Glamour
"All sin tends to be addictive, and the terminal point of addiction is what is called damnation."
-Wystan Hugh Auden, A Certain World
No one notices the second child.
I have had twenty-one years to come to terms with this, and yet it still drives me mad to think of it. Twenty-one years is a long time—perhaps not as long to me as to a normal human, but a long time nonetheless. You would think that by now I would have learned to deal, to accept this fact and move on. Quite clearly, I have not. I have not, and now I pay the price.
I suppose that this story truly starts even before the winter day twenty-one years ago upon which I entered this world. It really begins nine years before that, in high summer, on a day that could not be any more opposite than the day of my own birth.
On this day, a beautiful, healthy baby girl was born to a young, newly wed couple. She was their first child, a perfect piece of Heaven delivered into their arms, and they had never been more delighted. They named her Fleur, after the flowers blooming outside of their window.
Fleur was a joy to her parents. Not only was she lovely, she was well-behaved, intelligent, and, they felt, a combination of the best traits from each of them. Everyone who met the child was besotted with her, and doted upon her as though she were a princess.
As she grew, Fleur's beauty and grace increased. She showed a wonderful aptitude for learning and quite a bit of raw magical ability. If these blessings were tempered with a haughty attitude and spoiled disposition, it mattered not to those who dwelled upon her so; in fact, it was rather endearing.
When Fleur was nine, the worst winter in living memory swept through the countryside. Blizzards raged for days on end, sometimes stopping as little as an hour before picking up again, harsh and fiercer than before. It was during one such storm that another little girl was brought into the world—Fleur's younger sister, Gabrielle. Me.
As an infant, I was a carbon-copy of Fleur. If you took two photographs, one of Fleur as a baby and one of me, and laid them side by side, the only way you could tell which was which would be by the rooms in the background. I was Fleur made over; my earliest memories are of various disembodied voices exclaiming, "Why, she looks exactly like Fleur!"
I suppose that it all started innocently enough. I've seen the pictures, it would be mad to deny the striking resemblance between my sister and I, and so the comments from observing parties were to be expected.
I grew into a toddler, and then a young girl, all the while hearing how I was Fleur all over again. At the time, nothing could have delighted me more, for I idolized my sister completely. She was beautiful, funny, graceful and intelligent—it seemed to me that there could not be a more perfect combination in any person anywhere.
Even though Fleur was often rude to me, picking on me or trying to keep me away from her, her actions were never malicious, only born from a teenager's desire to be rid of her pesky child-shadow. Any doubts that I might have entertained about her love for me were dispelled when I was eight and Fleur was selected as a possible Beauxbatons champion in the Tri-wizard Tournament.
She, along with a delegation of other eligible students, traveled to Great Britain to Hogwarts, the school hosting the Tournament. There, Fleur was chosen to compete by the Goblet of Fire, and during the Second Task, I was taken below the Hogwarts lake in an enchanted sleep, the one person in the entire world that Fleur would miss the most. My awe of her was not diminished in the least when it was Harry Potter who pulled me from the water in place of my sister; her frantic reaction upon my rescue proved that she had tried her best to reach me.
All the rest of that day I was in Heaven as I stood by Fleur's side in the Beauxbatons carriage as people expressed their sympathy for Fleur's hard luck with the Grindylows and spoke of how alike we two sisters looked.
The year that I turned eleven and began attending Beauxbatons myself was when I first realized that something was amiss with the lack of distinction between Fleur and I. At this point I was beginning to develop my own personality, to want to be my own person, and I was continually hampered by the fact that no one seemed to realize that I was not another Fleur.
In my lessons, my teachers would often look at me and say, "Fleur did so well with this, you shouldn't have any trouble at all," and somehow, without any action on my part, I suddenly ended up enrolled in the same extracurricular activities that my sister had been a part of.
A few years later, when it came time for me to pick my specialization courses, without consulting me once my counselor replicated Fleur's former schedule and, beaming, told me she knew that I would do just as well as my sister on the path that I had chosen.
I was stunned. How could Madame Artois have overlooked my wishes like that? How could she just assume that I would go through school following exactly in Fleur's footsteps, despite the fact that the two of us had very different interests?
It was then that I realized the very simple truth that haunts me to this day: No one notices the second child.
In everyone's eyes I was not Gabrielle Delacour, bright student, fair Quidditch player, lover of music, whose dream was to travel the world to study magic from all different cultures. No, to them I was only Little Gabrielle, Fleur's sister.
That truth stung, and as I first recognized this I was angry at the world, but Fleur most of all. Fleur, by being so perfect, had taken my identity. All people wanted was another Court Flower, someone to dote and press their expectations upon.
