[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...
•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅• 10 - If Children Were Archangels
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•❅──────✧❅✦❅✧──────❅•
WARNING: Death from a spell, Animal dying.
In all retrospect, Gammaliel swore she disliked power. The High-Merlin, despite being the greatest warlock to ever walk on earth would agree that power was more source of vices than virtues. The idea of power was rooted to humans' mind as a tool to gain control and unlimited favor. It escalated one's value, it made them special, a high-rank, important and oftentimes, invincible. The wizarding world had always thought that power was stairways to heaven, and the Merlins had been graced with shortcut to Avalon at birth. In a sense, they were equal to the muggles Royals without a crown or fancy medals on their robes.
It was apparent from the gold and silver plated to Isle of Glass' wall and emblems, the remains of Merlin and Salazar Slytherin's glory was something derivative, pure hereditary. Name had become a fixed statement of power to the world and thus, the heir and heiress of the royal Irish family had burning stars settled upon their shoulders. The urns of power was split in the same amount into two, first to Alphard the perfect heir.
Alphard Zygo was the front face, the crown and fancy cloak of the Merlin. He was encompassed with power and puppet master all his life, that the pretense smile he gave to strangers was lacquered to perfection, too perfect that none couldn't recognize his distaste and gritted teeth beneath them. Starry-eyed strangers would admire his astonishing magic and his brilliant violin play he learned in the Mulciber's music lessons. But Alphard was so much more than a perfect apple from a perfect tree. He was wanderous, a karmic fire sculpted into a soul who covered himself in layers of manner.
The first time the boy ever truly smiled was when he caught a blue-morpho butterfly on the palm of his hand. Then second, when his father found him giggling, while offering his golden watch to Newt Scamander's lost niffler. At last, he was ten-year-old when he discovered that he could cry when he was happy. He tried so hard to not blink despite his tear-lacquered eyes. His calloused hands ( from the one-too-many times he played with his cruppies ) were trembling when he carried a baby girl.
"She's your sister, Alpha." Sonata Zygo's timbre was velvet and gentle against his ear. There was a sense of assurance in her eyes as she led him to hold the girl. She was wrapped in the softest cotton, her skin was soft and her delicate fingers were curled around his when he cooed her name. His lips would caress the baby's forehead gentler than feathers as he sang her a lullaby.
"She looks like an angel, Mum." was the first thing the boy said and his lips curved upward at the amusement. A wave of excitement plastered on his face, he couldn't wait to show her his collection cards of magical beasts he hid under his bed. Or told her about his signed unedited manuscript of Newton Scamander's Fantastic Beast and Where to Find them one day. He had never believed that angels existed, not until he witnessed how the stars was aligned perfectly when Gammaliel was born that Summer Solstice 1961.
