Daylight came and with it, consciousness, all escapes drawn from the cover
of darkness rendered null and void.
It was the sun shining on her face that woke her, sunlight burning the back of her eyelids unmercifully.
Amber eyes opened sleepily and blinked slowly, trying to chase the sleep away.
Groggily, the woman sat up in her wide four-poster bed, her eyes puffy and skin sallow, her hair a rat's nest. She groped around her bedstand for her wand, intending to close the curtains. Or at the very least, hex the sun so it won't shine in the mornings!
"Whoever opened those curtains is going to be in for a world of pain," she mumbled, forsaking the thought of finding her wand and staying in bed in favor of getting up to close the curtains, thus stopping the insufferable rays of light from beating out a tattoo in her head.
Throwing off the warm comforter, she swung her long milky white legs off the side of the bed and looked around for her furry white slippers. Not finding them, she shrugged, her brown locks rippling with the motion, and stood, barefooted, on the cold stone floor. Shivering slightly, she quickly closed the curtains, shutting off the offending light, and stumbled to her dresser in the dark.
She groped blindly for the small bottle she knew would be there, intent on relieving herself of the pounding in her head. Finally finding it and taking two of the pain killers inside, she grabbed her clothes, already set out for the day on a nearby seat, and went into the large bathroom. She flicked her wrist and a dim light bathed the room in gold.
She stood there in front of the mirror, hands gripping the sink roughly, turning her knuckles white. Grimly, she appraised herself.
Her hair was a total mess, a veritable rat's nest, her eyes puffy and red with deep black circles underneath. Her skin was paler than usual and her lips were drained of their usual rosy color. Stress lines crowded her forehead, bring light to her pain.
Overall... she looked like shit.
She was definitely sick.
Nausea swept her body and she turned to worship the porcelain god behind her.
A few minutes later, she leaned back on the cool tile, feeling it on her hot skin.
Yup, she was sick alright. And dry heaves DID hurt more than actually throwing up something. The something not being your guts that were determined to force it's way out of your body via your mouth.
She lay on her side, her cheek pressed to the cool floor.
"Get a grip Granger," she mumbled. "You don't have tome for this! You have class and duties and... and it doesn't matter if you're sick or heartbroken!"
Her heart and body protested though. They wouldn't let her get up. She could hear someone calling her name but didn't have the strength to even keep her eyes open, much less call out.
The last thing she remembered was being lifted... and the most amazing silver eyes staring into hers... right before the darkness consumed her.
It was the sun shining on her face that woke her, sunlight burning the back of her eyelids unmercifully.
Amber eyes opened sleepily and blinked slowly, trying to chase the sleep away.
Groggily, the woman sat up in her wide four-poster bed, her eyes puffy and skin sallow, her hair a rat's nest. She groped around her bedstand for her wand, intending to close the curtains. Or at the very least, hex the sun so it won't shine in the mornings!
"Whoever opened those curtains is going to be in for a world of pain," she mumbled, forsaking the thought of finding her wand and staying in bed in favor of getting up to close the curtains, thus stopping the insufferable rays of light from beating out a tattoo in her head.
Throwing off the warm comforter, she swung her long milky white legs off the side of the bed and looked around for her furry white slippers. Not finding them, she shrugged, her brown locks rippling with the motion, and stood, barefooted, on the cold stone floor. Shivering slightly, she quickly closed the curtains, shutting off the offending light, and stumbled to her dresser in the dark.
She groped blindly for the small bottle she knew would be there, intent on relieving herself of the pounding in her head. Finally finding it and taking two of the pain killers inside, she grabbed her clothes, already set out for the day on a nearby seat, and went into the large bathroom. She flicked her wrist and a dim light bathed the room in gold.
She stood there in front of the mirror, hands gripping the sink roughly, turning her knuckles white. Grimly, she appraised herself.
Her hair was a total mess, a veritable rat's nest, her eyes puffy and red with deep black circles underneath. Her skin was paler than usual and her lips were drained of their usual rosy color. Stress lines crowded her forehead, bring light to her pain.
Overall... she looked like shit.
She was definitely sick.
Nausea swept her body and she turned to worship the porcelain god behind her.
A few minutes later, she leaned back on the cool tile, feeling it on her hot skin.
Yup, she was sick alright. And dry heaves DID hurt more than actually throwing up something. The something not being your guts that were determined to force it's way out of your body via your mouth.
She lay on her side, her cheek pressed to the cool floor.
"Get a grip Granger," she mumbled. "You don't have tome for this! You have class and duties and... and it doesn't matter if you're sick or heartbroken!"
Her heart and body protested though. They wouldn't let her get up. She could hear someone calling her name but didn't have the strength to even keep her eyes open, much less call out.
The last thing she remembered was being lifted... and the most amazing silver eyes staring into hers... right before the darkness consumed her.