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Seth "Seulki" Song

" the inner eye does not see upon command. "

0 · 485 views · located in Wizarding World

a character in “Nox // Lumos”, as played by themis

Description



โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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โœ Image
filertextDO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT
OLD AGE , SHOULD BURN AND RAVE AT CLOSE OF DAY.

LOLโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ” โ—Š โ—Š โ—Š
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      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ NAMEโ‹ฎ XX SONG SEUL-KI
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ ALIASโ‹ฎ XX SETH | ORACLE | "FUCKIN' DUMBASS"
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ AGEโ‹ฎ XX TWENTY-ONE
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ ETHNICITYโ‹ฎ XX KOREAN
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ GENDERโ‹ฎ XX CIS MALE
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ SEXUALITYโ‹ฎ XX HOMOSEXUAL | HOMOROMANTIC


      ๏น™ โ™” ๏นš


      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ EYE COLORโ‹ฎ XX BLACK/BROWN
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ HAIR COLORโ‹ฎ XX DYED | USUALLY BROWN
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ HEIGHTโ‹ฎ XX 65KG
      โ—ŠหŸ โ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆโ–ˆ WEIGHTโ‹ฎ XX 6'1


โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
WORDSWORDSWORDSโ™” ใ€‚MOI JE JOUE-- A JOUE CONTRE JOUE Image
WORWODSWORDSโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”

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๏ผฐ๏ผฅ๏ผฒ๏ผณ๏ผฏ๏ผฎ๏ผก๏ผฌ๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผน โœ

seductive / playful / childish / vengeful / sweet / eccentric / hedonistic/ enchanting / macabre / charming / moody / temperamental / lunatique

Chaotic Neutral | "can be vaguely described as a true hedonist โ€” they are interested in fulfilling their desires, and in pursuing their own interests. They have little to no respect for law and order, at best accepting it as a necessary evil that furthers these ends, at worst to the point they are prepared to commit acts that are immoral or outright criminal, avoiding a Neutral or Chaotic Evil alignment due to simply not being ruthless or malevolent enough. They are not evil because their desires are not especially evil (or they have too much of a conscience), but neither are they altruistic enough to be considered good"
ENFP | "The ENFP personality is a true free spirit. They are often the life of the party, but unlike Explorers, they are less interested in the sheer excitement and pleasure of the moment than they are in enjoying the social and emotional connections they make with others. Charming, independent, energetic and compassionate, the 7% of the population that they comprise can certainly be felt in any crowd."
Sanguine |" Sanguine people are boisterous, bubbly, chatty, openly emotional, social extroverts. Sanguines find social interactions with faces both familiar and unfamiliar invigorating. This is how they recharge, and time alone - while sometimes desirable - can bore them quickly.The more people they're surrounded by, the better they feel, and they're not picky about who they get to know. They enjoy having many, many friends."


Death is serious in its finality, he knows this well, yet there is something telling him otherwise. It's a finding sort of feeling, like playing a game of connect the dots and the magic of turning scattered nothingness into nonsensical pictures you couldn't have predicted at the start. They call him the Oracle, a true seer, not seen in their lifetime, yet under the same breath they hit him upside the head for spacing out or for being stupid. An odd character indeed, Seulki is somewhat of a contradiction; an oxymoron if you will. How could he- the boy who seems like a he would break under the touch of a flower , be this near sociopathic torturer when the time is right? The simple answer would be to look back to his past. Despite always possessing a cruel facet to his personality, his use of the killing curse exaberated this- the trauma splitting his personality in two so he could effectively disassociate himself with the person who killed his father. Normally, he would best be described as in moral purgatory. He isn't a particularly bad person, nor is he a particularly good person, yet he has an effervescent personality and the capability to care deeply for others, and on a normal day, he is one of the few people in the Unmentionables that smile at everyone that comes his way (much to their... confusion at first).


โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
WORDSWORDSImage Image MAIS VOUS LE VOULEZ-VOUSโ™š
WORWODSWORDSWORDSWORDSWORDSโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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ImageImagexx โ˜†๏น—
What sets Seth apart? It's not the way his skin glows so milky white it is almost translucent, nor the way his features jut smoothly from his face. Feline, up-turned lips; strawberry bubblegum red. What sets him apart is the smile that plays upon them when he needs it the most - spreading like a disease with that infectious laugh. That is all anybody can really see when they look at him - the power he holds simply from existing running through his veins. They can see his wide, oil-black eyes, and button nose, but is that what sets him apart? . No, it's the way he looks at someone and they can see his emotions clearly in his eyes, the way his whole body expresses itself.



โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
WORDWORSโ€ DE TOUT COEUR Image Image Image
wordsโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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xXXXxXXXXxXXXXXXxXXXXXXXXXXX โœ ๏ผฑ๏ผต๏ผฉ๏ผฒ๏ผซ๏ผณ | ๏ผจ๏ผก๏ผข๏ผฉ๏ผด๏ผณ

โ˜† quirk โ˜† etc โ˜† as always, add more pictures if you need them.

xXXXxXXXxxXXXXXXXXXXXX โœ๏ผด๏ผก๏ผฌ๏ผฅ๏ผฎ๏ผด๏ผณ | ๏ผณ๏ผด๏ผฒ๏ผฅ๏ผฎ๏ผง๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผณ

`โ—‡ SEDUCTION ; His words fall softly from his mouth. The enunciation of each letter, the slight korean accent that laces each vowel, the subtle touches, gestures of affection, skin-against-skin, lip-against-lip. His snake charmer voice and talent for seduction is obvious, even when speaking to him casually.
`โ—‡ KNIFE WORK ; Mary Magdelene's face is carved perfectly into the back of one of their prisoners. He treats their bodies as canvases, they are not people with lives and families, they are blank paper ready to be drawn (see: carved) on. On their skin is postcards from places he's never been, faces of long-dead people, faces he's never met.
`โ—‡ DARK ARTS ; It seems he was never destined to be "good." He works for his own interests, and his affliations seem to lie with the darker side of things. He has always had this macabre side to him, this dark, hateful side, it is just not shining, it has just not entered the limelight until now. Like other members of the Unmentionables, he excels in the dark arts, more so than with other types of magic.
`โ—‡ DIVINATION ; His greatest gift, one that seems to come from somewhere deeper than his subconsciousness, and from a primordial voice from before... everything. His inner eye developed living on the streets of London, and with it came clear premonitions. His skills are still developing, but he is a promising talent.


xXXXXxXxXXXxXXXXXXxXXXX โœ๏ผฆ๏ผฌ๏ผก๏ผท๏ผณ | ๏ผท๏ผฅ๏ผก๏ผซ๏ผฎ๏ผฅ๏ผณ๏ผณ๏ผฅ๏ผณ

`โ—‡ LACK OF INTELLIGENCE ; Unlike most of the unmentionables, Seulki's intelligence only goes so far. He isn't proud of this fact, but he accepts it is because his schooling was cut short, and also that he spent his school years thinking about elaborate ways to maim his father without getting caught.
`โ—‡ IMMATURITY ; His personality is comparable to a child, and with a mood that changes with the winds, he is temperamental and often pouty, similarly, he still believes in fairy tales, Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. He is naive like a child, still has the fatal glimmer of hope inside him that everything will work out in the end for him, he believes that everything will be okay.
`โ—‡ CONSCIENCE ; Of course the boy has some form of conscience, but it is weak and a little bit shitty, often after he tortures or hurts someone he feels little waves of guilt deep in his stomach that he buries under shots of tequila and Russian vodka. He honestly wishes he could be careless and a sociopath, but that little part of him stops him from reaching that level of conciousness.
`โ—‡ AIRHEADEDNESS ; He doesn't think about things before he does them, he is reckless, irresponsible and a mostly selfish person. He is also fairly spacey, often lost in meaningless thought. He is scolded often for his carelessness, that leads to clumsy mistakes on his part sometimes. The 'dumb blonde' (brunette) of the Unmentionables.


xXXXxXXXXXXxXXXxXXXXXXxXXXXXXXXXxXXXXXXXXโœ ๏ผฆ๏ผฅ๏ผก๏ผฒ๏ผณ

`โ—‡ ATHAZAGORAPHOBIA ; Fear of being forgotten.
`โ—‡ GERASCOPHOBIA ; Fear of aging.
`โ—‡ TRYPANOPHOBIA ; Fear of injections.


โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
WORDWORSImage Image JE VEUZ GAGNER CE COEUR A COEUR โœฟ
WORDSWORDSWORDORWORDSโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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xxx๏ผจ๏ผฉ๏ผณ๏ผด๏ผฏ๏ผฒ๏ผนโœ—

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    FATHER: PARK WON-IL
    MOTHER: SONG SO-RA
    BROTHER: PARK JONG-SOO

    There is nearly no one still left on this earth to remember the boy he used to be, before the sequence of events of both misfortune and mischance, some on his part, some on others. Those who do think of that child as an imaginary friend, an accidental dream and for all they know, packed into the earth in a child-sized coffin. If any of those people were around him now they wouldn't never recognise the person he has become. He struggles with remembering those days too, recalling haze-like visions of the creak of old floorboards under tiny feet and the riversong-calm of his mother's voice lulling him to sleep, her soft hands stroking his hair. She sang songs from before she was born and he would dance, spinning dizzily, tripping under his fawn legs. Back then he couldn't understand things, too caught up in what faced him to look behind the faรงade, to understand the deeper meaning of things. He knew that his father had abandoned them for a girl in Tokyo, but his mother would not answer his questions any further.



    As his mother faded away he found that he couldn't understand much of anything any more. Being so young, he didn't even understand exactly what was going on but all he knew was that she was gone, gone forever, deaf to the undercurrent of meaning within all things, his mother's last words did not fall short to the silence of her mouth and eternal stillness; they are a song that hums wild in the floorboards of their living room and if you could go there now, the cacophonous sound would still haunt each inch of the house with the soft thump of a failing heart.



    The ceilings of the Orphanage were always too high for him, the walls too sterilised white and holding no secrets except for the quiet sobs of it's inhabitants when everyone else was supposed to be fast asleep. He had tried to make the best of his desolate situation, surrounding himself with happiness and making friends. Yet, there was something strange that the governesses had noticed. He had a strange effect on the objects around him; they would dance under his fingertips and the wind would whistle over his lips as he told the children that a phone call would come as he ran his fingers over the lines in their palms (and then the phone call would come, and they would gasp). When children teased him, they would feel sharp pains in their head, needles on their body and sometimes wake up and their stuff would be hanging on the washing line outdoors (He thought it was rather funny). He had premonitions, but they were sepia toned and crackled, yet they played in his mind like an old movie. Even as a child, his inner eye was already trying to develop itself, often bombarding him with other people's futures at inappropriate times. It was there, but it was terribly uncontrolled.



    When he was perhaps eleven, he was visited by a peculiar man that had been looking to adopt him. This man was however not all that he seemed- he was Jeon Jonghee, a high-up official in the Korean Ministry of Magic- a finicky, gargoyle faced sort of man, tasked to find muggle-born children who were secret wizards. A new world was opened up to Seulki at once, and he was whisked away to Hokkaido in Japan, a country where he did not understand the words tumbling from their lips and the autumn wind seemed to bite just a little bit harder. It was here that he began to develop his well-known personality, from the lack of conscience and to the partying, the cruelty of the other children about the fact that he was muggle-born was astonishing, and words crawled under his skin like the wind laced with the sea. He had many friends, but a lot of the time they followed him about moth-to-flame and honestly he didn't really believe they were around for him, only for the pranks they pulled.



    As a child he was obsessed with his father, questioning why he had abandoned them and left then with no money, let his mother die of a disease that could've been cured if they were just that little bit more well-off. Obsession grew to anger, which grew to a strange hatred. He responded to these feelings by acting out, hurting people for fun, or just to amuse himself. In his third year, he decided to do something to avenge his mother- he would meet his father, and force the pain that had been inflicted on her in her last days to him, make him feel everything she felt after he had abandoned her with a tiny child and no job. He found his birth certificate & necessary papers and gathered up money to sneak to the capital. When he met him, he didn't know that he would kill him... he didn't mean to kill him. Seulki could not understand the levity of what he was about to do. Killing curses leave a dark imprint on each wretched soul that dares to use them,. Of course, when the Japanese Ministry's Aurors found out who had killed him (and that it wasn't a dark wizard, as they had feared), he was sent away to a juvenile prison, although he never actually entered the halls of it.



    ---

    There is both everything and nothing in this space. This is your future. What do you see?

