Author's Note:
Dear reader,
When I was seven I went on a trip to England and although my command of English was less than satisfactory I begged my mother to buy me a purple book with a witch on the cover. I later found out that the name of the book was The Worst Witch and after a week of being best friends with the dictionary, I managed to decipher its contents. I was hooked.
Now, I imagine most kids would dream of being Mildred Hubble. I did not. I wanted to be Miss Hardbroom ( almost two years later the same happened while reading Harry Potter and while all the kids in my grade wanted to be Harry, I wished to be Snape…). Although the possibility that I was a really weird kid cannot be discarded, I like to believe that my affinity to this character steams from the amazing way in which she is constructed. I like powerful characters, that are somewhat shrouded in mystery. Furthermore, when Kate Duchene gave her life on the TV show, my fascination increased tenfold and I followed each and every episode faithfully. It took my parents quite a while to explain that Cackle's (or magic, for that matter) does not exist. Sadly, childhood does not last forever and like so many other things, The Worst Witch was replaced by Chekov, Kafka, and Hemingway etc. Until two months ago.
Desperate to escape from the clutches of my Accounting course, I started reading a The Trojan Women by Euripides. A few hours later, I decided to look for a version of the play on YouTube and a trailer from the National Theatre came up. As I was watching it (really interesting way of adapting the play, by the way) I recognised Hecuba's voice. Some painful minutes of mind jogging and replaying the video later, it dawned on me that Hecuba was Miss Hardbroom (or rather Kate Duchene). Thus with a renewed fondness for my childhood fascination I once more employed my YouTube searching skills and found the episodes that nachocheeez posted ( I am eternally grateful to him/her).
As I was watching the Millennium Bug, the idea for this story came into my mind and refused to leave. Something about the way in which Miss Hardbroom showed her vulnerability and limitations made me want to explore that side of her more. As such, for the purpose of this story, I will be borrowing her, together with the other amazing characters from Cackle's Academy, from the talented Jill Murphy.
This story starts at the beginning of Mildred's third year but apart from some instances it will not follow it. Mildred will still have her amazing power of making drawings come to life, but it will emerge much earlier in the year and I will try to give an explanation for its existence in the course of the story. One very important change though, is that I decided to keep Miss Bat. Although I love Lavinia Crotchet, I find Miss Bat much more interesting, mostly because of her more prominent eccentricities.
Although I have everything meticulously planned (HB would be so proud) and I can literally see what is going to happen, as the fiction starts on the mellow side, the rating will be T for now. It might change later. (It honestly depends on how gruesome I decide to write the harsher scenes).
I am not in the habit of begging for reviews although it is nice to see that someone cares enough for your creation to take a few moments and to write a few words. I do welcome reviews. Whether your opinion is good or bad I would like to hear (or rather read) it, mostly because this is completely uncharted territory for me. Also, although I am somewhat of a Grammar Nazi, English is not my mother tongue so please excuse potential mistakes (feel free to point them out).
Yours faithfully,
Lemondrope
PS: I honestly promise that further Author's Notes will be way shorter! (I just felt the need to babble a bit…)
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and the limited number of original characters that will appear henceforth.
FIRE AND ICE
BOOK I: THE WILDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR
Some say the world will end in fire
Some say in ice
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice
I think I know enough of hate
To say, that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
"Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost.
Prologue: A fairytale
Once upon a time, a poor man had three sons and a daughter. Feeling that his time to leave the earth had come he decided to give his heirs what was theirs. At twilight, he called them all round his bed and looking upon his brood with a saddened gaze he gave them the only thing he had. His extraordinary power. To the oldest, he gave control of Water, hoping that the soothing nature of the element would temper his ambitions. The second son, a lad with little wit, received Air so as to make his thoughts fly quicker. The third one got control of Earth, to enroot him to his origins. As for the daughter, a girl with a gentle disposition, she received Fire. The only thing that the old man had time to do was, once again, look upon his issue with gloomy eyes.
Earth, Air, Fire, Water, the primordial elements. They are mystical items of power that give their bearers an influence which exceeds the realms of this world, the boundaries of rationality, the understanding of humans. But with extraordinary power comes extreme ambition. And with ambition comes a curse.
Two moths after their father had taken his last breath, the oldest challenged his brother, the bearer of Air. The Water that was supposed to soothe his fiery temper only served to further his ambitions. Having a taste of what having one element could do he could not help but wonder what having all the others meant. He killed his brother in unfair fight and took control of his element, swearing that one day he would have them all.
