#cwfevent

 DATE: 21st of June 1983

Open

Walburga was looking forward to evening. Or well, she was partly looking forward to the evening. It was the first time they’d let their summer solistice ball open for the public, and she had to admit that it made her wary. Usually she could control who came through that door, but tonight she could not. It was either going to go well, or end in disaster. And she really hoped it wouldn’t end in disaster. She had had fun finding her dress though. It was probably a little over the top, and the tiara on the top of her head was over the top. But she was Walburga Black, and she was the Queen around here.

Walking with grace and poise, she wondered around the ball room, greeting all with a smile. She might not want to actually spend time with most of these people, but Walburga was an impecable host. At least this way she could judge the outfits.

DATE: 21st of June 1983

Open

Alecto was nervous. She’d never really felt nervous around attending balls before. When she’d been younger she hadn’t really enjoyed them. She’d hated her mother trying to put her into fine dresses. She’d cut dresses up so that she wouldn’t have to wear them. But suddenly now that she couldn’t really have new pretty ball gowns, she suddenly wanted all of them. But she couldn’t, and it made her sad. So however much she was nervous about the ball, she was hoping it would at least distract her from her problems a little. Of course, there was the little problem of wearing a dress from last season. But she intended to hold her head high, and act like she was better than anyone who would judge her, because honestly she was.

She swept her long red hair over her shoulder as she picked up a champagne glass, and took a sip. It tasted good, but she’d expected nothing less. The Blacks knew how to put on a ball. Hopefully this would be fun.

This wasn’t the first ball that Emilia had attended but she didn’t think that she would ever get used to the absolute excess that surrounded her. A woman in a flowing ballgown passed by her corner and Emilia didn’t doubt that she probably spent more on her dress than Emilia’s family spent in a year on their rent. She felt slightly breathless and out of place, much like she used to feel at Hogwarts among the Purebloods of her house. She reminded herself that she needed to get over herself, that she was here for the Prophet, and she was hoping to find something that would land her on the front page of the Prophet again. She was worried of her spotlight fading since she hadn’t been able to recreate that article since it came out. But she was Emilia Grey and she was determined to do it again, no matter what it took. Perhaps Cornelius would have a bit of information, she was sure that he was here somewhere. 

Plunging herself into the crowd, notepad and muggle pen in hand (she was sure the powers that be would be rather upset but pen’s were just so much more useful than a quill for an event like this), she stopped the first person she saw. “Hi! I’m Emilia Grey with the Daily Prophet and you look stunning. Would you like to comment on the evening?”

Amiria had made an effort. Perhaps it wasn’t a full and genuine effort - she was after all still not in heels... But it was an effort nonetheless. She’d put her own spin on the dress code requirement for the evening and she’d rather die than turn up neither looking or feeling like herself. In a similar vein, she’d rather early on found herself at the bar. Amiria watched closely as the staff magiked together this drink and that drink. She was asked four times if she finally wanted a drink of her own before she finally ordered. The first sip had just passed her lips when someone stood at the bar in the space next to her. “Would you believe they peerpressured me into this?” Amiria teased wih a chuckle, raising her glass.

Lucille felt alive. These sorts of events always filled her with delight but nothing could beat an event hosted by such legendries. Lucille could only dream of spending her days amongst such icons as the pureblood families of Black and Malfoy. Just as she watched someone finish their conversation and be left standing alone, she took it upon herself to walk over and join them. “Good evening,” Lucille said with a charming smile. “How’re you enjoying your evening thus far?” As she spoke, the woman adjusted the fabric that pooled around her feet.

James stood quiet and tall, stoic almost, as he marched alongside people he considered friends and other likeminded individuals. He kept a watchful eye around the crowd knowing this sort of event was sure to bring out the worst in people who didn’t agree with what they were preaching. And if anything were to go down, James was ready to go down fighting if he had to. He caught the eye of someone staring at him and gave them a smile, it instantly breaking any intimidation he had. “Hey, I’m glad you could show up -- want to walk with me?”

A flute of champagne in her hand, Andra brought it to her lips as she surveyed the scene appreciatively. Everything looked perfect but it wasn’t a surprise, her Aunt Druella had incredible taste. She hadn’t seen either of their hosts for the night but she would have to find her aunt at some point to congratulate and compliment her on what she was sure would be a fantastic night. Watching a particularly happy couple dance by on the ballroom gave Andra pause and something that felt like longing tugged in her heart. She thought of Sebastien and their last encounter together, their kiss, her running away unable to face the feelings that she was feeling, that he was confessing to her. They hadn’t talked since, and she didn’t think that that was going to change. She was sure that he was here though, with a date, probably someone that could give him their heart without all of her baggage. 

It was for the best. She kept telling herself that. 

Hearing a small cough behind her, Andra turned, a greeting on her lips when she froze. Sebastien. Andra could feel her heart start to race as she looked at him. He looked too good for it to be fair. “What are you doing here?” She asked quietly. She had been so sure that after the last time they saw each other, he would turn the other way and walk away if they ran into each other. That had been her plan. But here he was, standing there. 

TILL DEATH US DO PART...

"How beautiful was my manor with its resplendent architecture and its garden lined with roses. A true gem perched atop Boot Hill! Nothing was too beautiful for my father and visitors came from everywhere to admire the marvel he had built. But today, what's left of all of this? A house in ruins that is only a memory of a bygone era. And me? Me who is dying of loneliness as time passes and seems to have forgotten me!" - Mélanie Ravenswood 

The daughter of Henry and Martha Ravenswood, Mélanie was doted on by her wealthy parents. Every luxary was bestowed upon her and as she aged a number of suitors began to come calling. Four men courted her over the years each of whom died in bizarre accidents, leaving Mélanie to wonder if she were cursed.

Mélanie's final paramour was a simple engineer whom she fell madly in love with, but when her father heard he planned to take Mélanie away from him to start a new life he vowed to stop the wedding. Unfortunatley an earthquake struck before Mélanie’s wedding killing both of her parents along with hundreds of townsfolk. 

Heartbroken, Mélanie continued to plan her wedding but as she stood at the alter he was nowhere to be found. Mélanie vowed to wait for him by claiming that he would never have abandoned her. Days turned to weeks, to months, to years, and the bride became a recluse, living alone in the manor and singing forlorn songs of lost love, pining for her fiancé.