PROPHECY CHILD

PROPHECY CHILD

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WpMetadataNoticeZuletzt aktualisiert Di., Aug. 16, 2022
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Fanfic
Wizarding World: Harry Potter
Lyra Dorea Potter was the golden girl, the girl-who-lived, the sole survivor of the Killing Curse. If one were to ask who is Lyra Potter, they would hear she is spoiled, clueless of the real world and cold, and is part of the famed golden trio, with her friends Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley. But in reality, no one really knew Lyra Potter, who she was, what she liked, what she disliked. Nothing. So, read the story about Lyra Dorea Potter, the famed girl-who-lived as she unravels deceits and lies and moves on with her life with a new determination as she eliminates and ruins anyone and everyone standing in her way. And while taking her rightful crown, she gets thrown into a world filled with Magic, Drama, Love and Upper Class Society.
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"𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑬𝑵𝑫 𝑼𝑺..." "𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑵 𝑳𝑬𝑻 𝑰𝑻 𝑩𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑺𝑻 𝑩𝑬𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑰𝑭𝑼𝑳 𝑶𝑭 𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺." She was born of a bargain, stitched from starlight and ruin, the last gift of a dying son to a goddess who loved thresholds more than mercy. 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 entered the world with silver eyes that remembered every grave, golden hair that shimmered like a crown too heavy for any child, and a silence that unsettled even the house that raised her. The Blacks bred tempests, and she was a storm disguised as grace. Though long before her first breath, the constellations had written her fate. They named her for dawn yet clothed her in dusk, promising her to the boy who bore lightning in his scar. 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑-child of prophecy, boy marked by fate for death, the lamb to be slaughter and sacrificed. They found each other in corridors steeped in omen, their eyes meeting as if they had done so for centuries. His sorrow recognized her fury; her tenderness understood his ruin. Their love was not a choice but an inheritance, whispered by the heavens, sealed in the marrow of their bones. The world stood against them. As bloodlines demanded obedience, gods demanded payment, destiny demanded separation. Yet together they moved toward each other as planets do, colliding though they knew it would shatter the sky. Their love was no sanctuary. It was a doom both holy and profane, a sacrament carved into the stars with the same hand that wrote death.

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