𝐦𝐨𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐢 - 𝐝.𝐦.

𝐧𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚. 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

Pure; adjective.

Free of contamination. Clean, unpolluted, sterile. Natural. Purity in this sense is observable, something that the naked eye can detect. Pure is the pellucid basin of Loch Lomond along the southern highlands of Scotland in which Akina visited when she was 11. If she pleased, she could have observed straight down to the very floor of the body of water. Within its depths she watched as selkies glided through the water with a musical ease, though would flare their gills and bare their teeth had her own self gotten too close for comfort.

She had always been thought of better than because of the blood that coursed through her veins, but it was in her inquisitorial nature to ask why. If she was so pure, then surely her blood must be fused with nothing short of pulverized diamonds or liquid gold. The blood that filtered through her system must be so rich and valuable, because the alternative would make all of this hierarchal society meaningless. The cruel fact of the matter is that everyone bleeds the same red. Down to the molecular composition, there is no distinguishable differences between her own blood and the blood of the proclaimed "stains" to their world. She had been taught with an iron fist to never sway from this notion, as it was bludgeoned into her brain from birth to present. Though, as if in spite of herself, she has lately been questioning the validity of this ideal.

That brought Akina Selwyn to today, where she sat groveled over a battered microscope. She had asked Professor Snape to borrow his, and after a lackluster excuse that spilled off her tongue about the examination of the potion ingredients from that days' lecture, he begrudgingly handed it over. She had an inkling that he knew she was lying, but whether it be from pity or sheer luck, she wouldn't question it.

Her eye socket is wedged into the eye piece of the contraption, her bandaged forefinger and middle finger screwing with the fine adjustment knob until she could obtain the utmost clarity on her slide.

Upon the glass is a miniscule bead of her own blood that came from the tip of her finger. For the past hour, she had been observing it and scratching notes onto her parchment of its components, which, albeit, were quite short of being anything close to astonishing. There were no traces of pulverized diamonds or liquid gold, just an abundance of plasma and cells.

With a huff, she ungluea her eye from the microscope and straightens her achy back. This revelation isn't shocking, of course, but it certainly complicated things. Most importantly, it challenged everything that she had been taught in her youth: further distinguishing that her blood was nothing special, nothing different from that of Hermione Granger's or Colin Creevey's.

Dozens of questions and intrusive thoughts dance around her consciousness as she wipes the blood off with the sleeve of her shirt and tucks the microscope under her arm. The moon is now at its peak, its vivid light appearing as a kaleidoscope of fluorescent colors through the stained glass of the Ravenclaw common room windows. Once she had cleaned up her study area, she began the long ascent up the stone stairs to her dorm room, where the inhabitants were likely deep in sleep. As expected, when she pushes open the door, she's met with the sleeping faces of Padma Patil, Marietta Edgecombe, and Lisa Turpin; the latter sporting a bit of dried drool dribbling down her chin.

Akina lightly treads to her designated area of the circular dormitory, making sure to dodge the creaky floorboards that she had become accustomed to over her four-and-a-half year stay. When she finally reaches her space, she eagerly throws open the curtain shrouding her four-poster bed and lazily slides the microscope under the frame before sinking onto the plush mattress. She didn't even bother to undress before she snaps the curtain shut and closes her eyes, her aching muscles singing praises at her for the long-awaited comfort.