Well, I would have none of it. Furiously I drew up a new schedule for myself, one that contained none of the classed that Fleur had been in enrolled in while at Beauxbatons. Since Madame Artois had already submitted her version to the Headmistress, I marched my way to Madame Maxime's office, armed with my sword of self-righteous indignation and my new timetable shield.
When I arrived, the Headmistress graciously invited me in and offered me a seat in one of the high backed decorative chairs before her desk. I sat, graceful even through my debilitating anger, thanks to my Veela nature. Quickly I explained why I was there: Madame Artois' transgression, my disconcertion, and the new schedule I had drawn up.
Madame Maxime said that she was sorry, but that she could not accept the changes to my schedule without parental consent. She told me that she saw no reason that my timetable could not be revised as long as it was alright with the two of them.
I had no problems going to my parents for permission—I didn't think that they would care much about the changes I had made when they realized that the courses I had put down were just as difficult and challenging as the ones Fleur had taken.
Unfortunately, this was not the case. When Madame Maxime made the Floo call to my parents' home, they asked if it was possible to come through and speak to me before making a decision. The Headmistress agreed, and I found myself closeted in a side chamber of her office with my mother and father.
I immediately launched into a full explanation of Madame Artois' presumptions on my courses, how I hadn't gotten any say in the matter of deciding on which courses I would have, courses that would affect what careers I was eligible for one I left Beauxbatons. Sure, the classes Fleur took were perfect for someone who had their sights set on being a curse breaker, but for me? No, for me they were not right at all.
My parents listed with stoic expressions, not once showing any sign of whether I should be dis- or encouraged. When I finished speaking they simply stared at me for a moment and then suddenly words burst forth from their mouths like firecrackers.
They were appalled, they said, at my lack of respect for my professors and themselves; they could not believe that I would be so ungrateful when Madame Artois had obviously gone out of her way to help arrange my schedule, and that if the classes were good enough for Fleur, why weren't they good enough for me? And, speaking of Fleur, she never would have caused such a fuss at school!
I tried to argue my case with them, to make them see that I was not Fleur and had my own way in life to go, but they refused to listen. Without hearing one word of my rebuttal, the two of them swept from the room, apologized to the Headmistress for my being such a bother, and took the Floo home without so much as a "goodbye" to me.
After my parents were gone, Madame Maxime turned to look at me where I was still standing, mortified and angry, in the doorway of the side chamber. She opened her mouth to speak with a look of mild shock and something close to sympathy in her eyes. I hated seeing what I saw there, so without letting her begin I fled from her office.
It was a week later that I let a boy touch me for the first time. Because of my Veela nature I had sexually matured much earlier than my human peers, but I had rebuked the advances of any suitors I had had, and at sixteen I was still innocent, even of kissing.
Yet there I was, feeling alone, abandoned, and utterly confused. My parents' reaction to the scandal of the schedule had not only confirmed but redefined my new discovery: not even my own family realized who I was. I reeled from my sudden loss of identity.
I had no friends to confide in and help me deal with this, for all the girls I knew were jealous of my looks and power over the boys, and all the boys wanted to do was kiss—or do even more with—me.
So when Andre, a seventh year, cornered me as I left Transfiguration and asked to speak with me alone, I agreed, desperate for any type of companionship.
He pulled me into a nearby unused classroom, where he proceeded to drop any pretense of conversation and attempted to kiss me.
I felt that I should have expected this and started to move away, but I was not quick enough to avoid his embrace, and the second his lips met mine I forgot about trying.
As soon as a Veela engages in any sort of sexual activity, even something as benign as kissing, her instinct immediately takes over. All rational thought ceases as she succumbs to the nature of her powers and strives to make the experience as pleasurable as possible for both her partner and herself.
I was no exception, and when Andre kissed me it seemed as though my Veela powers exploded onto me all at once.
Most Veela are gradually exposed to their powers as they begin to mature. For instance, a normal Veela girl will have her first kiss at perhaps eleven, when there is not much power stored within her. As she grows older and her power increases, so too do her experiences, and so she has an outlet and learns to deal with and control her power.
Because I had always felt somewhat isolated at a school where I had no Veela contact, I had never had this outlet as I grew. Now, at sixteen, fully mature by Veela, if not human, standards, all of this pent-up energy was flung out of me into this one kiss.
I was euphoric—this was a rush like nothing I had ever felt. Flying, which I had always found exhilarating, had absolutely nothing on this sensation.
When Andre finally broke the kiss and backed away, gasping for breath, I was still in the grip of my power. I pursued him hungrily, wanting more.
Eventually the excess power that had stored up inside of me waned a bit, and I was able to regain control of myself. When I realized what I had done I was completely mortified. I could feel tears glassing up my eyes, and before I could be captured by my traitorous self once more I fled to my dormitory, leaving a stunned but satisfied Andre behind me.
