#dowtalk

( graphic by @ofregulusblack​ )

✰ unexpectedly bonded by a common language of hurt, masterpieces of suffering fractured to the core. think: early mornings & reheated coffee. cheeks cold from the fresh air, finding unnamed bruises on their knees. starlight. moonlight. 4am. the lake. they each think of their own mother’s promises & the moment is gone as quick as it came. screams fill their shared silence ( s o l a c e ) and the night clings to their limbs. here, here— there are no miracles here. 

001. Amycus Carrow & Alice Fortescue 

“Maybe there is a beast… maybe it’s only us.”

They are not the villains you read about in fairytales. No — they are tangible beings made of flesh, sinew, bone, and blood; real as wand that casts you spiraling towards the Inferno’s doorstep. Their very existence relies not on stanzas built with flowery adjectives and clever rhymes, but in accounts based on experience, evidenced by scarred skin and scarred souls. This is not playtime and this group does not dabble in pretend. Four, they say, is an unlucky number and should you ever cross their path, unlucky is exactly what you are.