    You see blood on your fingertips, a blade in one hand, keys in another. You're free, you're running, but you don't know where.

    You see a man take you by the hand, slowly he mentions something, or rather he tells you to join something

    He knows you,

    he knows of your gift and has been studying you for 'quite a while'

    You take his hand.

โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
WORDWORSALORS DEFENDEZ VOUS Image Image Image
wordsโ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”โ”
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๏ผ†O1 ๏ผฏ๏ผด๏ผจ๏ผฅ๏ผฒ

FACE CLAIM ; LEE JONG SUK
HEX CODE ; #666
PLAYED BY ; THEMIS
CREATED BY ; VERIX (used with written consent)

So begins...

Seth "Seulki" Song's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Clementine "Lily Potter" Le Roux Character Portrait: Seth "Seulki" Song
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

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#, as written by themis
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          xxxxxFIREBREATHER | l a u r e l xxxxx
          xxxxxPREDICAMENT: seemingly dangling in air, unconscious xxxxx
          xxxxxLOCATION: just above diagon alley
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          Beneath a halo of thorns and rotting corpses, the wrath in his mind seems plentiful and ceaseless. He hovers purposefully, above backalleys with a hood drawn against his face- a wry smile lifts to his eyes --magpie beady and glinting with the almost intoxicating sense of opportunity. The chaos about to come would be maddeningly exciting, he could feel it in his mind, the recesses of his heart burning with the calls of a thousand wretched souls, wailing, trapped eternally in the river Styx. Yet, in this single moment, a superficial thought of odd domesticity occupies his mind- had he taped the newest episode of some reality show [he cannot recall he name of]? Panicked, he racks the corners of his mind for some form of a memory; anything would be preferable. Of course, being a seer did not come with an ability to remember the TV shows you may or may not have taped, that is not provided in the list of "perks" that came with the gift of divination. He slumps over his broom, his spine arching and his arms clutching the polished wood of the handle, defeated, a string of curses tenuously uttering from rosebud lips. The world around him is soundless, night engulfing the landscape in dusky silence.

          Almost too quiet.

          Around him, he feels a presence, cold and ephemeral it lurks just above view, yet it is oddly warm, black coffee on a monday morning sort of warm- friendly almost. He is relatively solitary, the nearest Unmentionable being someone unseen, of which he can make out merely the faintest shadow of a human being. But he senses someone; something familiar in his vicinity. Something invisible yet tangible... above him? Below him? He looks around, eyes trained on the slightest movement. He calls out in a lyrical tone, yet almost quiet-

          "Is anybody there?", Most likely not the smartest idea before a battle, yet he is curious and vaguely paranoid. Who would be invisible at this time? It did not occur to him, but a healer would benefit from a disillusionment charm, and there is a certain healer he definitely knows well. Nothing calls back to him, except the whistle of the wind and a slight movement of the clouds. However, he has other problems at hand.

          From a haze of faint grey across his vision comes a familiar scent, alluring like jasmine and dangerous like deepest musk, sweet amber patchouli and dragons blood-- rising in the air, mixing with the iron taste of bloodshed. The contradiction of the haze, the mist and intangible deepness of it, to the solidity and assuredness of impending warfare is almost alerting, yet it is sending him into deepest slumber. Already, the ground below him fills with flashes of light, lightest green and brightest red, curses and hexes, spells of unknown quantity-- they struggle beneath his feet, and from below his gaze he can almost hear them incant spells that have never even happened upon his ears. The wind calls out to him, whispering against his ear in a melancholic ancient song in a tongue that hasn't left any lips since before the first civilization fell, it's lungs and voice-box collapsing with it's emperors and generals. It tells him to close his eyes, to slip into a comatose state of learning, forget these mortal concerns and fly with the creatures that hold the secrets of the universe. Divination, is a gift that comes with a sacrifice. Did you know, you lose your earthly body as soon as the fates speak to your mind? With the grip of his hands loosening from the hilt of his broom & with long tendrils of chimney smoke spiralling down his lungs, he falters, his eyelids hold the weight of a thousand swords. Relax, ease into it. He lets the red string of fate tangle across his body, weaving through every finger, each leg and finally the tendrils of crimson kiss his skull. Breathe.

          Fall from grace.