Over the next few days I struggled with the recollection of what had happened between me and Andre. Memories of the amazing high I had felt while kissing him battled with my chagrin after I had regained my senses.
When my lips were on Andre's, I had felt in control. Powerful. Like only I could make him feel this way, give him the pleasure that I knew he was experiencing. No one and nothing else had any bearing on the situation; best of all there was no Fleur, and therefore no one to expect me to live up to her. I didn't have to think about any of my problems, and instead of being at the mercy of others, I was in command. It was only me, Gabrielle, and I was on top.
I found myself daydreaming often, wondering what it would be like if I kissed other boys in my classes. Would Pierre like it best if I was aggressive, taking his bottom lip between my teeth and nipping at it just enough to hurt? Would Bastien prefer me to let him be the aggressor, invading my mouth with his tongue, exploring inside of me? Either way was alright with me, for even in submitting there was a control to be had over them.
When I had these thoughts I would feel a thrill run down my spine, enough to make me shudder but only a shadow of what I had felt when I kissed Andre. Soon after, however, the excitement would be replaces with a shame that flushed my cheeks to a deep crimson.
I was incredulous that I had let myself do that with Andre, someone I barely knew, and that now I was fantasizing about doing the same (and sometimes much, much more) with other boys that I was, at best, casually acquainted with.
What bothered me even more was the fact that there was absolutely no feeling associated with my desires—it was a way to use my power, to exercise the control over another that I could never have over myself, to feel that buzz when I had absolute dominance over the man I was with.
Though I struggled, it was painfully clear from early on that my powers would triumph over my conscience. I realized that the war inside of me was mostly for appearances sake—I couldn't let myself go without an illusion of a fight, at least; I was tired of not having an identity. I would make sure that every male I met would know and remember Gabrielle. My battle was absurdly one-sided--it took everything I had for me not to seek Andre out for a repeat performance, and when, a few days after our initial encounter, another boy approached me asking if I had a minute, the word "no" never even occurred to me.
Whether Jacques had heard about what had transpired between Andre and I or was just trying his hand at getting the Veela out on a date I never found out, because the second we were alone my lips were against his, and no words were spoken between us from then until I left the room, rapturous with the adrenaline rushing through my veins.
After the first crazed kiss I had given Jacques, my powers seemed to mellow out a little, allowing me to better remain in control while still giving me an amazing rush.
This time, after just enough to make him crazy, I left with my eyes clear and my head held high.
Right then, the battle was completely lost.
I was tired of being overlooked and ignored, dismissed as a clone of Fleur without my own identity. I wanted to feel wanted, desired, in control, and letting my Veela powers take me over fulfilled those need in a way that my normal life never could.
From then on I was constantly seeking out boys whenever I had a free moment: between classes, after dinner, on weekends. I would pull them away, as soon as I got them alone letting my Veela nature take over.
The physical gratification that I got from these encounters was nothing to the high I got from using my powers.
As I used the power more, my dependence on it grew, as did the amount that I had to use to achieve my high. Where a few kisses were once enough, they now barely touched the tip of the iceberg. I progressed on to more intimae touching with each liaison, always stopping on my terms as soon as I had received enough of a thrill to satisfy me.
My obsession with constantly achieving a new high meant that I had no time for anything else in my life. I stopped flying completely; my broom remained in the bottom of my trunk, gathering dust. I quit the Charms and Astronomy clubs, citing personal reasons, and dropped the extra classes I had been taking during my free periods.
Even my grades, which had always been best in my class, began to slip dramatically. Half of the time I was late or missed the period all together, and if I was in class I didn't have the time to devote to my homework.
I couldn't even drudge up enough concern to be suitably worried when my counselor—Monsieur Teauton, who had been assigned to me after the fiasco with Madame Artois—gravely informed me that he would be forced to owl my parents if I did not turn my recent dismal performance around immediately. I simply shrugged, tossed my hair over my shoulder, and threw on the Veela charm.
A quarter of an hour later I exited his office, leaving him dazed behind his desk, all thoughts of my parents and "dismal performance" forgotten. My grades were never mentioned to me again.
Things continued much the same after I finished Beauxbatons. Although I had once entertained dreams of studying abroad, traveling the world doing research with some the brightest Witches and Wizards of the age, I now wanted nothing more than to experience the ecstasy that accompanied the use of my Veela charm.
I waitressed at a small restaurant in Paris during the day, and by night I trolled the clubs, picking up Muggle and Wizard men alike, bringing them back to my tiny apartment, where I proceeded to sate my desire for one more night.
I had no qualifications for the men I brought home, other than that they were clean. I had no desire to mar the body that allowed my mind its pleasure with a disease; luckily, a detection spell could be easily performed before we even left the club.
