"I don't think people would let themselves fall in love if they knew how dangerous it is."
"What if the risk is worth it?"
"It rarely is."
A story of a girl who was always on the run. Never had home - the idea of one was foreign to her. And she w...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
[ Run fast for your mother, fast for your father. ]
. . .
She was running. Running fast and far. Fight of flight. And considering there were two grown men chasing her, practically on her tail, she chose flight.
She could hear their angered yells echoing behind her, but she chose to ignore them. All she could think to do was keep on running. Like she'd done so many times before.
Wind raced past her, causing her defined curls to loosen from her low bun and fall down her back somewhat gracefully as she ran. Her dark locs blinded her vision momentarily due to the harsh breeze forcing them forward before she quickly brushed them back. She could hear the voices getting closer. And more amused. Crude cackles followed her as she swiftly turned the corner.
Her breaths were staggered and but she was determined to keep running. It's not as if she could stop. To think of what they would've done to her; she couldn't bare the idea. Smart as she was, she chose to brush aside these thoughts; they'd only make her more fearful than she already was.
Now you might be wondering how Adara ended up here, stranded in the muggle world, running for her life.
She was born 6th August 1980. A child in the middle of a war. A war where her mother and father were fighting for the wrong side.
Adara had a quite vague memory of what her mother looked like, only from old copies of the Daily Prophet from when her parents were first locked up. Although, she assumed they looked something along the lines of her own appearance. Dark curls, sharp jawlines and cheekbones, grey eyes. The typical Black family look. When she was younger, Adara came to the childish conclusion that her mother had hazel eyes. Not for any particular reason however; she adored the colour.
By looks, Adara was quite beautiful. Even though the name was tainted, being a Black gave you this alluring touch. The kind one cannot point out but is most certainly visible. Almost a dark shadow of a veela. And that was proved in Adara's looks. Everything about her was dark, appearance wise. Hair black as night; high cheekbones making her skin look grey, but somehow definite and glowing, similar to the moonlight.
Nevertheless, Bellatrix and Rudolphus were thrown into the dark, ominous cells of Azkaban, nearly taking their daughter with them. The Ministry decided otherwise, however, and threw her into a wizarding orphanage until she was eleven.
The other kids refused to play with her, brainwashed by adults surrounding them, who were still shaken by the damage done by first Wizarding War. She was alone and it wasn't a particularly welcoming child home either. Kids whispered about her, pointed, stared and ridiculed her. It didn't sit right with her at first. What had she done to offend these people? She couldn't recall talking badly about any of them behind their backs. In fact, she rarely talked. She was silent mostly, and preferred to observe.
