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( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖓𝖊 ) — evangeline, to the rescue
The stars shone like sugar spilled over black marble. All was silent on the grounds of the Rosier Manor — the plethora of petals studded across the labyrinths were unruffled, accompanied by silver snakes, each one in a deep slumber.
So, it wasn't a wisp of wind that awoke Evangeline. It was a scrawny, sooty owl tapping it's beak on the pristine glass of her french windows, perched on the ornate railing of her balcony. Tied to it's ankle was a small card, attached by yellow ribbon. The young girl heaved herself from the comfort of her silk covers, glancing back longingly at her four-poster bed as she made the grueling journey across the frosty floors.
The bird hooted impatiently as she unfastened the paper, pecking her palm before it fluttered off. Evangeline scowled as its shadow blocked the glow from the full moon, temporarily blocking her from reading the writing. When her vision cleared, a single glance at the blotched ink told her all she needed to know.
She was on the move in an instant, summoning her silk robe and the first pair of shoes that popped into her mind. Neither were the most fashionable or complimentary choice, and Opal Rosier would have her daughter's head on a spear if only she saw her, but Evangeline was needed and there was no stopping her (thank Merlin for Apparition).
The brunette looked up at the tiny, grubby-looking pub distastefully. Of course, she had passed by the Leaky Cauldron before, but never in a million years would a Rosier step their pampered foot in a place like that. As expected, the interior was nothing other than dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking small glasses of sherry, and one of them was smoking a long pipe. There was also a little man in a top hat, talking to the old barman, who was balding and looked like a gummy walnut. The low buzz of chatter didn't subside upon Evangeline's entrance, which proved to be quite peculiar. It was as if she was invisible. But then again, one runaway pure-blood was more than the inn could handle for the night.
''Sylvia!'' Evangeline exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with relief. She rushed over to the blonde who sat dead-center of the bar, nursing her sorrows with a shot of firewhiskey. Empty glasses tumbled around her for miles, but even they couldn't distract anyone from the girl's dreadful state. Her spelled ringlets were now more matted than curled, and the mascara and eyeliner streamed from her blood-shot eyes like the River Styx. ''What in Merlin's name happened to you?''
