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TWO WITCHY WOMAN
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DELIA'S LOCKED IN her room; not of her own free will though, because apparently — when you find out that you're a witch and didn't realise it for the past fourteen years of your life — you're not allowed to be part of the conversation that happens afterwards. She wishes that they'll all leave for their bloody Quidditch game already so that she can leave the room.
Which is where she's been, all through the morning. And she doesn't even know the time right now. The sun's risen, cool. But she's not a fucking sailor. How is she supposed to tell the time when there's no clock in the room? For all she knows it's 2:45PM. And that's the thing, she doesn't know. She doesn't know why Lyla's wand made the kitchen cabinet explode when she waved it around, and she doesn't know what it means. (A part of her thinks she might know, but she's not ready to address the thought in the back of her mind, much less say it out loud.) Which sucks. More than anything. Delia hates when people know things that she doesn't.
She feels so icky right now. She hates the not knowing, and she hates the fact that she's not able to control what's happening right now. Her palms are getting all sweaty and she's having just the slightest trouble breathing. She needs to know what's happening. She needs to know how to control what's happening.
There's a knock on the door and Delia jumps out of bed, opening the door with a frown. Lyla's standing there with a nervous smile on the other side, fiddling with her fingers.
Delia scowls, and she crosses her arms over her chest. "Am I allowed to leave my room now?"
Lyla drops her hands to her sides and sighs. "Come on, I need to show you something," she says and Delia follows her down the stairs and into the living room. Lyla drops down onto the grey sofa and motions for Delia to do the same. Shooting her cousin another glare, Delia sits down at the end of the sofa — as far away as she can sit from Lyla.
"The rest of the girls went to the Quidditch World Cup. It's just you and me."
"Well that's convenient," she mutters under her breath. Delia looks at Lyla, her fingers tracing over the engraved letter on her bracelet. "Well, what'd you want to show me?"
Lyla chews her lip and looks at Delia for a moment before getting off the sofa and disappearing into another room. Delia sighs as she rubs her calves up and down — it's cold in the house. Maybe Lyla did that on purpose, to fit with the eerie mood of whatever the bloody hell is happening right now.
