#burialopen

“hello,” ––  a  soft  acknowledgement,  as  he  was  not  one  to  exclaim,  flew  from  his  mouth  as  he  turned  at  the  sound  of  someone  approaching.  “are  you  here  to  see  our  king?”,  he  asked,  gesturing  toward  the  goat  below. a  cordial  smile  lights  up  his  features,  all  save  for. . .  his  eyes,  which  remain  untouched  by  warmth  or  mirth.

artemis hadn’t been this exhausted since she’d left home before her first year. never having been away from her coven, her home, she found herself unable to sleep most nights. she hardly remembered that first month of school; her only distinct memory was her change that month and the pain that had ripped through her.    mama! mama please!   she’d begged into the abyss.   mama, help me!

the dark circles that lingered under her eyes are reministent of that time, nearly purple. she was lost in those memories, leaning against a storefront on diagon alley, as she silently begged her mother for forgiveness. selene had not known what had happened, yet she could feel the disappointment of her mother’s gaze all these miles away. her cloak is wrapped around her, hood pulled over her head to shield her from the mist.

there was more to see than the conservatory; spiraling staircases within the old house led to merlin knew where, corners where the dark lingered a little too ominously, and the ever present chatter of her peers set her nerves aflame. this house, though beautiful to look at and observe, chilled her bones. maybe she was wrong in coming, in accepting the invitation that had brought her here; had brought them all here. within the main hall, there were figures that she did not allow her gaze to linger, to snag on. gazes had burned her, scorned her, the entirety of the night — she would not give them the satisfaction of returning the favor. rather, she is aloof when gliding from the conservatory to the next room over. pale fingers reach for the knob only to find it locked.

                          curiosity killed the cat, 

brow creases for a fraction of a moment; without thinking further, she reaches for the wand attached to her hip muttering alohomora under her breath. a quick flick of her wrist and the deadbolt slides backwards within the door. there is no guilt in the quick motion. the entire gathering was eerie enough as it was, if their hosts intended to keep the guests out of every room there would surely be something stronger to keep the door locked than a simple deadbolt. stepping within the room, she quietly shuts the door behind her but does not slide the deadbolt back into place behind her. rather, her attention is pulled to the room itself. the moon had risen hours ago and, thus, caused its light to play in the glass of the chandeliers, casting an etherial glow in the otherwise darkened room. artemis fawley, for the first time in a long time, was awestruck.

                                                                 but satisfaction brought it back. 

the moonlight is calming, even more so than the conservatory had been. seeing it dance within the crystals brought a sense of home. it felt, for a fraction of a moment, like her mother reminding her to breathe. the world was not all bad. there were people who loved her. she was not alone. as she glides through the room, she stirs dust in her wake — this room has not been used for a while. it causes a sneeze, two, before she makes it to the other end of the room. the tall glass doors are pushed outwards, letting the cool night air wash over her and, subsequently, stirring the dust further. with wand still in her hand, she turns and faces the full expanse of the room.   “ tergeo, ”   another flick of her wrist and the dust disappears, leaving glittering surfaces it it’s wake. this room has to be one of the most beautiful she’s ever seen. she’s absolutely enamored. 

it’s only then, with the moonlight at her back and wand drawn, does the door begin to creak open. brow raises as her fingers tighten around her wand, though it is not raised. as the figure steps into the room, artemis almost utters an apology for being here, for her presence at all. she will not apologize, not for anything. not tonight. she’s unapologetic for getting caught in a space where she did not belong; it shows even in her posture. it seemed to be her modus operandi as of late. instead, she offers a radiant smile to the other, unashamed. this room, the moonlight, the air has lightened her mood even as her pulse skips for just a moment   —   “ it’s beautiful, isn’t it? ”