Once, when I was feeling particularly salacious, I brought home a woman. When I kissed her the power was different—quieter, more restrained, for my seduction was always intended for men alone. Though I stayed with her all night, the rush I got was barely enough to sate my hunger, and I stuck to men from then on.
One morning as I dressed for work, I was shocked to find a white feather on the floor of my closet among the piles of shoes. It was in pristine condition, not something that had found its way in on the bottom of my heels. I certainly hadn't put it there, and none of my "guests" had ever been in my closet, so it wasn't something one of them had dropped either.
I thought that it looked vaguely familiar, perhaps like one of the feathers that covered me when I reverted to my avian form, but it had been years since I had changed into that state.
Shrugging, I laid it aside and went on about my morning routine. On my way into the kitchen I passed by mirror, catching my reflection from the corner of my eye. What I saw made me stop dead in my tracks and turn, filled with dread, to see my reflection full on.
For weeks now this same thing had been happening—I would see my reflection in the curve of a glass or in my peripheral vision as I passed by a store front window—always somewhere I couldn't see myself quite clearly. On these occurrences, however, when I should have had a fleeting a glimpse of blonde hair or pale skin, I was instead greeted with a flash of white or cruel, orange-red eyes.
Until now I had thought nothing of it, attributing these odd sights to not getting enough sleep. But the single feather lying on my closet floor among the piles of shoes had made things suddenly clear to me—a complete reflection instead of a foggy mirror.
I began to recall the stories of Veela from my childhood, legends that I had placed no stock in but that had been handed down, mother to daughter, supposedly since the creation of our race.
In ancient times, Veela were created by a very powerful Wizard. He lived alone in a grand and imposing castle that overlooked the surrounding towns.
The Wizard desired a companion, so he commanded the townspeople to gather together their finest, most beautiful girls to allow him to choose a consort. The townspeople were afraid of the wizard and his magic, so they complied with his demands, bringing their daughters and sisters and nieces to the appointed place on the appointed day, so that the Wizard could choose from among them.
There was one man in the village who did not obey. He had a daughter by the name of Adrina, who was the most beautiful girl for miles around. For many years, the man had been planning upon taking Adrina, on her sixteenth birthday, to the port city a day's journey from the village, where wealthy men would pay handsomely to have her as their bride.
When he received word of the Wizard's demands, Adrina's father knew that if the Wizard saw his daughter, she would disappear into his castle forever, and he would make no profit. Through he was frightened of the Wizard, the man's greed overwhelmed even his fear, and so he made plans to leave at once for the port city.
At the time he had appointed, the Wizard descended from his castle on a great black cloud, flying to where the townspeople had gathered. Carefully he inspected each maiden before pronouncing them all beneath him.
"Is this the best you have to offer?" he sneered, gesturing to the assembled girls.
The townspeople shifted uncomfortably: while they were all relieved that their daughter or sister had not been taken, they were afraid of what the angered magician might do to them.
"Adrina!" yelled out a man from the crowd, and his cry was instantly echoed by the others.
"Adrina!"
"Yes, Adrina!"
The Wizard seemed to concentrate for an instant, and then nodded.
"Adrina."
It did not take long for the Wizard to catch up with Adrina and her father. He swooped down in front of them on his black cloud, blocking the road in front of them.
When he caught sight of the Wizard, the man grabbed Adrina and wheeled around, making a run for it. The Wizard merely smiled as two tendrils broke off of his cloud and surrounded the two, effectively cutting off their escape.
Without a sound, the Wizard waved a hand and the black cloud surrounding the captives sent out long, smoky fingers toward Adrina's father. With a high-pitched scream he brought his hands to his throat, struggling against the black mist wrapped around his throat. Within seconds he dropped to the ground, dead. The dark, swirling fog withdrew from the man's body and slowly retracted into the large mass supporting the Wizard.
Adrina stared down at the body of her father. She had never felt any great love for the man who had treated her only as a profit to be made, but she was shocked and frightened by his abrupt death right before her eyes.
"Come, girl," the Wizard said, beckoning to Adrina. Eyes wide, the girl took a tentative step toward the Wizard, then suddenly turned and began to run in the opposite direction.
Scowling, the Wizard followed on his cloud, easily catching up with his prey. He reached out and caught her by the long, golden hair that flowed down her back, pulling her into the ebon mist surrounding him.
Adrina fought him tooth and nail, but to no avail—his magical grip was far too strong for her to break.
The Wizard whisked his new conquest back to his castle, where he locked her into a prepared bedchamber and told her that he would see her in the morning.
For a long while Adrina laid on her new bed, staring blankly out at the room before her. It sickened her that she had exchanged one cruel master for another: she had always entertained dreams that the man who stole her away from her father would be sweet and romantic and caring and madly in love with her.