Fire had changed the girl whose nature had been as sweet as mead and served as fuel for her aspirations. Like her eldest brother, with trickery, false promise and sweet words, she stole Earth from her kin. She fled her place of birth, promising to herself that one day she will have them all.
For years the wielders of Fire and Water fought equally and the war seemed never-ending. Until one day, an idea formed into the mind of the lady of Fire. She needed power and she knew exactly where to get it from.
In the dungeons of Avalon castle she forged two objects. One was a round, golden pendant whose otherwise smooth surface was ruined by two black lines forming a scythe. The other was a golden ring, whose rounded top bore the Ankh, the key of life. Sisters in nature, created from the core of the castle's Lux Aeterna, these apparently harmless items shared a cruel, indestructible bond.
Chapter 1: We all labour against our own cure, for death is the cure of all diseases
(Sir Thomas Browne, Religio Medici)
It was incredibly sunny outside when the girl was called to see her mother. Brutus, a rather dumb but funny German Sheppard was running on the lawn as she tried to catch him on her seven year old legs. Although tall for her age, her legs were too short to manage the feat and her knee-length blue dress, already dirtied with grass stains, was not making things any easier either. As she was skipping after the dog, her long black hair, tied in a loose ponytail was slightly ruffled by the weak breeze and colour was rushing to her cheeks.
"Constance! Constance! "a male voice reached the girl and she stopped her scamper to see who had called her.
In front of the moderately large colonial mansion, stood a tall man dressed in a dark blue tweed jacket, a white turtleneck and grey pants. His features, partially covered by his coarse dark hair showed a thin face with high cheekbones, an aquiline nose and deep, dark hazel eyes. His hair fell into his eyes effortlessly and once in a while he would raise his big hands to remove the strands that were obstructing his vision. Tiredness, sadness and desperation were gracing the otherwise noble features and were coming together to form an overall hollow expression. It was the expression of a man that had been through hell and back the past few hours.
"Daaadyyyy…" she yelled and proceeded to run towards the house, Brutus tailing her, with her arms wildly in the air indicating that she wanted a hug "Daddy what's happening? What's wrong? " noticing her father's grim appearance she stopped dead in her tracks, arms falling limply around her small body.
"Connie, my darling… you need to be strong…"the man crouched in front of his daughter, at her eye level, his left hand cupping her cheek gently.
The child's eyes widened with realization and she made a mad dash inside the house. Not caring that the was technically forbidden from running inside, she darted towards the impressive staircase, skipped the stairs two at a time and took a quick turn to the left on the first floor corridor. She ran like her life depended on it, not noticing the pain in her side or her shortness of breath, until she reached the door at the end of the corridor. There, she entered the all too familiar quarters of her parents. Inside the room, the thick blue velvet curtains were drawn hiding the cheerful sunny day. A pregnant smell of medicinal potions, sweat and sickness reigned, giving the chamber an air of morbidity. In the far end of the room, where the queen sized matrimonial bed was placed, her mother laid motionlessly, the satin sheets covering her legs and waist. As Constance approached the bed fearfully, she could see her mother's sunken cheeks, the black rings around her eyes and the slightly bluish tint to her skin. She wanted to run away, but could not.
"My angel, come closer…"a weak, raspy voice was heard from the figure on the bed and with a hesitant step, the girl approached.
"Oh, mummy…" Constance exclaimed, tears filling her eyes as she saw what her mother had been reduced to.
The girl had instinctively known for weeks that something was wrong with her mother. The change was subtle, and it started when her mother refused her favourite desert. Then, the woman started to lose weight and spend more time alone in the family bedroom, claiming more and more indispositions. Yet, with all the faith a seven year old could muster, Constance had hoped that she would be fine and that eventually all things would return to normal. But now, looking at the way in which her mother's beautiful golden hair, so unlike her own, hung limply on her shoulders and her white, supple hands were shaking almost uncontrollably, the girl knew that all hope was lost. In a bout of courage and sheer filial affection she took he woman's left hand and kissed it.
"My darling, I want you to listen to me very carefully" she paused to take a deep breath and opened her previously closed eyes to face her offspring. She muttered a quiet summoning spell under her breath, and a small round object appeared in her free hand. "This pendant is very important… " she continued weakly. "It was passed down for centuries … all witches in our family had to wear it… and now it is your turn." The woman finished and gave her daughter a somewhat sad look.
