[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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Feelings. The middle ground between mortals and celestials. Mesmerizing how the celestials created mortals so close to their resemblance, yet far from perfection. Because feeling was what made mortals were mortals. Whereas it was meant to make such monochrome life graced with spectrums of colors—it was a double-sided knife. It was a flesh-embedded marrionettist, puppeteering mortals' psyche through viridescent strings. Taking over their decision, words, and blinded them from risk. In the end, feelings made humans spindled on the verge of death's kiss, source of chaos and muse.
Mortals and their so-called intelligence tried to explain feelings, and came up with names, chemical chain reaction—endorphins, dopamine, at last, the infamous love hormone: oxytocin.
Gemma was sure the said hormone was ruling all over her body since last night that it lingered on her being. The evidence was apparent, shade of peach seeped to her cheeks, beamed almost glittery. The squealing and series of—oh my god screams that she muffled with her pillow. Thank High Merlin, he created silencing spells for moment as such.
Foreign frenzy metastasized her nerves, sparked a thrilling sensation as if it was injected through her fingertips. Teenage hormone was crazy at times, but knowing the fact that she kissed the boy she fancied—what type of fifteen-year-old girl wouldn't feel like taken to the moon and back?
Compared to the Irish witch, who was clueless about love, Martin McKinnon knew better. Despite the fact that he only fell in love to one girl all his life, for years he'd read enough Sherlock Holmes to notice the odd demeanor when the said feeling stung someone. He witnessed them in the Irish witch. She hummed to herself everywhere—the Ravenclaw's common room—she hummed in class, corridor. He was profound that every single brick of castle would know the melody of Gymnopedie no. 1 by now.
"What is it?" He finally gave up with a sigh, cyan eyes directed to the Irish. He maintained his tone low seeing as they were in the library, and Madam Pince would not hesitate to swat her stick out for sounds over 120 Hz. "Out with it, Gemma."
"What?" she arched her brows, hand scribbling on the Ancient Runes that she wrote fluently as if a second language. The Irish batted her lashes gently as Martin narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her.
"You seemed so content over everything lately, Sherlock." mused Martin, leaning closer to gain the witch's attention. Her face beaming so goldenly with lips plump and melon-pink. The last time he saw her this ecstatic was the first time the brunette pranked Sirius Black back on her first years. He went on, "It's creeping me out, normally, someone who has to face OWLs would be stressed out—hang on."