But Adrina entertained no such illusions about the Wizard; she had, after all, watched him kill her father in cold blood.
Tears poured down Adrina's face as she cursed her beauty—what had gotten her into all of this in the first place. She cursed her pale skin and her blonde hair and blue eyes; she cursed her delicate features and her lithe, willowy body. If only she had been average, or even ugly, then maybe her father could have gotten to know the girl inside of her, and the Wizard never would have set his sights on her.
An idea came to Adrina then, and as she met her own sapphire gaze in the mirror she knew what she had to do. If it was her beauty that had started all of this horror, then it would be her beauty that paid for it.
The first thing to go would be her hair. A quick inspection of the room revealed that there were no sharp objects to be found, but Adrina was not discouraged.
Picking up a heavy wooden hairbrush, she swung it into the large mirror, each hit leaving the glass a little more cracked. Finally the mirror shattered, and carefully Adrina picked up a large, dangerous looking shard of glass.
She held up a large section of hair and began to saw away at the strands with the glass, making no attempt to make the cuts even or straight. A few times she sliced her fingers or her scalp when she got too close to the roots of her hair or when her tool slipped, but she hardly noticed.
When she was finished, a quick running of her hands over her head confirmed that she had cut off almost all of her golden tresses, leaving it not even a finger's length in the longest places.
Next, Adrina decided, she would deal with her milky complexion. A blaze roared in the fireplace across the room, but it was easily doused with water from her wash basin. With that taken care of, she knelt on the hearth and reached for a handful of the soggy ash that covered the grate, covering herself in it and massaging it into her skin. The cinders gave her a sickly grey cast, leaving no indication of the porcelain skin that lay beneath.
Adrina did not stop at this, however. She chewed at her fingernails, transforming the once perfect crescents into jagged and bloody remnants of their former selves; she raked her teeth over her bottom lip, peeling the fragile top layer of skin away.
Not even her garments escaped unscathed: although they were not particularly grand to start out with, they were clean and neat, but Adrina quickly fixed that with ripping, tearing, and judicious use of the remaining ash from the fireplace.
Although she had no mirror to observe herself in, Adrina felt confident that her appearance was now suitably monstrous. Surely the Wizard would not want her now, now that she had destroyed her beauty. He would cast her out into the village at the soonest opportunity, and somehow she would survive. She could take in work as a seamstress, for she sewed fairly well, and perhaps someone would take her in until she had enough money for her own room, if she did the family's clothing repairs free of charge.
Her nails would grow out in time, as would her hair, and her skin would wash. Her dress could be mended, and though she would not look presentable perhaps at first, a kerchief could be tied over her head to hide her ragged hair and her hands could be easily hidden in the folds of her skirt.
Now all that remained was for the Wizard to discover her new appearance. Pulling a chair to the window so that she could gaze out at the countryside, Adrina settled in to wait.
While Adrina was in her chamber doing her best to demolish her beauty, the Wizard was sitting down to a lavish meal. He was pleased with himself: he had managed to capture a lovely young consort and dispose of her arrogant father all in the same day, and he felt he had cause to celebrate.
So he had a little more wine than usual with his meal, and he ate a bit more cake, and when he was finished he headed up to the girl's room with an appetite of a different kind that had not yet been fulfilled.
When he reached the door to her chamber, the Wizard stopped and listened carefully, but he detected no sounds from within. This pleased the Wizard, as he had no wish to spend his evening surrounded by the whines of a homesick girl.
Heady with anticipation, the Wizard disengaged the lock with a wave of his hand and pushed the heavy door inward. His eyes immediately sought out Adrina, and when they alighted upon her it took a moment for his mind to process what he was seeing.
Instead of the goddess he had brought to his castle, before him sat a vile and filthy ragamuffin, looking as if she had been plucked from under the docks of the nearby port city. He could feel the ire build inside of him as he stared at her.
The Wizard's magical opening of the door had been performed in silence, so Adrina did not detect his presence at once. She gazed out the window, lost in a fantasy of what her life would be once she had escaped the Wizard and regained her beauty, once she found her true love and went away with him forever.
So entranced was she that she did not see the Wizard stride across the room to where she sat, his face contorted fearsomely with rage. It was not until his hand seized her shoulder and he turned her to face him with such force that her chair was knocked from under her that she realized he had caught her unawares.
Adrina was chagrined that she had allowed him to sneak up on her, but quickly she pushed her surprise and annoyance aside, steeling herself for the fury that was evident in her captor's gaze.
The Wizard was absolutely furious. How dare she defile her beauty! How dare the little tramp deliberately ruin herself before he could enjoy her! The wretch would pay. A sinister smile flickered briefly over his face as an idea occurred to him.