Constance took a moment to look at the pendant and she recognised it as the one her mother was always wearing. It was obviously made of gold and was quite simple in design, apart from the black drawing on it which, quite frankly, looked like a hockey stick. She never did understand why the woman had favoured this simple piece of jewellery above all others. Even when it did not match her attire she used to hide it under other necklaces rather than take it off. As she was pondering the importance of the necklace, weak arms tied it round her neck and her mother smiled gently at her, trying to maintain consciousness for a bit longer.
"Never take it off, Connie" she said softly yet firmly, caressing her daughter's pale face with her free limb. The woman placed a kiss on her daughter's hand, which was firmly clasped in hers and looked into her dark hazel eyes. "Promise…"
"Yes, mummy… I promise…" the childish voice replied, tears running on her rosy cheeks as she realized that her mother's eyes were seeing no more.
Miss Constance Hardbroom, potions teacher, formidable witch, nicknamed HB by her students, was known to never show any form of emotion. She never appeared sad or happy, startled or fearful, hiding behind rules, tradition and a self-imposed mask of rigour. Thus, for appearances' sake she was glad that no student could see her. at that precise moment. She had woken up gasping for air, her chest painfully constricted, beads of sweat forming on her pale forehead. Clutching the sheets of her bed to gain some stability, she looked outside her window only to notice that the moon was still shining upon Overblow Castle. Feeling the wave of dizziness pass, the potion mistress rose on still shaky legs and went to her private bathroom to get a glass of water. As she reached the marble sink, the woman bent slightly to catch her breath. For a moment, a fresh wave of dizziness and nausea swept over her and in response she clutched the sink tighter, her already white knuckles becoming even paler.
Throughout the years, dreams of her mother had come back with regularity. And all her dreams, be them good or bad, ended with the scene of her mother's death and more specifically with Constance looking into the blank stare of her parent. The potion mistress could remember every smell, touch, sound and image from that night so very vividly that those dreams immediately reduced the thirty four year old woman to the state of a sad, frustrated child who does not have the maturity to understand the workings of the world. Yes, those visions were incredibly frustrating for Constance for she always knew how it would end, and yet, she was powerless to do anything but repeat what she had said and done at that moment. They could even be described as disturbing, and as such, with the tenacity that characterized her every action, she had trained herself to cope with them. It thus came as a surprise to her that her body was reacting so forcefully to the dream.
Maybe it's because I haven't had the dream in a while…
She splashed some cold water on her face and was resolute to return to bed when she noticed a fait light in the mirror above the sink. The small red glow appeared only for a moment, less than a moment in fact, but Constance was sure her eyes were not deceiving her. She involuntarily touched what she suspected to be the source of the glow. The round pendant was surprisingly warm and as she laid a hand on it, the woman could feel a myriad of emotions flooding her brain, all at once. Fear, sadness, sorrow, pity, compassion and above all, guilt hit her with the strength of a lighting bolt and she had to grasp the edge of the sink tighter to prevent herself from falling. Taking a few steadying breaths, the potion mistress regained control and marched back to her bedroom resolved to sleep for another hour before beginning another day as deputy of Cackles Academy. She wasn't even sure those emotions were hers.
How many more, lay ahead dead or dying? She asked herself looking at the wreckage in front of her. The woman's white robe swept the dusty floor, and her short dark hair was ruffled slightly by the draft in the ruins of the house. A strange incident involving a gas leak had taken the life of this family of six, and as the woman looked at the bodies of the two parents clutching their youngest son as if to protect him, she could not help but remark that maybe sometimes her duty was cruel. She dismissed the thought quickly and walked forward in the ruins. She still had one to go.
Behind what was once an imposing oak bookcase stood a boy, about five years of age, who despite the obvious pain he was in, was still awake. He looked up at the woman coming close to him, feeling the air shift slightly as she walked, her pale, almost translucent skin shimmering in the light of the moon and her blue eyes filled with serenity. She approached him and despite the warmth of the blue eyes he felt a chill gripping his heart. She crouched down so that he could face her and smiled sadly at the boy. It was always hard to take a young life.
"Who are you?" Fear echoed in the child's voice, making the ruins vibrate with a brief instance of life. The woman stood unmoving, facing him, a gentle smile on her face, hand extended slightly as if to touch him. After what seemed like a moment of deep thought she placed her unnaturally cold hand on his cheek. He felt his pain dull, his eyes fall heavily, the beats of his heart slow down. Knowing instinctively that he was going to die, the boy appreciated the contractions of his heart for one last moment.
"Hope." The woman ultimately answered his question softly, but the sound of her voice fell on unhearing ears for the child's soul was no longer bound to this earth.
