[Completed]
An alchemist who poisoned himself, an assassin who stabbed his own heart, an arsonist who burned herself, and a hero who couldn't defeat his inner monster.
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( A re-enact of Hades...
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Apollo's light speared through distorted colored glass like arrows, dispersed into red chroma before it landed in Banquet Hall. January air was filled with misted scent of pumpkin, and James Potter's love declaration to Lily Evans yet again, denied. The cherry haired witch smacked her sling bag to the potioneer's son for being an embarrassing toe-rag, before she dragged the blonde by her side ( who was half-way biting her pumpkin pastilles ). The two Gryffindor's girls marched out like fire and ice. Lily Evans's fiery red hair swayed like rapturous flames while Marlene's pale golden was raw, silk-like.
Like heathens and heavens. Right across the Gryffindor's table was the Ravenclaw's table, when chaos defined the lion's house. The eagle's table was full of soft chatters over what the Gryffindors did. A whimsical scent of peach and a hint of something masculine Marlene bought for Martin on Christmas poked Gemma's nostrils.
"Gemma, stop." groaned Mckinnon, cerulean eyes squinted when peony pink nails were scalloping through his golden root, brushing the spikey hair to face the scalp.
Gammaliel rolled her eyes, sighing as she spoke. "If you want me to stop then you have to start using a hairbrush!"
His gaze darted from her furrowed brows down her lips, there the forbidden taste he knew he would never get to taste nor dreamed. Martin had counted so many times she pecked him on the cheek in the most innocent way, then why on Zeus's name he always found it alluring enough to excuse himself over—styling his messy hair for twenty minutes—in which still appear messy right after.
God, Mckinnon knew he was so damned, he blamed the teenage sprouting hormone that stroke through him like Eros's golden arrow.
It was apparent, how puberty hit the blond half-blood over the summer like a wild Hypogriff. The lanky figure had grown pairs of firm quidditch biceps, sunkissed skin. He was the softest sunrays, sculpted into amazonian warrior and Jo Meadowes would fluster when she caught his gaze and flashed his ridiculously bright smile. Height was obvious, when in the past three years they would fight who was taller, now the argument was settled as she didn't reach his shoulders.
His chin settled on his right palm while his gaze bore at her eyes, where it seemed the celestial must have taken more time to sculpt her from the finest clay. There was a galaxy buried inside her eyes that he found no end, nor boredom.
However, Martin had always thought the spotlight of Gammaliel was her intelligence. Now, intelligence was something he would find enthralling in anyone. Since his eleventh birthday, the blond had peculiar interest in the muggle world that his mother had known for her whole life, he stumbled on books. Fiction to be precise; fantasy, sci-fi, a world of freedom made out of layers of imagination and possibilities. He had read many, and so far his favorite was Sir Arthur Doyle's world; Sherlock Holmes.
