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chapter six, rainy sundays
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DAPHNE LONGS FOR LYON.
She dreams of the scorching summers and la Fête des lumières in December, yearning for the markets under the amber sun or even another night lighting the sputtering candles on her grandmére's windowsill. She wishes she could go back to the bakery near their flat that serves the best macarons on the planet: to go to the old bookshop for one last time in search of Jane Austen novels. She'll even settle for the eerie train station tucked away on the far side of the city that sped her and Stevie toward Beauxbatons at the start of every school year. Merlin, does she miss Lyon. Perhaps she's biased because it is her home town after all, but in her defence the food is so much nicer and it's an awful lot warmer.
Daphne groans miserably into her pillow at the thought. She grieves for the life she once had.
The Slytherin dorms rustle with an energy that she lacks — alarm clocks buzzing, water from the lake lapping at the windows, the odd bit of idle chitchat filling the silence as the four other girls prepare for the day. Her chestnut hair tangles over her face in knots and tickle her nose uncomfortably. She can vaguely hear Tatum Rowle asking to borrow her hair straightener but can't form proper words through her cloak of grogginess: the best she can do is a weak thumbs up.
"Are you coming to breakfast, Daph?" one of the other girls, Lihua Xiao, calls over her shoulder. Her pretty eyes glitter like Swarovski diamonds and Daphne can't help but think that she's really fit.
"I'll be down in a minute," she waves her off as nicely as possible, every word muffled by her pillow.
"Suit yourself," Lihua shrugs, rosy lips smiling cheerily. She turns back to her friends and the four of them clamber out of the dormitory, leaving Daphne alone with her thoughts.