Adrina watched as the Wizard cycled rapidly through looks of intense fury and cold malice. Finally his features settled on a mixture of the two—his mouth settled into an angry line, his nostrils flared, brows creased, but his eyes were pure black ice. Adrina found the contrast presented in his expression frightened her more than each of the looks on their own.
"So, you thought to destroy your beauty for me? With none of your physical allure, you thought you would be of no use to me?"
Adrina did not bother to answer his questions; it was obvious that he did not expect an answer.
"Foolish girl, did you think that if you did these things I would simply send you back to your pathetic life?" his voice was a low growl, powerful and frightening, and Adrina drew back instinctively.
The Wizard let her go, pulling his own hand back to his side, residue from the girl's cinder-smeared skin clearly visible on his pale hand.
For a moment he studied the sullied hand as Adrina cowered before him. Then he let loose with a cruel, mocking laugh and dropped his hand back to his side.
"Since you wish not to be had for your beauty, I will grant you this," the Wizard declared, with the obviously faux magnanimous air of one who knows he is twisting the will of another.
"You will never be pursued again, Adrina."
As the Wizard spoke her name, Adrina began to shake violently and her body felt as though it were on fire.
She cried out as the pain grew more intense; it seemed that her body was shifting itself in ways that shouldn't be possible, ripping her muscles and deforming her bones as it moved into new positions that she could never contrive on her own.
There were too many sensations to concentrate on at once, and Adrina stopped trying to understand what was taking place and simply fell to the floor, sobbing as her body reformed itself.
The Wizard watched Adrina writhe with amusement. The girl had been stupid and naïve—he couldn't believe that she had thought that if she made herself ugly he would simply turn her out with a pat on the head and a cheery "Good luck!"
He observed the changes in her with interest; when he cast the spell he had not had any specific form in mind, and he was pleased with the transformation that was taking place.
After the spell had run its course, and Adrina began to become aware of what had happened , the Wizard waved his hand, guiding the pieces of the shattered mirror back into their frame and mending them as if the glass had never been broken.
"Look, Adrina," he taunted, gesturing to the mirror. "See what you have become."
When the worst of the pain had subsided, Adrina gingerly shifted, trying to sit herself up. But something was wrong—her back was heavier than it should be, as if there were a pack slung over her shoulders; her arms seemed too short; her hands and feet were rigid.
She heard a tinkling of glass behind her head, and when she heard the Wizard speak she knew he must have repaired the mirror. Afraid to look but knowing that she must, slowly Adrina turned her now awkward head so that her gaze rested upon her reflection.
A horror beyond anything she had imagined stared back at her from the glass. Giant feathered wings sprouted from her shoulder blades, cruel talons jutted out where her fingers and toes used to be. Her arms and legs were short and thick, and her torso was no longer thin and willowy but sturdy and broad. A sharply curved beak took the place of her nose and mouth, and her large eyes burned brighter and harsher than the fires at Beltane.
The Wizard laughed maliciously once more, and Adrina whipped around to face him, ready to put her new claws to good use, but the Wizard seemed to expect her attack and raised an invisible shield between them, and no matter how many time Adrina flung herself against the barrier, it would not break.
Angrier than she had ever been, Adrina drew back from the shield and glared across the room at the Wizard.
"You can hardly blame me for this," the Wizard said in mock-offended tones. "You're the one who wanted to become a monster. I merely helped you along."
This was the last straw for Adrina. Something inside of her snapped: this man had snatched her freedom, her dreams of a happy marriage, and now had taken the last thing she had left. Without knowing why, she pushed her taloned hand forward forcefully, throwing mental more than physical strength behind the shove.
Much to her surprise, a fireball the same hue as her eyes shot forth from her hand and impacted against the barrier that the Wizard had erected. With a loud clanging noise the shield collapsed and the fireball dissipated, but Adrina was quick to follow up with one aimed at the Wizard.
The Wizard was quite as shocked as Adrina when a fireball was launched from what used to have been a lovely hand. This had certainly not been foreseen, and he did not like the idea of being on the receiving end of the anger of a bird-woman who could summon flaming missiles.
He became even more alarmed when the projectile shattered his shield. His shield spells had never been broken before! There was not much time to dwell on this however, as another of the fireballs was rapidly speeding toward him. With the aid of his magic, the Wizard was able to easily dodge Adrina's assault, and hastily he drew up another of his invisible barriers. Though he knew it would not hold her for long, it gave him just enough time to cast the spell he needed.
A fireball shattered his ward just as he completed the incantation. The air swirled behind the she-bird and he had time enough for a condescending, "Farewell, fair Adrina," before she was gone.