it  was  dangerous,  undoubtedly,  but  there  were  worse  things  in  the  world  than  this  and  if  the  wizengamot  decided  to  censure  the  avery  heir  for  protecting  his  family’s  livelihood  and  legacy  ?  then  the  wizengamot  be  damned.  blood  wards  were  barely  legal  and  even  then  not  positively  looked  upon,  but  there  was  something  to  be  said  for  the  gift  of  being  grandfathered  in.  when  the  reliquary  had  been  established,  plenty  of  protective  charms  and  wards  had  gone  into  every  part  of  the  building  and  the  magic  it  housed.  avery  blood,  in  this  place,  was  powerful,  and  laz  did  not  hesitate  in  utilizing  it  as  he  invoked  spell  after  spell  after  spell.  the  wards  around  the  reliquary  shimmered  as  they  settled  into  place  though  he  seemed  noticeably  paler,  perhaps  the  only  thing  keeping  him  moving  was  his  self  preservation.  taking  a  moment  to  evaluate  his  handiwork,  he  noticed  people  in  diagon  alley,  still looking  for  some  kind  of  shelter  from  whatever  was  coming.  practically  ripping  the  front  door  open,  he  yelled  out,  ❛  well,  come  on  then,  before  i  bring  up  the  last  of  the  wards  !  get  inside,  there’s  no  safer  place  in  the  city  right  now.  ❜

HE’D  BEEN  SHAKING  from  the  moment  he  got  up  from  the  table.  no,  before  that––  the  tremor  in  his  limbs  had  set  in  the  moment  that  pathetic,  weak  question  had  left  his  mouth.  as  soon  as  the  man  that  was  presumably  their  host  more  or  less  ordered  them  to  leave  he’d  done  just  that,  striding  out  the  door  without  a  moment’s  hesitation.  without  meeting  anyone’s  gaze.   SHAME  bubbled  up  in  his  gut,  hot  and  vile  and  sour.  he’d  only  just  managed  to  retrieve  a  cigarette  from  the  bronze  case  in  his  pocket  and  light  it  when  he  heard  the  telltale  crunch  of  footsteps  on  the  gravel  behind  him.  fleamont  whipped  around,  blinking  at  the  figure  before  him  through  the  smoke.  his  jaw  worked,  voice  eventually  coming  out  low  and  with  an  edge  of  defensiveness.  “..well?  have  at  it,  whatever  it  is  you  wanted  to  say,  i  probably  have  it  coming.  go  on.  say  it.”

timestamp:  august  16th,  1950

tagging: open

there  was  something  unnerving  about  the  norris  estate,  and  it  wasn’t  just  the  missing  host.  every  guest  in  attendance  seemed  a  little  more  on  edge  than  usual,  but  that  was  to  be  expected   —  if  their  invitations  were  as  disconcerting  as  druella’s  was.

with  a  simple  flick  of  her  wrist,  the  placard  emblazoned  with  her  name  went  flying  across  the  dining  room  toward,  straight  toward  the  opposite  end  of  the  table  where  she  had  seen  a  matching  ‘euphemia  gibbon’  card  earlier...  only  to  circle  back  around  and  fall  right  back  into  it’s  original  place  like  it  never  left.  her  lip  curled  in  something  resembling  disgust  as  she  read  the  names  on  either  side  of  hers  —  not  company  she  usually  kept.  a  small  gust  of  wind  that  seemingly  came  from  nowhere  billowed  the  tablecloth,  as  if  the  house  was  daring  her  to  try  it  again...  and  like  the  grown  ass  adult  she  was,  dru  stuck  her  tongue  out  at  the  not - so - inanimate  object.

she  was  about  to  leave  ( the  dining  room,  though  the  leaving  the  estate  did  cross  her  mind  more  than  once  throughout  the  night )  when  she  spotted  a  familiar  face...  and  because  she  was  still  channeling  her  inner  first  year,  she  pouted,  folding  both  arms  over  her  chest.  “whoever  made  these  seating  arrangements  has  a  death  wish,”  she  grumbled,  head  canting  to  the  side.  “i  can  only  hope  that  you  faired  better  with  your  assigned  dinner  companions  than  i  did.”