❪𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫 ❫ ━ "On the occasion when the sun would set to sleep, and the moon light would sing to life, periwinkle lips sweetly brush along the jagged thorns of a rosebush. Unafraid of the crimson pooling between torn flesh, for offering...
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Chapter 3
Pandora Reinhardyevna Lestrange believed butterfly wings to be painted delicately by tiny fairy hands. She believed nargles to live in mistletoe, and bless those who found themselves stealing kisses bellow their homes. She thought utter fulfilment was to twirl and dance under a beaming full moon, magic weaving through her limps and caressing the grass beneath her toes. She wore flowers tangled into her silver hair, and cherry juice on her cheeks. She sang sweet tweets of melodies and laughed. She'd douse herself in paints of all colours and get to work on a blank canvass. She'd create something of delightful chaos. Some said that of madness.
Pandora Reinhardyevna Lestrange, made up of all the most wondrous things of the world. Rainbow lamps and fairy circles. She'd make conversions of the most queer type to thin air in plain sight, and spoke to animals as if conversing with them in full sentences. A girl some said born to be a Rosier instead of a Lestrange.
However, there was no disputing of her birth, no accusation of bastardery. Pandora Reinhardyevna Lestrange, a child of death that could mend the rotted flesh of a butchered lamp, shape it into something as good as new. Breathe life, snatch a soul from the very clutches of deaths many collections. A child that spoke into thin air, an eerie dreamy smile curling at her lips.
Enabled by Lady Magic, and the very blood that thrummed through his own veins, to be able to see the dead no matter if they granted her to or not. His baby sister. His family were referred to as 'the murder of crows' in court for a reason. As deaths despaired mortal children in ballads and songs sung by bardds.
Rodulophus Reinhard Lestrange, a man that would snap a man's neck with a flick of his wrist. Then, go on to throw the body into the fire place of the great hall of voron'ye gnezdo, if it meant the protection of his younger siblings. Of his house. Especially for his sweetest baby sister, Dora.
So when she ran through to his private solar one night, her chest heaving, her breaths convulsed. Her night gown completely rumbled and creased. Well, he was ready to afflict just the very same fate on the one who dared to provoke such a reaction from her. Her soft skin ran blemished with tears, like a ravine of crystals. As she clambered her shaking bones onto the mattress of his bed. He brushed his hand underneath the plush of his pillow to secure his wand, his other hand graced along his sisters wet cheek with only the pads of his fingers.
"Tell me." He rumbled his voice horse from ruminates of sleep.
"Life." Was all she blabbered, her hysterics and already dubious sentience on the planes of reality, a thick barrier of insanity disenable her from communicating what she truly desired. "Dora, my blednaya vorona come on darling tell me." He attempted to sooth. The job of parent, a carer he had taken on many years before to ensure his siblings prosperity. His hand running along down to graze at her neck. His other lacing and weaving through her own, needing to prevent her hands from tearing at the moon kissed hair on her very own scalp. So with the softness one should handle a baby crow. Gently, slowly he unlaced slender fingers from the tangle of her hair, messaging the joints of her locked hands.
