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prologue, this house is sick // and so are we
summer, 1992 !
𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒.Often, at home, her mother's love would be enough to envelop the entirety of Britain into warmth. When stepping out of the enormous cottage-house they lived in near the River Thames, Everest Chasseur's glare would threaten everybody with frostbite. Her hands—usually evaporating with solace—would be icy.
Not that Chiara cared though; at the age of eleven, she had little things to fill her heart with concern for. A certain appreciation for how the world worked, how magic twirled around them like pretty vines was engraved in her. Her mother has always taught her to cherish beautiful things— admire hard work and trust, good people and exquisite parts of life like a treasure.
So Chiara did exactly that.
"Why is everybody looking at us?" Asked Chiara, looking up at the taller figure of her mother. "They're so weird."
Everest—with her chin held high, elegance reeking through her straight posture—trained her glance downwards at the full head of wavy blonde hair, unbrushed tangles glinting underneath the golden sunlight peeking through the omnipresent block of clouds.
"We're a big deal around here, darling," her mother answered, a tiny grin escaping as she winked to portray an unserious expression. Her lips were instantly pressed firmly, as though she could not bear to show emotions to the rest of the starring individuals swarming the streets.
They were not gazing in a bad sense per se; some of the women looked awestruck, melting with admiration and some gaping upon recognition of who Everest Chasseur truly was. Some dripping with green envy.
Upon the fall of the first Wizarding War, her mother created quite a prominent name for herself.
See, Everest Chasseur is a huntress, a famous one— her family mainly originated from France and were mostly situated in North America until her father married a Muggle-born woman and moved to England, and then moved back home upon the height of the war.
Everest stayed.
Chiara never asked why.
What mattered was the immense respect people around them grew for the woman, praising her at every turn for all those werewolves on the dark side that she hunted down. A shared interest, a common enemy always solidified the bonds between vastly different people.