Despite it being only eight in the morning, Amelia Cackle wanted cheesecake. As she sat at her small wood desk, looking over some of that morning's mail, mostly junk, she pondered how hard it would be for her to sneak for an hour or so to Cosy's. Of course the first couple of weeks of every year were the worst, because the girls had way too much residual energy left from the holiday, Imogen was too keen to start a thousand new sporting activities, Davina was too enamoured with whatever screeching contraption, or if Amelia was really unlucky, contraptions she had bought over the summer break and Constance was too irritated with everyone and everything. On top of the emotional chaos, letters from parents demanding to know if their child arrived safe were pilling up and more and more paperwork needed to be read and signed. Therefore she had a lot of things to do and little time to waste. But surely, cheesecake was not a waste of time. It was a necessity.
With that premise in mind, to alleviate her guilty conscience and with the experienced moves of someone who often engaged into secret trips to the town tea shop, she started to look around to identify the location of each staff member. She could hear Imogen in the courtyard torturing… teaching, the second years about the importance of physical activity by preparing them to start running in one of her impossible races again. She was sure that Davina was with the first years screeching… teaching to them the famous Eye of Toad. With those two occupied there was only one that stood between Amelia and her cheesecake. And that one was the most dangerous. Now, if she thought about it, her contact with Miss Hardbroom that morning had been limited. Although the younger woman had never been especially conversational, they would normally exchange more than a hastened "Good Morning". That morning her deputy had entered the staff room in complete silence, looking a bit paler than usual, muttered her greetings softly, took her black tea cup and left for the potions laboratory. This behaviour would not normally alarm the headmistress, as her deputy had had her moments of being subdued before, but the fact that Constance entered through the door rather than appear out of thin air and the slight shake of her hands when she poured tea in her cup were making her feel a bit uneasy. Amelia sighed and sat back in her chair. Maybe it was her deputy who needed some relaxation and not her.
Her suspicions were confirmed minutes later when the tattered bell at Cackles marked the end of the first period and her colleagues came into the staff room. Imogen, was saying something about starting a new volleyball team and the headmistress was about to remind her of the hazards of allowing witches and balls together in a competition, when Constance materialized next to the closed door. She took a step towards the centre of the room, when with a sudden breathless gasp, the woman doubled over and involuntarily placed a hand on her chest. Both Imogen and Amelia jumped from their seats, made their way towards the woman and the headmistress took her colleague's unnaturally cold hand into hers.
"Constance, what's the matter?" she asked genuinely nervous, helping her deputy walk to and sit on the closest chair.
"Nothing… nothing is wrong…" Miss Hardbroom answered between clenched teeth, trying to control her unsteady breath and her heart which was pounding furiously in her chest.
"Nonsense, Miss Hardbroom, you almost fainted! We need to call a doctor." the gym mistress said firmly, now crouched next to the deputy's chair.
"I can assure you, I am quite alright, Miss Drill" she answered with determination and straightened her back to prove her words. The sudden bout of pain was subsiding and it was increasingly easier to breathe.
"Constance, I must agree with Imogen… maybe it would be prudent to see a doctor…"
"Amelia, nothing is wrong, and that is the last of it!" she said firmly throwing a glare towards both teachers. She would have materialized out of the room that instant but realized, with a high degree of surprise which was well hidden behind her usual stoic expression that she was unable to. "Now, Miss Cackle, I think we need to discuss the plans for career week for the third year girls" she followed in her business-like tone hoping that it would change the previous subject.
"Yes, yes… but first there is something else that I wish to discuss with all of you…" she changed the subject still throwing her deputy a worried look. It was then when Davina Bat, in all her frilly glory, entered the staff room, baton secured in her grey hair and a new batch of freshly cut flowers clutched in her right hand. With gracious, yet erratic, movements she propped herself on her battered old chair and started munching on a plump red rose.
"I have received word from Mr. Hallow that during the summer one of his friends has expressed a wish to become a benefactor for the school…" she said seriously disregarding Davina's interruption.
"And why would he do that?" the deputy asked with suspicion.
"Apparently this gentleman's (she ignored the excited"Oh a gentleman!" squeak coming from the chanting teacher) grandfather has recently passed away and one of the stipulations in his will is that his grandson donates some money to charity…" she followed.
"Charity! We are in NO NEED of charity, headmistress!" the potions teacher interrupted in her trademark steel voice.