Adrina was concentrating on her next fireball, trying to will it to larger proportions, when there was a sucking noise from behind her and she suddenly was pulled backwards and spinning rapidly, the fireball forgotten.
When the spinning ceased, Adrina found herself in a dense wood, with no idea of where she was. She supposed the Wizard must have sent her there to be rid of her, and she cursed his name with words that she had heard her father say, but that she herself had never used.
She had no way to get food, no way to figure out where she was, and she was stuck in a body not her own that she still had trouble maneuvering. How was she going to survive?
Adrina quickly became used to this avian form, and the instincts of whatever creature she now was had melded into her own mind, so it was not long before she realized how to hunt, what she could and could not eat, and other basic survival skills.
As she wandered through the wilderness, Adrina made plans for the future. She could not stay in this form forever; she was still sickened each time she caught sight of her reflection in a pool of water. There had to be a way for her to revert to her original body.
And so she came up with a plan: she would find a city, and there she would search for information on powerful wizards. Once she found one, she would implore them to reverse the spell on her, and then she would get about to finding her true love.
For many long months Adrina wandered, looking for cities and wizards both. Finally, just as it was beginning to get cold, she stumbled upon a good sized town. Surely the people here would either have a wizard among them or know where one lived, so Adrina headed towards the city.
But when she reached the outskirts of the town, Adrina realized that her search would not be as simple as she had previously thought. When she walked by, women screamed and pulled their children tightly against their skirts, shielding their eyes from the passing monster. Men shook their fists and yelled at her, and merchants shouting the values of their wares suddenly became quiet. Boys too old to hide behind their mothers ran alongside her, calling insults and rude comments.
Hurt and panicking slightly, she turned to a woman and tried to explain herself, but the woman screamed and scuttled backwards. Imploringly, Adrina turned to another member of the crowd that had gathered around her, beseeching them to hear her plight, but none of them would have anything to do with her.
Filled with despair, Adrina turned and ran from the town back into the mountains where she had come from, hot tears pooling in her flaming eyes.
Adrina received the same reception in each city or town she visited, each time growing more and more desperate. Would she be forced to live out her life as this abomination? There was no way she could find a Wizard if everyone screamed and ran whenever she came near.
One day, about a year after she had been transformed by the Wizard, Adrina was sitting on the outskirts of a pleasant wood wondering what she was going to do. The day before she had been driven from the village nearby, and she felt hopeless. Everyone was too scared to even come near her, much less speak with her. How could she ever find a wizard this way?
Hanging her head in despair, Adrina was fighting tears when a quiet "Oh, my," broke through the normal forest sounds. Snapping her head up, Adrina saw a man standing across the clearing from her, holding a stick and a large basket filled with various herbs and flowers.
"You're the beast they were talking about in the village, aren't you?" The man's voice was gentle, and he didn't seem afraid as he took a step forward.
Newfound hope blazing in her chest, Adrina nodded vigorously.
"You understand me?" the man asked, sounding surprised.
Speaking did not come easily to Adrina—her beak was ill shaped for it, and her tongue was not the right shape to promote speech, but she could talk, if a little slowly.
Now, trying to wrap her clumsy tongue around the words she needed without letting her savage excitement get in the way, speaking was doubly hard, but she knew she had to manage.
"Yes. I. . . under. . .stand," she pronounced slowly.
"And you speak as well! I thought, after the stories they told me…but never mind." The man contemplated her, his brows creasing as though he were in heavy thought. Surreptitiously he made a few short sweeping movements with the stick in his hand, so subtle that Adrina almost missed the motion altogether. Frowning, the man repeated this strange ritual several times before he spoke.
"What sort of creature are you?"
"I do. . .not. . .know. It is. . .a spell. Once I. . .was. . .a woman. A wizard. . ."
"An enchantment?" the man interrupted, speaking more to himself than to her. "Of course, it explains much." Looking up, he focused on Adrina now. "I would like to hear your story, if you would speak with me?" His voice lifted in question, and Adrina nodded vigorously.
"Then let us commence to my home."
Several hours later, the young man reclined in his seat and studied the creature before him. Since they had arrived at his home, Adrina had laboriously relayed the tale of her transformation to him, beginning with the Wizard's demands and continuing all the way through to the present. Now, as he looked across the room at the woman turned monstrosity, the man was left with a decision.
It was obvious that Adrina was desperate to be returned to her original form. The man was moved by her ardent pleas for help, and he knew that he could not leave her to live out her life as an abomination. She may have been foolish when she had defied the Wizard so, but she had been young, and frightened, and in a horrible situation besides. Her faults did not deserve so severe a punishment, and he felt that it was his duty to return to her the beauty she had been blessed with.
