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THOMASIN:I am your daughter!
KATHERINE:The Devil is in thee and hath had thee. You are smeared of his sin. You reek of Evil. You have made a covenant with death!
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
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How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child!
King Lear, SHAKESPEARE. ♱Act 1
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ
𝕿he House of Black, most ancient and most noble, has been crumbling for fifteen years. The funeral of Walburga Black drew crowds from even the remotest corners of the Wizarding World; a hundred of them gathered outside the family tomb, then sixty-three into the hall where the will was to be heard. Her eldest son in Azkaban, he inherited nothing but shame. The younger was widowed by twenty-four and buried himself away in the last of his mother: her cold, empty heart─Grimmauld Place. Their children took over, more beautiful and brighter things. For them, Walburga had left behind a title and sorrow. Circe, the eldest by eight months, she decreed, would ascend the family throne as she grew older; a punishment, perhaps, for her unruly father. He had worked himself into a hole to detach himself from their tethers, but now they looped and tugged at his one daughter. Centuries of inbreeding had created a perfectly imperfect specimen. Dark-haired and brittle, she was poison funnelled into a crystal vial. Circe was first only to Enyo: No other children had been born, aside from Draco, who was considered too volatile to wield the sword. Enyo was younger, it was nature's rule, but it was unfair. Her mother had bled for this.
