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chapter one, edge of seventeen
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DAPHNE JUST WANTS TO CRY!
To say the very least, her day has not been going all too well. Starting things off with a bang: she couldn't catch even a wink of sleep because of the incessant anxiety about what the day would bring rattling about in her cranium, leading to a day full of droopy eyes and particularly hearty yawns. Then, her father had gone berserk and pulled her out of bed as soon as the bloody birds began to sing so that they weren't late to the station — despite the fact that they still were — and she didn't even get to latch on to as much as a piece of toast before they left! Apparating on an empty stomach is never a good idea. Never.
Daphne can already feel the grief bubbling up in anticipation, that awful inevitable geyser of her sorrows preparing to burst from deep within her chest. Perhaps she's being dramatic ( she's definitely being dramatic ),but even as she desperately squashes down the trembling fatiguethat piles on top of her and tries to drag her down, she can only sit in the middle of the train station and hold her head in her palms pathetically. Daphne's tears are glittering on her waterline and everything is growing to be far too much, but she keeps trying to swallow the lump at the back of her throat and compress that bitter little feeling down into the depths of herself.
Bloody Mercury retrograde. . .
As she sifts through her foggy head helplessly, held captive by weariness and the overwhelming desire to have a meltdown, she's grounded by the touch of her sister's fingers snaking around her own.
Guilt pangs at Daphne's heart. Moving all the way to England and transferring schools had been hard on the both of them, not to mention the uneasiness simmering between them and their father. This wasn't easy for her, either, and Daphne had been neglecting that.
