#{;;greeter}

You can call me Essy. Or Feferi! W) (o cares! It’s t) (e internet! 38D

The dungeons are the last place you’d expect to find a Hufflepuff.  Lydia couldn’t possibly remember who had said that but it was always on repeat in her mind whenever she came down there.  The dim light, the cool, lightly moist  air and dark corners was soothing, and she never had to wear spectacles down there. The sun was nonexistent.  She always wore black whenever she went down there, it made her blend in with the shadows easier, making her less visible to those who actually did live there. Though she did have one or two casual friends among the Slytherin’s, she found most of them to be, for lack of a better word, unnerving.   Which was why the the witch held her book up against her face when the steps and voices became gradually louder as they approached her.  I am not here I’m just a shadow.  Go on, the Slytherin corridors are right ahead.  Don’t mind me. 

“I sense a fair amount of psychic power emanating from you. I have to wonder what exactly are you? This is the first time I see anything like you.” The white dress reminded her of a wraith, but this thing was far too beautiful to be one. “I take you know common tongue?”

       “ Leave, ”  Despite the tone of the word, her voice remains soft and, very much despite her best efforts-- quite approachable sounding.     “ You’ll draw attention.” And then a pause; a moment of silence as she considers perhaps why they’d tried speaking to her in the first place, and then:  “ . . I’m not a mercenary, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“That’s a peculiar looking sword you have there, or is it a mace?” Wendy stared at the woman’s key looking blade, was it a magic artifact of some sort? It certainly looked interesting enough. “Would you be willing to sell it?”

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"