The man was also a wizard, and while he was not as powerful as the dark magician from Adrina's past, he was accomplished in his own right. But the Wizard's spell was strong, so strong, in fact, that the young man was not sure that he would be able to reverse it completely. If he failed to reverse the charm correctly, he could risk leaving Adrina in a half-transformed state, or worse, he could severely injure or even kill her. He did not want to take these risks, especially not when there was another, safer, option.
A glamour. Illusions were this wizard's particular strong point, and he believed that he could create a glamour so strong that it would cover Adrina completely for the rest of her life, not only in sight, but in actual form as well. If he constructed it correctly, Adrina could actually take on the form of the glamour—which would be an illusion of her original body—and force the avian form into submission.
After explaining both choices to Adrina, the man said he would give her the night to think on it, and that they would discuss it again in the morning. In the meantime, he set her up in a large solar and bid her goodnight.
The next morning Adrina joined the man, whose name she had learned was Tiernan, for breakfast, where she informed him of her decision: she wanted a glamour.
For the following few weeks, Tiernan worked on constructing the perfect glamour. Combining illusions, true-seeing spells, transfiguration charms, and others, the young wizard built a perfect image of Adrina that would force her avian form into submission.
Finally, the glamour was ready. After ensuring everything was in place one last time, Tiernan cast the spell.
Adrina's body began to contort itself, much like it had when she had been transformed initially, but instead of being excruciatingly painful, this time there was the pleasant sensation of stretched muscles returning to the position of rest as Adrina reassumed her proper form.
When Tiernan saw Adrina as she was meant to be seen, he was amazed at how lovely she truly was. He invited her to stay at his home, as he knew she had no where else to go, and Adrina accepted. Over the next weeks and months, the two began to fall in love, and eventually they were married and had children.
When their first child was born, a daughter that they named Ilaria, the couple realized that the Wizard's curse had extended farther than either of them had guessed. Ilaria was victim to the spell as well as Adrina, and her mother wept bitterly over the feathered body of her child.
Tiernan was not quelled, however. Using the same basic spells that he had utilsed to create Adrina's glamour, he created a charm to counter the Wizard's curse. On all of Adrina's descendents, the same glamour that was upon her would be bestowed, so that none of her children would ever suffer the same hardships that she had.
Today, Veela are still born with both curse and glamour, but over the centuries since Adrina's times, the glamour has begun to diminish, ever so slightly. So, child, you must always be careful of how much power you use, for it generates directly from the glamour. Be wise and thoughtful, and you will have nothing to worry about and will live happily ever after, just as Adrina.
After many weeks of painstaking research, I have come to understand that this story is basically true. Although I am sure that the legend has been embellished over the years to make it into more of a fairy tale than an accurate history, the facts remain the same: Adrina was placed under a curse, and Tiernan did create the glamour.
The mechanics of how the glamour works were harder to find and harder still to understand, and now that I know I almost wish I were hurtling toward my destruction with no idea of the consequences.
Each Veela in the world is granted a small portion of the total glamour for themselves when they are born. No one is quite sure how this happens, but that it does is irrefutable. Because the glamour's purpose is solely to create beauty and allure, any time a Veela releases large amounts of charm—with a kiss, or a dance, or other sensual activities—her portion of the glamour—and therefore the whole—is diminished. The natural allure that Veela project onto humans is a byproduct of our power, and so does not affect the power pool.
Up until a century or so ago, most Veela got through life without using any more than a little over half of their allotted amount of the glamour. However, as more years passed, the total power of the glamour was lessened, and so each Veela began getting less and less power. Now, an average Veela uses about three quarters of her glamour in her lifetime.
I am a different story. Because of my addiction to the power, in five years I have run through my portion of the glamour almost completely. I found a spell to gauge the amount of glamour I have left, and when I saw the results I realized that I am finally paying the piper.
If I never use my Veela power again, I will be able to sustain the illusion of a woman until I am about eighty.
If I never kiss, never dance, never make love for the rest of my life, I will have sixty years left of my appearance. Eighty years is about half a normal life span for a Veela. I will become a monster when I am middle aged, and until then I will live alone, without a lover, without companionship, without even the pleasures of the flesh to depend on. Until then I will be reminded of my mistakes every time I catch sight of myself in the curve of a glass, or in a storefront window, and instead of seeing swaying blond hair and pale skin, I glimpse cruel red-orange eyes and white feathers.
And when I reach eighty, I will disappear, withdraw to the wilderness somewhere where, with fingers that are beginning to sharpen but can still manage to hold a wand, I will depart from this world quietly and on my own terms.
Besides, no one notices the second child.
A/N: Originally written for the Addiction Challenge over on the Yahoo group The Wizard's Staff, this is a one shot for now, although I've been toying around with following it up with a sequel. Let me know what you think!