Soteria

CHAPTER 28:

If one were to reveal to Ivy that her life and journey here, at Hogwarts, her home, were coming to an end, she would say that they were bluffing. 

Where did the time go? 

It was as if it were only yesterday that she had witnessed a blood bath from her very own eyes and was being driven by vengeance and greed to obtain the justice that her loved ones eagerly deserved, where she was cunningly attempting to destroy and bring an end to the annihilator that was sleeping soundly under the same roof as her. In the snake pit.

Now, here she was, no longer residing with that intention, purpose, or motivation, and was walking towards a dreary pathway to her deserving future where she would be alone, holding firmly but not firm enough onto a small prayer of optimism that her departed ones would be able to attain a better future than her and that one of her prayers would finally be granted. 

But this prayer, she knew, was threateningly hanging loose by a very thin thread.

As a young girl, from the mere age of 6, she had always held steadfast to her wishes, promises, and desires, believing that her prayers would always be answered. When she would see a shooting star outside the little window of her flamboyant pink inflammable bedroom, she would hold her hands together, close her eyes, and offer a heartfelt wish. 

How naive.

Now that Ivy was older and alone, she knew that all those times in her youth it had been her parents who had been her shooting star, accepting her prayers, wishes, and desires where they strived to do the impossible and possible for the good and happiness of their daughter. 

She only wished that she too would possess that similar attitude and skill, but alas it seemed that her parents took that ability with them to the grave and were not evidently able to pass it down to their lone, surviving daughter, whom they won't even know exists as they would not be able to bore her in the future, which hopefully would occur, where she would be developing and thriving beautifully in her mother's bloodied stretched womb.

Her father had always said 'she was an angel.' 

His angel. 

An angel with grand, beautiful wings that descended below, consisting of pure hues of innocent white, baby yellow, and golden streaked feathers, which others would admire and shield under for serenity and security, where each treasurable feather would be plucked out and donated in gratitude to corrupted and damaged souls in need of something to have an essence or determination to at least survive and... to be guided. 

Perhaps she was called an angel because she had been a miracle to their lives? She didn't know, but she accepted the term.

'She was a beautiful angel;' her mother would agree, and as they both would sit by her side during bedtime, arms embracing her, forehead kisses, Ivy would look at them both with a broad, shy smile creeping onto her six-year-old rosy face. 

An angel, she would think to herself. How beautiful. How special. How adorned she would be by others. 

To be an angel would mean that she would be the light for many darkened souls who bear no source of this luminous beacon. That they have not been handfed with the angelic serenity and security that she had fed to others. Like a pomegranate, she would have dripping crimson seeds that contain and pour with the essence of pure sanctity, growth, and beauty to others.

Her father was wrong, as was her mother. She was not an angel. 

If anything, she was an angel of destruction, remorse, and death, where her crimson-dripped pomegranate seeds were withering and losing their significance. Everywhere she walked, the clouds would gradually clump together, removing the source of light that so many others depended on greatly, and the sky would eventually weep for her. Her wings had lost their shine and abilities long ago.