"I agree with Miss Hardbroom, on this one…" Imogen said and could not help but notice the eyebrows raised in surprise from both the headmistress and the chanting teacher . "I mean, it is quite demeaning to be regarded as a charity… Plus I thought that Amanda's Honeydew contribution solved the school's financial problems…"
"Ladies, ladies! Please let me continue…"she said with a sigh "Mr Hallow says quite clearly in his letter that even if his grandfather wanted to give part of his money to a charity, the gentleman is more inclined towards a school. That is why our chair to the board of governors proposed Cackles Academy. And, Imogen, while Amanda's contribution was more than welcomed, there are still some repairs that need to be done, the roof especially. But naturally, before embarking on such a project he wants to see the school. "
"He is coming here?" Davina asked quickly, unable to suppress an excited giggle.
"Yes." The head of the academy finished and looked at her staff. Davina was positively glowing with excitement, Imogen had a neutral expression and Constance's face was absolutely blank.
"Well, headmistress, it appears that you have already made up your mind on the matter. Do we know the name of our visitor?" the deputy asked calmly, feeling the Amelia's stare and knowing that she was waiting for her reaction.
"Mr Mallard." Amelia answered, pleased that her potion teacher did not explode at the prospect of another male figure in the school, while fumbling for the letter in the massive pile of papers on her desk. "Ah… here it is! Evan Mallard, to be precise" she continued with a certain degree of triumph, holding the letter proudly.
"And do we know when Mr Mallard is to come?" Constance inquired in the same calm and controlled voice. She knew that the visit was already arranged so opposing it would do little good. Furthermore, she felt in no state to oppose anyone and anything at the moment.
"This… Saturday"
"At leased he was considerate enough not to disturb the flow of our classes" the deputy assumed with a hint of sarcasm.
"Well…" the headmistress blushed slightly "I… thought it would be… appropriate… to prepare something in the honour of our guest… Maybe another flying tableau…" she proposed meekly felling Constance's glare intensify tenfold.
"I see…So he does, after all, disturb our classes…" she said glacially
"I could prepare a chant with the first years…" Miss Bat proposed feeling that soon they would be all at the receiving end of one of Miss Hardbroom's tirades.
"Surely, our shrieking and shrilling first years singing some Mongolian nonsense, is just the image that this school wishes to have!" she rose her voice slightly and stood on her feet, trying to ignore the now familiar vertigo. "No! As it is so important for the school, I will prepare something with the third years. Now, if you will excuse me, the said third years still need to learn how to make a Concealment Potion properly."
For a moment she thought of materializing away but felt , for a change, it would be safer to use the traditional manner of transportation. As she reached the door she paused for a second to regain her breath, gripping the handle forcefully. This was truly getting ridiculous. The entire morning she had felt out of breath, heart pounding forcefully in her chest and hands slightly shaking. Even something as little as walking ten steps seemed to render her tired and Constance could not help but wonder for a moment if she was truly getting sick. She discarded the thought quickly. She didn't get sick. She never did. Resolved to take a new dose of Wide Awake Potion, laced with an Energy Enhancer, she left the room not looking back at her colleagues.
"She is not ok, is she?" Miss Drill asked the headmistress as the potion teacher closed the door behind her. Both of them had seen her pause at the door and were concerned, not only because she chose to use the door in the first place, but also because for a moment she seemed about to faint.
"No, I don't believe she is…"
"Did I miss anything?" Miss Bat asked innocently as she noticed the concerned look her two colleagues were throwing their deputy.
Thirty five year old, Noah Elwood had once had a promising career as a healer. He had finished his education at Weirdsisters among the best in his class; he had interned under one of the best cardiovascular mediwizards of his time and due to his family's connections and fortune he was sure to get a position at one of the best hospitals in the country. Quite frankly, ten years ago, the world was his oyster and Noah was more than ready to eat it. Then starting with the death of his father is a tragic plane accident, all went downhill. At the funeral his mother had lost it completely. If it hadn't been for his two cousins, who had more muscle than brain, and a shot of Tranquilizing Potion she would have thrown herself headfirst into the grave of her husband. From that moment, each day, for ten long years things had become gradually worse. First she started to have night terrors, then hallucinations that quickly became full blown delusions. When she had locked herself up for almost five days and refused to come out of her room, eat or drink, for anyone else but her son, Noah made a very important decision. He gave up his dreams of becoming a well respected healer and took on a new daunting task: finding a cure for whatever his mother had, while taking care of her at the same time.
