Sometimes it hurts to even look at them. It's like looking at the sun - they are great, powerful and it feels like their presence is essential to keeping her alive. They burn so brightly, an eternal, glorious blaze that she wants to bask in forever...
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BRIAR'S POV
DECEMBER, 1962.
People often say that ignorance is bliss. That, in and of itself, is a naive statement.
Briar Selwyn had grown up ignorant, and she didn't find it blissful in the slightest. Her childhood had been marked with isolation and a painful amount of confusion. There was little more to her upbringing than that.
Her family is undoubtedly one of great lineage, a sprawling family tree that held its roots in politics and had blossomed into a relative empire, complete with flourishing connections in every single sector of life and a well-nourished vault at Gringotts.
Her father, Wren Selwyn, proudly holds a seat on the wizengamot. The wizengamot is one of the most important facets of the whole ministry of magic, acting as both a legislative body and a tribunal. He often leaves their residence early in the morning, dressed in the traditional plum-coloured robes, taking the floo directly into the ministry. He'd always been a rather aloof man, all dark and merciless, comprised of an analytical mind that never realised a desire to seek out his daughter.
Briar's parents held an innate favouritism towards their oldest child, their darling son. Cassian had always been perfect - the firstborn, an heir who would honour their name and their legacy. They would dote over him constantly. Everything about Cassian's existence was micro-managed and anything undesirable about him, if such a trait did exist, was eradicated, hunted to extinction. He was taught everything about the world. No opportunity dared elude his grasp. Nothing remained a mystery to Cassian. He was carefully instructed by both of their parents about every social convention, tradition and mannerism he was expected to be aware of.
Wren and Rhea Selwyn were overarchingly proud of their son. He was everything an heir was expected to be - knowledgeable, handsome, and unrelentingly ambitious. Perhaps it was because of their zeal to ensure that their son retained his perfection that they brushed their daughter aside. Alternatively, it could be because they'd never cared to know her, irrespective of their arduous affection for Cassian.
Briar's very existence seemed to be a non-event for the Selwyn family. Her birth had hardly been heralded with a great deal of joy. She was commonly regarded as little more than a footnote - a singular, ailing leaf about to drop from a thriving branch of their family tree. She was brushed to the side, and left in a perpetual state of isolation. She didn't spend much time with her relatives, forever left wandering the manor aimlessly, attempting to understand the things around her without guidance or reprimand. Lost, untethered, and finding joy in unraveling mysteries at a painstakingly slow speed.
There are an ensnaring, heavy web of rules that permeate pureblood society. Each one is to be navigated carefully, under threat of disownment, or ostracisation. Those born into families that are fanatically devoted to those rules, the most prestigious of the sacred twenty-eight, are intimately aware of them. Those rules and social conventions had been drilled into their heads, spilling out of their minds into their behaviours and conduct.
