with a polite and friendly hello, reserved for others that she’d deemed respectable.

“Khadijah! The estate is absolutely lovely.” Eyes wandering around the hall, she leans in before whispering, “you certainly invited… many people.” She raises a careful brow at an individual she doesn’t recognize, turning back to the woman with a warm smile.

𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙰 𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳𝙴𝙳 𝙰 𝙱𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷 𝙾𝙵 𝙰𝙸𝚁 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴𝚂 from the endless suffocation of social interaction, as pleasing as the night has been. Frankly, it’d been enjoyable for the first hour before the small talk had managed to bore the blonde to sleep. Talking about the prices of a vial of dragon’s blood or a scoop of powdered asphodel is just as effective as a sleeping draught.

Strolling out the back door, she hears the music and chatter die down, and she inhales, watching her breath fog up in the cold, January air. It’s only as she walks further out that she hears a rustle further down the path. Realizing that she is not totally alone, Narcissa stops in her tracks, pulling out her wand, gripped tight in her hand. “Who’s there?”

𝙽𝙾𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝚂 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙰 𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙵𝙾𝚈 that there is an art to mingling at these sorts of parties, one embedded into her core from years of being raised on these sorts of events that by now, it’s easy to pick out the outliers from the bunch. Talking too much, talking too little, eating too quickly, not eating at all. All actions designated as faux-pas, Narcissa finds one such person —

Frank Longbottom. She isn’t offended by him; in fact, she finds him nice through it all, and yet, something about his earnest nature makes her pity — no, suspect him. A high society party, and though the name Longbottom had once meant something, at present, it is certainly different. With an almost-empty glass of wine in her hand, Narcissa is feeling bolder than usual, and she strides over to him, a smile on her face. “Fancy seeing you here, Frank.” Her words are touched with a smidge of condescension, bolstered by the alcohol.

Zabini Estate, Masquerade, 8:00pm Closed to @deathqueen​

Lucius strode toward the door with his wife on his arm. He wasn’t going to arrive at an event in any other way, regardless of whether or not people could see who he was–not that he was truly hiding. Lucius never likes when people didn’t know who he was. Everyone always should. He had had his doubts about the event, and if it had been held by a family other than the Zabini’s, he may not have attended, but he knew regardless of his misgivings about the night, it would be decadent enough to be worth a night out. 

“I wonder just whose idea it was to have a masquerade party at a time like this. It seems to be inviting trouble,” he commented casually to his wife.  “And I’m not really sure how I feel about the idea of masquerades to begin with. I just don’t understand the point.” He looked down at the crowds already gathering about. “I did hope that being the Zabini’s their guest list would be a little more…exclusive.” He turned to look at her. “You will watch yourself tonight, won’t you?”

♕

𝙰𝚁𝙼 𝙸𝙽 𝙰𝚁𝙼 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙷𝚄𝚂𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙳, Narcissa is awed by the beauty gracing the Zabini estate, her mood visibly brightening at the sheer magnificence of the home. A bit of a difference from the dark and brooding luxury of the Manor, her eyes dart around the hall as if she’s committing the picture to memory.

And yet, it is clear that Lucius does not feel the same way. In truth, she’d been marginally excited about the anonymity of the party as a way to escape from the weight of her name and expectations ( though she’d never reveal that to be the case ). Eyes following up to her husband’s face, she nods, glad for the mask that covered her face. “A party is a party,” she starts, keeping pace with Lucius. “Although you are right, dear. You’d think that Khadijah Zabini would have the decency to turn away some of the undesirables from entering her home…”

Pulling a glass of wine from the tray, she gives him a polite smile, nodding once. “Of course. I’d sooner be hexed than make an embarrassment of myself.”

     Location: the Zabini estate      Date: January 25th, 8:02pm      Interaction: Alecto Carrow & @deathqueen

     Though commitment had never been her cup of tea ( nor had anyone ever had the audacity to expect more than a good night with her ), there was something about others having something she wanted that was all the more appealing. If she’d searched deeper within her, Alecto might have realized she didn’t truly care so much about one Malfoy man, but knowing the most disapproving of the Black sisters graced his side on a daily basis, all the while looking down on her – well, it simpl drove absolutely mental. The M ring could only mean one thing and a slim figure by his side didn’t leave much to the imagination either. Alecto had promised ( herself ) to behave tonight, but when the opporutinity for mischief was handed to her on a silver platter, who was she to deny herself such a simple pleasure?

