Kalon
/kA-lon/
(n.) Beauty that is more
than skin-deep
❝In the dark depth of her steel gaze, you can see the brightest of the stars.
She has magic in her eyes that even the stars envy.❞
"Blimey Fred, are you one of those anguished cursed poets now...
Betelgeuse Black was an early riser; she has always been and always will be. So, it did not come as a surprise when she awoke before the sun was set into the sky the Sunday before the Quidditch World Cup final.
She blinked slowly, adjusting to the soft rays of sunlight filtering through the heavy brocade curtains. She unhurriedly rose from the massive ebony Victorian four-poster bed and approached one of the tall windows in her bedroom.
It was still early; the darkness of the night had not yet been conquered by the bright rays of the sun. The black silhouettes of the Georgian terrace houses stood out against the crimson hue of the rising sun, bathed in a rosy glow. Above the rooftops, kissed by a heady blush by the sun, were clouds moving in shoals. And so, the sky was equal parts blue and a chorus of greys, streaked with silvers and golds.
Betelgeuse turned around, heading outside her room and down the silent hallway towards the stairwell. She walked straight past the bedrooms of her father and her uncle, stepping down the wooden, elegant stairs.
The heir of House Black was almost sixteen years old and started to truly resemble her father, Regulus Arcturus Black. She has the same noble face structure and mercury grey eyes that sharply scanned the world around her as she passed a grandfather clock of French manufacture of the early twentieth century. It had come as a gift from a woman's large dowry from an influential and wealthy French Pureblood family who married into the Black family. The Rosiers.
The clock was imposing and gloomy, perfect for Grimmauld Place.
"A dear friend of mine gave this clock the same unimpressed look once." A voice commented from behind. Betelgeuse turned around, observing her father emerge from the dense shadows of the hallway. She noted that he had the unmatched ability to blend with darkness. "He stated that it was barely good for making firewood. Peculiar how he came from the same family that bestowed us with this."
"Oh?" Betelgeuse prompted as they made their way towards the kitchen.
Regulus hummed, waving indolently his hand in the hair and arranging a kettle on the stove. Two large cups came waltzing towards them and set on the table. "Evan," Regulus softly spoke, "Evan Rosier."
"I have heard that name before," Betelgeuse replied, silently levitating a jar of biscuits. Regulus observed his daughter with a proud glint in his intelligent eyes before nodding.
"Yes, you may have heard his name in association with that of Alastor Moody, the Auror," Regulus informed with a tone of bitter resentment in his deep voice.
