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| Tweet Topic Started: Jul 22 2006, 10:53 PM (201 Views) | |
| Erika Beaumont | Jul 22 2006, 10:53 PM Post #1 |
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(I just HAD to talk about her past. o:) It was the breeze that stirred her from her rêverie; the same breeze that rushed onto her face, and she found herself still holding the book in her hand, which she promptly closed. She had woken fairly early in the morning, and had fallen deeply into a daydream that replayed the happenings of her mother’s funeral. She wondered vaguely why she always drifted into her thoughts. Her hands were moving of their own accord, setting the book down, next to her as she leaned against the wall. Her dark hair was tied up, tightly, using a simple blue band. Her dark eyes were emotionless, as they looked on, unwary of anything that was coming. Sin was still sleeping, or had been when Erika had left her; she had to go back to feed her cat, who had appointed herself official guardian of Erika. She glanced down at her book again, reflecting what she had read: the book was ending, that was for certain, with the thin strip of pages left separated from thick strip by her bookmark – a gift from her mother, who knew of her passion for reading. Digging into her pocket, she drew a small notebook out, and managed to squeeze a pen out as she opened and started to write; it was a letter to her family, as she had promised them before she left. Even if they didn’t like her, nor she them, they wished to act like a family, asking her for weekly updates on her Hogwarts life. They didn’t want her to suspect that anything was wrong; they didn’t want her to turn on them. What they didn’t know was that Erika wasn’t stupid: she already knew about their dislike of her, and though they could not fully blame Aron for his choosing Esmé (her mother) and bringing a female instead of a male pre-heir into the world. Aron was the heir of the Beaumont estate, after her grandfather died. It had not been discussed yet if Erika would be inheriting afterward, but the girl herself knew that the most probable answer would be ‘no’ – simply because the Beaumont clan wasn’t ready for a change. And that wasn’t reason enough for the Ravenclaw; not nearly enough. As she stood, her band broke and she grimaced. Her ever-ready pocket held a supply of hairbands, so all was good in the world, as she retied her hair. She very rarely let her hair down nowadays, and when she did, it was because she had been forced to. Her skin and touch were cold, because she herself felt cold; she wasn’t ill, but she wasn’t feeling right, either. Her steps sounded softly against the ground, a repetitive and even sound as she moved, steps fluid. Her free fist was clenched at her side, the other hand gripping the book tightly. Her curling lashes lowered as her eyes focused themselves on the ground, attempting to memorize every inconsistent, insignificant detail crack and nook; she searched her mind, wanting an answer that had been eluding her. She wanted to know why her father couldn’t love her for what she was, instead of caring for her only because she was the last piece of her mother he had. She was his last connection to Esmé. Perhaps Michael, her cousin, kept his distance from her because he was afraid of her being bitter to him for almost drowning her and giving her hydrophobia; maybe her grandfather didn’t like her because he had never liked Esmé. But what reason was that? It was as bad as father’s liking her because of Esmé. And so, in the end, it was all because of her mother. Wasn’t it? Or was she the one to blame? This was giving her a severe migraine. |
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3:35 AM Jul 11