Yes, I know, Spellbound still hasn't been updated! It's in the works-- but Book Six has changed around a few things in my mind. It'll be up, I promise, there is no way I will abandon that story. But I have to keep you guys at bay somehow, so here's a ficlet. And the site will be up soon, too, and totally revamped-- Sheri's working her butt off. So the more I write, the faster she'll work, and the sooner you'll ahve access to everything again. Oh, and my LJ (inylan) has the old ANFTC clips that I could find after my computer crashed. If you have any more of those saved, SEND THEM IN. Otherwise, the new chapters will be out soon. Thanks for being so patient! Now go read.
Disclaimer: If I was JKR, I'd be writing book seven. This isn't book seven.
Where Do I See Me?
The purpose of a mirror is to show one's reflection. The mirror I stand in front of this morning is no different from any other mirror I have stood in front of before. The glass is slightly warped, which is to be expected from such an old mirror. But that doesn't make a difference in my reflection. The difference is in what I see.
My hair, jet black as if someone had dumped the purest of all inks onto my scalp and it had soaked into my unruly hair. Slightly longer than it was a few weeks ago, but my hair has always grown fast. The light stubble that shadows my jaw is also dark, my cheeks appearing sunken in the rough absence of color.
String face, full, but not round. Slim, but not overly thin. A graceful curve of a cheekbone underneath tanned, olive skin. A mouth that is full but not prominent, just right.
These I inherited from my father.
My eyes, sharp emeralds that pierce all those who dare to make eye contact. Fierce and bright, my eyes distinguish me from all others, if nothing else does.
These I inherited from my mother.
My scar, partially hidden by the fringe that I purposely keep long. Angry and loud, it is the one aspect of me that no one will ever forget, that will stay fresh in people's minds after they can remember my face no longer.
This was given to me by the Dark Lord.
It's a legacy of sorts, as if in each of their wills each wanted to pass on a physical part of himself or herself that would continue to live after they died. As I examine myself, without my glasses, all skin and life and blood, I realize that my entire life has revolved around these three people. My mother's love saved me as an infant and as a young adult. The fact that Snape protected me because my father had saved him years ago has given me a reluctant, but ever watchful guardian all these years. Voldemort has been a part of my life, albeit a dangerous and unpleasant one, ever since I was a small child.
If my life has been made of these three people, whose legacies I now carry in my skin, I must ask myself one thing:
Where do I see me in all of this?
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