The Harry Potter series was created by and is owned by J.K. Rowling;
however, the character Crixa Steeltalon is of my own invention and Asa
Steeltalon is the invention of my friend FoxFyre. I am mere fan of
Rowling's work and could never possibly duplicate the magic in which she as
created with Harry Potter.
Tea
Exhaustion.
Professor Crixa Leigh Steeltalon found it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open as she walked slowly down the hall towards her chosen destination. When she came within a few steps of the entrance to the staff room, she closed her eyes to rest them and walked towards it until her fingers gingerly touched the smooth, wooden surface of the door.
Nostalgia.
A small exhalation of air that was not quite a sigh parted her lips and Crixa let her hand trail down to the door's slightly tarnished metal handle. It was cool to the touch, an inviting sensation to her fingers which were tired from holding a quill all day grading papers and working on lesson plans. She slipped her fingers about the door's handle and twisted it to the right, opening the door and letting the familiar dank, but welcomed scent of old tea and stale crumpets spill out into the hall.
Restlessness.
The woman professor pushed open the door even further, listening to the barely audible creaking noise that it made as she did so. Inside the room she heard no sounds hinting to the presence of another person, nor did she feel the displacement of air any movement they could have made would have caused, and aside from the rooms own unique smell, there were no other scents. Only when she finally decided to walk in did Crixa finally open her eyes to gaze upon the emptiness of the room.
Isolation.
She slowly closed the door until she heard it click in place behind her and made her way to the counter. There were only two windows in to room and each were on the far wall; one of them was shut tight, and the other was open just enough to let a single ray of sunlight in. This ray of light virtually cut the room into two unequal sections, starting from about a meter from the far wall, passing over chairs and a small table, stretching over the length of the floor, and running up Crixa's dress to about the middle of her cheek. It was warm and almost inviting.
Somberness.
Crixa dropped a dollop of honey into the steaming well of tea in her cup and stirred it with an almost ceremonious motion. She listened to the spoon clinking against the sides of the glass and moved to one of the less bumpy loveseats. Here, the woman sat down, pulling the spoon out of the cup and stared into the dizzying swirls of the tea before banishing the spoon back to the counter. Sure, she could have just as easily conjured a cup of tea, or she could have gone down to the kitchens and have one of the house elves do it for her. There was something relaxing about making a cup of tea with one's own hands; but it wasn't relaxing enough.
Incomplete.
For nearly two and a half weeks, nothing in the woman's life was all that relaxing. Crixa found herself becoming increasingly more exhausted, homesick, and restless. She felt isolated, even among her peers and more somber than usual; but perhaps worse of all, the incompleteness that she had felt since Asa's death so long ago was becoming unbearable. Closing her lilac eyes once more, Professor Steeltalon brought the curved edge of the cup to her soft lips and savored the warm feel of the liquid against them before taking a long, well deserved sip.
Tea
Exhaustion.
Professor Crixa Leigh Steeltalon found it increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open as she walked slowly down the hall towards her chosen destination. When she came within a few steps of the entrance to the staff room, she closed her eyes to rest them and walked towards it until her fingers gingerly touched the smooth, wooden surface of the door.
Nostalgia.
A small exhalation of air that was not quite a sigh parted her lips and Crixa let her hand trail down to the door's slightly tarnished metal handle. It was cool to the touch, an inviting sensation to her fingers which were tired from holding a quill all day grading papers and working on lesson plans. She slipped her fingers about the door's handle and twisted it to the right, opening the door and letting the familiar dank, but welcomed scent of old tea and stale crumpets spill out into the hall.
Restlessness.
The woman professor pushed open the door even further, listening to the barely audible creaking noise that it made as she did so. Inside the room she heard no sounds hinting to the presence of another person, nor did she feel the displacement of air any movement they could have made would have caused, and aside from the rooms own unique smell, there were no other scents. Only when she finally decided to walk in did Crixa finally open her eyes to gaze upon the emptiness of the room.
Isolation.
She slowly closed the door until she heard it click in place behind her and made her way to the counter. There were only two windows in to room and each were on the far wall; one of them was shut tight, and the other was open just enough to let a single ray of sunlight in. This ray of light virtually cut the room into two unequal sections, starting from about a meter from the far wall, passing over chairs and a small table, stretching over the length of the floor, and running up Crixa's dress to about the middle of her cheek. It was warm and almost inviting.
Somberness.
Crixa dropped a dollop of honey into the steaming well of tea in her cup and stirred it with an almost ceremonious motion. She listened to the spoon clinking against the sides of the glass and moved to one of the less bumpy loveseats. Here, the woman sat down, pulling the spoon out of the cup and stared into the dizzying swirls of the tea before banishing the spoon back to the counter. Sure, she could have just as easily conjured a cup of tea, or she could have gone down to the kitchens and have one of the house elves do it for her. There was something relaxing about making a cup of tea with one's own hands; but it wasn't relaxing enough.
Incomplete.
For nearly two and a half weeks, nothing in the woman's life was all that relaxing. Crixa found herself becoming increasingly more exhausted, homesick, and restless. She felt isolated, even among her peers and more somber than usual; but perhaps worse of all, the incompleteness that she had felt since Asa's death so long ago was becoming unbearable. Closing her lilac eyes once more, Professor Steeltalon brought the curved edge of the cup to her soft lips and savored the warm feel of the liquid against them before taking a long, well deserved sip.