prodigious--skill Black Manor August 31st, 1979
The soft glow of a lamp is the only implement lighting the dark room, and even that is only a flicker of dying light, the oil of it burning away into nothingness. The scratch of a pen against parchment has long since faded, replaced by silence and the sound of slow breathing in the stillness. Utterly, still.
He sits there, staring out the window, captured by the moving shapes in the wind outside in the forest, the wind that whispers its echo to him- and is motionless, waiting. Waiting for what, well, that is the question.
There’s a sudden sound- the swing of a door opening below, footsteps coming in and up the stairs- and then, startled as someone comes right through into the library, Regulus almost drops the trinket he’s holding. His head snaps around, he flinches ( and oh, the paranoia gets worse, day by day )- but no, no-one, it’s just-
"Bella,” Reglus utters, jolting in surprise, and he barely manages to keep the emotion from his face as the word flickers between confusion and enquiry.
