[𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖆]
(Aj) Unrelenting and deadly;
involving loss of divine grace
or spiritual death.
❝This is the story of becoming a hero the hard way.❞
The Prisoner Of Azkaban - The Deathly Hallows
Started - 30 December 2020
Finished - ??
Theo Not...
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"𝗗𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗖𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗶𝗮 𝗔𝘂𝗿𝗼𝗿𝗮 𝗕𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸"
•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•
Jᴜʟʏ 1993
𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 calm 9:00pm at the Tonks household and Cassiopeia Aurora Black stood in the middle of her chaotic room, next to her messily made bed, her thin frame in front of her full length, black rimmed mirror.
She put her long, curly hair loosely up, and pulled out two pieces either side of her face. Her hair was currently her natural brown, but she would change it around from time to time at school, normally keeping her hair brown or going black, or even, when she was playing quidditch, green, to show her house pride.
She then examined herself in the mirror, looking carefully at her fragile features as if she would break.
She grazed her finger across all her features. Her eye-bags, from her lack of sleep, were more prominent then ever, but that's just how Cassiopeia liked it. She could easily get rid of them with her metamorphagus powers, now that she had almost learned how to fully control her ability and change little details about her face and her hair colour, or even with concealer. But instead she amplified the bags by surrounding her eye with smudged eyeliner, not winged as that was way out of her skill range, and with burgundy red eyeshadow carefully blended in just underneath her eyes, next to the eyeliner and her eyelashes were coated in mascara, making them touch her eyelid.
Her, naturally dark brown, eyebrows were brushed messily up. Her fair cheeks were coated in a thin coat of blush and her nose with more blush and a pinch of highlighter, she didn't have any need for concealer or foundation, unlike many girls her age. She carefully ran her dainty fingers across her plump, pink lips, that were coated in lip balm.
She then examined her figure which her clothes hung loosely off. She was wearing black ripped jeans and a baggy dark grey t-shirt that was tucked messily into her jeans.
A knock on her door brought her out of her trance as she walked over to answer it.
There was her aunt Andromeda who, even though Cassiopeia had aged drastically in the last 2 years (especially over the summer), didn't look like she aged a day since the day she took 11 year old Cassiopeia to kings cross station.
