January 21, 1985
The blue square in the door intrigued Calandra. She had no idea what it really was. Perhaps it was a code for the type of room she was in. Maybe it marked her as a Siren. Maybe it was just meant to represent the sky since there were no windows in these rooms. Whatever it was, she spent far too much time studying it.
March 13, 1985
Calandra woke up in the early hours of the morning and sat next to the bed, on the floor. She had to get out. She had to figure out a way out. She chewed her thumbnail and thought about all of her attempts to get out of the hospital and where they'd gone wrong. She rolled facts around in her mind trying to see every aspect of them.
The healer had said her magic was returning. She could not feel the hum of it in her veins, but that was probably due to the magic suppressants. If she didn't have those, she might stand a chance.
She glanced at the food tray on the bedside table and grit her teeth. She'd refused food before, but they'd ended up giving her potions to make her eat anyway. She'd eaten the food and made herself sick to try to dampen the suppressant effects. The healer figured it out after a few months and gave her potions that kept her from doing it.
She had already tried to bribe the healer. Tried to threaten her, tried to barter with her, even flat out begged. Nothing made the slightest difference. She was here and he was there, and it felt as though they'd never get out.
May 21, 1985
She sat in the corner of the room and stared at the grey walls. Her mind was full of fog and her limbs felt heavy and her heart was stone. She'd felt numb before, but nothing like this. Calandra looked around the room and tried to feel anything. She thought of Alice and Sirius and Neville, but couldn't summon any emotion.
Everything in her life was grey. Not sparkling grey, either. Sad, dreary grey. The kind of grey that wilted flower petals. The kind of grey that splashed on your face as thunder rolled. The kind of grey that sucked you down below the surface and stole your breath. The kind of grey that looms up out of the sea and drains the life out of you.
Somewhere back in the far corners of her mind she knew she loved the color. But here, in the corner of this room, it was the most horrid color she'd ever laid her eyes on.
June 11, 1985
Calandra held her hands under the running water in the sink. She'd put it as hot as it would go. Her hands were red and tingled with pain, but she didn't move them. That water was the first thing that made her feel anything other than numb in weeks.
She felt tears drip down her cheeks as she stood there in the bathroom. When she opened her eyes, her vision was watery and blurred. She stood there and cried for a few minutes, letting the water rush over her hands.
To anyone else, her tears probably seemed like tears of pain from the scalding water. But Calandra knew they weren't. Those tears were tears of relief.
June 15, 1985
Calandra was tucking in the sheet at the foot of the bed when the idea came to her. She'd tried everything she could think of to find a way to get out or to get to communicate with Alice. Nothing ever worked. Perhaps she should try to contact someone else.
They wouldn't let her see Frank. She'd already tried. Same with Remus, if he even wanted to see her in the first place. She'd asked to see Mary and Peter and Rhea and Emmaline, too. Each day she wracked her brain trying to figure out who she could talk to. So many of her friends were dead. She asked for Andromeda and McGonagall. Hell, she asked for Walburga one day just to get a reaction out of the healer. But the healer's words never changed.
Calandra straightened up and stared straight at the blue square in the door. There was another person she could try to contact. Her heart thudded dully in her chest and she felt her jaw tense at the mere thought.
There was one person she could try talk to. The only person she didn't want to talk to.
June 19, 1985
"I'd like to send a letter to my next of kin." Calandra said.
The healer glanced up at her and set vials of potion on the bedside table.
"You know I cannot-"
"I want to speak with my next of kin." Calandra said firmly. "I'll send a letter. Whether or not they reply is up to them."
The healer did not say anything more.
June 22, 1985
"Your father gave us instructions to allow you the use of parchment and quill to contact him," the healer said.
Calandra sat up in the bed and turned eagerly toward the healer.
The old woman gestured to the potions on the bedside table and Calandra rolled her eyes. She reached over and drank both potions quickly and wiped her mouth. She turned back to the healer and held out her hands.
The healer sighed and placed a small roll of parchment and a self-inking quill in Calandra's lap. Calandra stared down at the materials she held. She ran her thumb along the parchment reverently.
She carefully placed the items on the bed in front of her and picked up the quill. She ran her finger along the length of it and brought it up to her face. She breathed in and almost cried at the smell of the ink. She grabbed the parchment and buried her face in it.
It smelled of new books, carefully sought-after spells, special journals, and battle plans. It was heavenly. Calandra probably would've stayed in that position the entire day if it hadn't been for the healer clearing her throat by Calandra's bed.
"I'll be back tomorrow for your letter." She said, giving the parchment and quill a pointed look.
Calandra nodded and clutched the quill and parchment to her chest. She watched the healer leave the room, then pulled the bedside table closer to her side. She flattened the parchment out on it and picked up the quill.
She had one chance at this. She had to get it right.
