Chapter Two.
Author's note: Another warm regard for the help, Vita; for helping me with the previous chapter. Critics, please refrain from your criticism at this time.
The following day she awoke in her bedroom; the snow falling, the rain falling, impossible as that was. Ebony opened the lid of her coffin, and drank the blood of Christ from a little bottle; his tears; his passion. Ebony's coffin was of black too; black for it was composed of ebony, darker than pitch, deeper than a well. Inside the lining was pink; the contrast too terrible for even abstractist movements; the lace at either end blacker than her soul. She sat up and climbed out with relative ease, (she took off her My Kitchen Rules t-shirt; that which she used for pajamas, those curious garments of the bed, those which we lock from sight), and instead she put on her dress of leather (also black); the pentagram necklace; the combat boots; the black fishnets. Her ears she adorned with four pairs of earrings; and put her hair in a bun not quite right.
Ebony, cold; black; cruel; was not alone. She had a true friend; a confidant of the highest degree (Author's note: Vita, this is your moment!) who at that moment awoke, and then, grinned warmly at her. It was Willow; her relation in the old days. Willow―that was Ebony's impression—sat there, and flipped her waist-length raven black hair (the pinks streaks clear); her forest-green eyes opening upon the world. She put on her Marilyn Monroe t-shirt; the black miniskirt; the fishnets; the pointy high-heeled boots. Ebony put her makeup on (black lipstick; white foundation; black eyeliner); Willow following suit.
"Oh, you great girl you! I saw you talking to Draco Malfoy yesterday!" she said excitedly.
"And? Well?" Ebony replied, the blush creeping up her face. Oh, it wasn't fair! It was such as shame to be humiliated like this; like running from one's happiness into a granite wall in the dark.
"Do you like Draco?" Willow asked; they passed out of the Slytherin Common Room into the Great Hall.
"No, I most certainly do not!" cried Ebony; her embarrassment at its height. Yet she was thinking: Do I like Draco? Do I? Do I?
"Oh, likely," said Willow, her sarcasm stinging Ebony. Then, who should approach but Draco; his face impassive; his features drawn.
"Hello, Ebony," he said.
"Draco," replied Ebony, her thoughts pounding her brain. (Do I like Draco? Do I? Do I?)
"Can you guess whatever?" he asked.
"Well?" Ebony answered. (Do I like Draco? Do I?)
"Well, that orchestra we enjoy; Grand Elizabeth, are playing in Hogsmeade," he said, watching her face, waiting, like a wolf.
"Oh how heavenly it is!" Ebony exclaimed. She loved GE; loved with passion; with heart; not even the love an author has for her work can compare; not even the love of My Kitchen Rules.
"Well," his eyes averted, "will you do me the pleasure of attending?"
Ebony gasped. Yes! her mind screamed; Yes! her heart screamed. Yes! Yes!