Years and thousands of books later, he stood like everyday, in the confines of his mother's now battered chamber. He placed a hand on the woman's forehead hoping, like every day, that everything will be finished. It wasn't. Her eyes were, terrified as if she did not recognise him. His tall frame, his dark hair and eyes as green as jade, told her nothing. With a sigh, he, as always, declared defeat and left the room in haste. He could not bear it anymore. He could not bear to be the witness of his mother's plight any longer.
"Are you all right?" A woman's voice resounded from behind, but he did not turn to see, for he easily recognised the sound.
He had met Hope Hawthorne in his first year as an intern in the cardiology department of the London Hospital for Magical Diseases and Afflictions. He had just calmed down a fifty something wizard who was positively convinced that he was having a heart attack in spite of not displaying any of the classical symptoms. His only indicator was an acute pain in his upper left side and it took Noah and half of the department half an hour to explain that it was a dislocated shoulder rather than a heart attack. As he was walking towards the cafeteria to reward himself with a well-deserved cup of steaming coffee and a muffin, he could see the then young teenager coming out of one of the rooms of the ICU. He had briefly seen her before, but sixteen hour shifts combined with too much coffee and a shorter than average attention span, made him discard her as one of the patients that came for a consult. But now, as he was heading downstairs, he was dumbstruck. The girl, dressed in a hippie flowing red skirt and a white plain T-shirt was glowing. In the most literal sense. She was emanating a rather soft white glow. Noah would have said that his mind was playing tricks with him, but when the ICU patient went into arrest a few moments later and a myriad of doctors and nurses ran past the girl without even noticing her, he knew that something was really wrong.
His suspicions were confirmed when one of the nurses noticed him staring quite intently at the figure and inquired after his welfare. He tried to explain, in vain, that he was looking at the girl who came out of the ICU and was now leaning casually next to the door, but the nurse kept throwing him a dumbfounded look and kept suggesting that maybe it was better for him to take the day off. Noah then realized that he was the only one who could see the girl and she, as if just registering his muttered conversation with the nurse, turned her eyes on him and lifted a black eyebrow in surprise. With graceful movements she came to him, disregarding the nurse altogether, and with a big smile she said: "Hi, I'm Hope. Do you want to go to the cafeteria for some coffee?" As they went downstairs, he realized that everyone was able to see her.
"Sometimes I think I went to school for nothing. Seriously, what is the use of having a healer's degree when I cannot do anything for her? I try, and try, to no avail" he answered in a dejected voice, allowing his head to rest in his hands while the woman came to him and touched his shoulder gently. In the dim light of the study he looked at her blue eyes filled with sadness. Suddenly as he starred at his companion, his closesest friend, fear gripped his heart. What if this time it would all end, but not in the way he wanted? What if she was here for his mother?
"Hope, why are you here?" He whispered softly as she sat on one of the armchairs opposite to him.
"Do not fret, my friend, she still has long years in front of her…" she answered with a soothing smile and he could not help but feel relief wash over him.
"How long?"
"You know I cannot answer that, Noah" she scolded the older man gently.
"Her mind will go completely and she will lose the few moments of lucidity that she now has. Soon she will be a shadow of the woman she was. And I will be unable to recognise my mother." He stated simply, bitterly. "What use is all of this, if I cannot bring comfort to my own kin? Nature has a twisted sense of humour, you know?" he said looking at the piles of books and research papers covering almost every inch of free space on his desk.
"I took a boy today. Young. Much too young" disregarding his laments, she said softly letting her head rest on the comfortable leather.
The man looked at his friend for a moment. Her black head sporting a short cut, her white skin, her small hands adorned with two rings on her middle finger and thumb, her lean body dressed in a worn pair of jeans and a Rolling Stones T-shirt, revealed nothing about who the woman was. He chuckled inside for a moment, thinking about how so many people saw her and never once suspected that this woman literally held their lives in her hands. Yet even now, when she was relaxed, her blue eyes talked of sorrows and sadness beyond belief. They were the true testimony of her real form and of the horrors she has seen in her short twenty five years. He rested his eyes for a moment longer on her left hand and gasped softly in surprise.
"Hope, are you sure?" the man said eyeing the ring on the woman's left hand. "About using it, I mean"
"I can feel him coming, Noah" she whispered quietly. "Evan is coming, and I need all the help I can get."
Author's Note: *10 pages and some 6000 words later* WOW! This is honestly the longest chapter I have written in my life. Firstly, what do you think? Is it worth continuing?
Next up: Milie and the gang make a funny appearance. Davina is more random than ever and with the comming of the elusive Mr Evan Mallard, Constance finds out something that she wished she never knew.