[COMPLETED] In which the untold story of Walburga Black unfolds.
She was a witch before she was a wife, mother, and cruel woman.
⭑⭑⭑
"You failed as a mother; I failed as a son. Can you sit here truthfully, and say you love me? Look in my eyes, and s...
As she stood in the study hall of the manor, memories of her childhood came flooding back, unwelcome yet unavoidable. The grandeur of the room, with its high arches and intricate molding, echoed with the whispers of the past. The walls, adorned with tapestries depicting scenes of historical significance, added an air of elegance that spoke of a centuries-old tradition.
Walburga couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia as she waited for Cygnus to arrive. The soft glow of the chandeliers cast a warm light over the room, illuminating the rich mahogany furniture and ornate details that adorned every corner.
Despite the beauty that surrounded her, the memories of her mother lingered, reminding her of a time long gone yet never forgotten. She took a moment to collect herself, steeling her resolve for the conversation that lay ahead, knowing that the echoes of the past would always be present in the halls of her ancestral home.
She moved into the hall, where the walls were adorned with grand portraits of her ancestors.
Each portrait seemed to come to life, the figures within them whispering and murmuring to each other as if engaged in eternal conversation. Their eyes followed her every move, their expressions a mix of solemnity and pride.
As she passed by the various portraits, Walburga paid them little heed, her attention focused solely on reaching her destination. However, when she came upon the portrait of her mother, everything seemed to come to a standstill.
The portrait was the only one that didn't move. While the rest seemed to come to life, gesturing and conversing with one another, her mother's likeness remained frozen in time, her stern expression unchanged.
"He charmed it," A voice came from the end of the hall.
Startled, Walburga turned to see Druella walking towards her, her footsteps echoing softly against the polished marble floor. As she stopped beside Walburga, there was a tense silence between them, the weight of unspoken tension hanging in the air like a heavy fog.
Both women stood staring at the portrait of Irma Black, its stillness contrasting with the lively chatter of the other portraits in the hall.
"When we first moved back here after our wedding, Cygnus would sit here staring at it for hours, hearing her speak to him," Druella continued her voice barely above a whisper. "She wasn't loud or brash; she was kind to him."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Walburga's gaze remained fixed on the portrait, a mixture of nostalgia and bitterness clouding her features.
"He always was the favorite," she murmured, more to herself than to Druella.
The blonde-haired woman turned to look at her, "It wasn't until I had Andromeda that he charmed the portrait. He couldn't bear to hear her voice, he couldn't bear to have conversations with her ghost."