     Perhaps she stuck out her ankle on purpose, but who’d be able to prove it? It was barely visible underneath her heavy skirt. Sadly, the other was too quick and didn’t fall for her childish scheme – at least, she’d given it a try. Wouldn’t it have been so bloody hilarious if everyone in this ddamn room ahd turned to see Narcissa Black tripped over and with her skirts all splattered around her? Yes, quite the sight it might have been. “Wrong mask,” she tried to conceal her voice as best as possible, but her cadence was too characteristic to hide. “Did your husband pick it out for you?” A simple taunt, but enough for the other to read between the lines.

𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝚁𝙰𝚁𝚈 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝙾𝙿𝚄𝙻𝙰𝚁 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙴𝙵, Narcissa isn’t completely daft, as much as she put up her airs of the haughty housewife. No, she certainly isn’t as impassioned as Bella, or as quick-witted as Andromeda, but Narcissa knows her strengths. The primary skill being, knowing how to carry herself at these sorts of parties.

𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐘, 𝘧𝘵. 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘦.

𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙿𝙸𝚃𝙴 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶, 𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙰 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝙳𝙴𝙴𝙿𝙻𝚈 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚁 𝚂𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁, who had been her number one confidante growing up in their household. Bella is as much her best friend as she is her sister, and they’d grown up as each other’s protectors, the keeper of their secrets. ( Andromeda, at one point, had been a part of Narcissa’s life too. Of course, that had all gone up in smoke as soon as she’d married that Mudblood. )

And yet, she’d been avoiding dear Bella. Primarily out of guilt, but Narcissa is adamant on acting as if nothing has happened, if only to maintain some amount of normalcy in a world that is rapidly looking as if it would not. She’d reluctantly agreed on meeting at some discrete little pub in Knockturn Alley — in fact, aside from one sullen looking wizard, she is the only other patron in the shop.

Per usual, Narcissa is early, and she orders a glass of firewhiskey, if only because she assumes the pub would not stock her favorite bottle of elfen-made wine. Hearing the door swing open, Narcissa turns. “You’re late,” she jests, swirling her glass around. “You look good, Bella. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve started.” She raises the glass and gives her sister a small smile. 

Ophelia’s mother’s reputation tended to precede her—she swept into rooms as if she owned them, she’d had a string of lovers who had all fallen in love with her though she loved none of them, and she threw extravagant parties twice a year. She was a character, to say the least, and even if the people around her didn’t know of Ophelia, they knew of the Greengrass name, thanks to the powerful matriarch.

“More or less,” Ophelia replied. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown.” Ophelia’s mother didn’t necessarily track all of her daughter’s whereabouts, but it wasn’t uncommon for Ophelia to need to send up flares every now and again when it had been a while since she had checked in with her mother. It was a safety thing more than anything else—Ophelia’s mother loved to bring up the fact that she had put a lot of time, energy and care into molding Ophelia into the perfect future matriarch for the family, and she spoke about knowing where Ophelia was as if Ophelia was an asset to be protected.

She wrinkled her nose lightly. “Don’t speak to my mother,” Ophelia replied. “You’ll give her ideas, and there is nothing more dangerous than a Greengrass with an idea she won’t let go.” 

𝙸𝚃 𝙳𝙰𝚆𝙽𝚂 𝙾𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙰 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙾𝙿𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙰 will lead an entirely different life from herself — one that involved power and decision beyond Narcissa’s imagination. Even thinking about the sheer magnitude of it overwhelms Narcissa a bit, terrifies her — and yet, a part of her is curious. An unfamiliar feeling, but also inextricably tied to something good bubbling in her chest.

“... What is it like?” She restrains her interest, masks it with the polite sort of tone that she’d often used to ask about an acquaintance’s day, but she cannot hide it all. “Being… entrusted with all that power.” A power that she’d ever only associated with men all her life. “And be asked to handle it. All by yourself.” Narcissa’s nose wrinkles, head shaking lightly. “I know it doesn’t suit everyone, but there’s something relieving about not having to make your own decisions. Certainly not when I’m not clever enough to be a particularly powerful witch.” A slight chuckle falls from Narcissa’s lips, meant to be half a joke, but the element of truth to it cuts her nonetheless. Still, she has to wonder if that is her innermost desire, or if it is an echo of her parents’ expectations.