Disclaimer: All publicly recognisable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners (J. K. Rowling). The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story.
Dusk was hazy and cloudless; a cool breeze settled over the Welsh rolling hills, travelling through the rustling grass. The faint crescent moon watched over an outlying cottage on a knoll. A lone magpie rested on the thatched roof and cawed out loud.
Inside the cottage, the fireplace crackled quietly; the gaily coloured flames glowed in the dim room. A single candle illuminated the wooden desk, where a woman was hunched over, scribbling into the parchment. She was absorbed in her activity, only stopping every few moments to tuck her startling white hair behind her ears or to dip her feather quill into the inkpot. Often, she would stop writing sharply as if deliberating on what to write next.
The woman's head perked up, hearing rustling behind her. A field mouse perched precariously on her bedpost froze as melancholic grey eyes met the mouse's inquisitive dark ones. The woman smiled wistfully, caught up in her thoughts. The mouse seized the opportunity and scurried away.
Her wrinkled hands picked up the letter and read it slowly and carefully. With a quill, she crossed out many words and replaced them as she checked it.
When she reached the end of the parchment, the woman paused, her quill lingering above. Her small lips thinned. Her eyes focused in determination; she signed it off with her name.
Her trembling lips whispered, 'This is my true name; it cannot be changed.'
The woman's frail body struggled to push herself up from the chair, her chest rattling. Clutching the letter, she shuffled to the fireplace. She muttered some words and threw the letter in the now roaring fire. The unscathed letter twisted and turned in the flames before it gently floated upwards. As it reached the chimney opening, there was an audible pop and the letter was gone.
With an agitated look up to the ceiling, she clasped her hands together, speaking softly: 'Duw achub fi nawr. God save me now.'
In the cottage, the woman lay in her bed, her white hair splayed across her pillow, gleaming like a unicorn's mane. Her face was serene as if she was freed from the weight of the earthly shackles.
A small mouse stood nearby, sniffing the air – it bowed down its head as if showing its solitary respect. Its dark eyes looked back only once at the figure before it vanished into the darkness.
The sky was now ink-black, the stars were dimmed by the haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation. It swirled to form a colossal skull, comprised of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue.