#lstvanity

“Well I ‘spose it was –– “ She recalls, a moment in her mind to reminisce over a childhood that’d come and gone. For all sentimental purposes, her mind washes over every conquest in which she’s conquered, every gallant adventure that fills the pages of notebooks scattered across dining table. “I must’ve been ‘bout thirteen –– that sounds ‘bout right.” Thirteen years old, all wobbly knees and gapped teeth. Still, with something likened to ichor coursing through her veins, she’d been a vision of beauty. “Dom and I were puttin’ on a show for mum and dad.” As they had many a time before, oft bringing in Louis for good measure, or whatever Weasley that’d managed to be lingering about. Known for their flair for dramatics, it began at a young age, them atop a make shift stage in their home, performing whatever rendition came to mind. “There’d been a rainstorm the entire bloody mornin’ ––” How the droplets stuck to the windows, condensation dripping as she’d watched from bay windows within her bedroom. Shell Cottage had always remained something warm, something that to this day had still felt like more of a home than anything Victoire had, or could, experience ever again. “Dom was restless, y’know she’s never been one to really sit still for all of five seconds –– “ It’s said with love, a beaming pride that anyone would have, should have, for their siblings. However close they’d been with Louis, Victoire always knew that it was Dominique that remained her soulmate, a better half of a rubbish, rusted coin. “Anyways, here I am ramblin’ about and not gettin’ to the point. Dom was restless, the entire family was stormed in, Louis was whinging about and so we’d decided to string up lights, and next thing I knew we were givin’ our best interpretation o’ pirates.” Treasure Island, to be more specific. Growing quite comfortable with muggle literature as a child, Victoire was never shy about her love for the classics. The stories that held adventure with every turned page. Her copies becoming so well worn that the pages were thinned, smudged words and dog-earred reminders of her favourite bits. “––’course, I got the role of the evil Captain Flint and Dom was a most magnificent Jim Hawkins.” It was a day like many others, something simplistic enough that it surely wouldn’t stand out to most. However, it’d stayed with her if only because it was the moment she’d solidified her desire for adventure, for the grandiose that came with the chase, the hunt. Wind howlin’ about outside their four walls, the beach turning into their backdrop as they’d spent hours holed up in their living room providing a boisterous Bill and an ever glowing Fleur with entertainment. It was warmth, it was happiness, it was home.