          He turned. Eyes completely porcelain [ cracked china and hair-thin fractures along it's surface-- almost delicate yet utterly out of place in the midst of blood and fire and dust that settles deep in throats ] , skin bloodless and tinged with an Atlantic sort of hue- he's not entirely human nor entirely non-human, his body rag-doll limp, corpse-like hands dangling, cracking small bones along their surface. His mouth utters words in a language he couldn't even have recognized a single word in his concious state. It sounded almost sharp and Akkadian- it's words filled with knife-edge rhotacisms and nonsensical sentence structures. He fell hard, he fell like Lucifer, with his wings broken and blackened and the scorn of god across his inhuman body.

          Before his body can smash against the concrete, killing him as soon as his fingers scraped the thick coat of dust, an angel appears. This angel takes the form of Clementine Le Roux. Angels don't always possess wings; they are often mortals. We could be angels, we are on occasion. Angels are as real as the man who smiles at you from above a self-help book on the commute to work, just when you were losing hope. Angels are loving mothers and fathers. This angel lifts his limp body on to a broom. They are vulnerable to attack, yet he is alive for the most part-- he still has milk-white eyes, a tongue that's speaking in a primordial way, and his body is hanging, or better described- moving like a marionette held by a sadistic child- from what seems to be thin air (a disillusionment charm, performed correctly, masks the user. Often used by healers on battlefields.)

          Finally, his mind fades to colour;

          "greeted by the fates, he rests in a cradle of wool, intertwining destinies and futures, each different to the last.
          a picture clears in his mind, he can almost make out the details of it; crystal clear yet...
          blood, he sees porcelain teacups smashed along a cottage floor, a hand comes into view--
          the picture has switched abruptly.
          a man, about mid-twenties.
          he's tying up a tie in his bedroom, facing a mirror with a bored glare
          there is something off about him; or rather too familiar.
          an eerily well-known aura...
          there is a couple pictures on a dresser table, generic family pictures
          'focus on the westernmost one, seth.'
          it's a man, sharp features and a thin nose... eyes like pits of tar and a smile than doesn't reach them
          his father.
          his
          father?
          "-- my father, that i
          killed"
          the man stares into the mirror, wearing a black suit, expensive shoes
          his expression resembling the eye of a hurricane.
          it makes sense, this is his replacement.
          his brother.
          "

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Clementine "Lily Potter" Le Roux Character Portrait: Seth "Seulki" Song
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#, as written by Layla
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      [ song; highway to hell ] [ hex; #E55451 ]




      XXXThe sun collapsed like a spilled yolk, its mustard innards bleeding across the violet tabletop in streaks of molten gold and clementine, hues that once permeated the Witch's hair, before a Colour Caller Potion rendered it a deep chocolate. Darkness slithered between the cracks of its shell to pool at her feet, stretching and climbing the walls of the circular balcony.
      XXXThe girl leaned against the gilded parapet and watched the sky fall as it had everyday for the past three years, like a great meteor descending upon the earth to cleave caverns into its chest. It illuminated the carcasses littered across the landscape beneath her: gnarled trees and thick canopies that obscured the veiled mansion, and the ripple of magic that protected the Unmentionable fortress. It stretched from the four towers poised at each of the cardinal directions, its stone body spiralling into the grey mist.
      XXXShe heard the battle cries, jagged syllables spat from angry throats, angrier still than the rush of wind as Unmentionable agents leapt off of rooftops, windows, floors. Her fingers curled around her own broom, the smooth oak cool against her clammy palms. Her heart paced in her chest, first in excitement, before guilt soured her mirth like fruit she had waited too long to eat.
      XXXIt was fitting, she supposed, that her freedom should come at the price of another's. She felt the chains of the mansion as thoroughly as if they'd been visible, the hex that willed her return gnawing at her to come home, come home, with every thought she had of escape. Was this what House Elves endured? The incessant pull of their Master, a nagging ache so omnipotent, it almost felt to be the will of the self?
      XXXTonight, the ache was tender, like the stretching of sore muscles after vigorous exercise, enough that when she clasped the broomstick between her thighs, she scarcely wavered at all. Tonight, the mansion would let her go, because it knew she would ensure more of its own would return.
      XXXShe pulled the remaining light into her wand, twirling it above her head as she murmured the incantation for the Disillusionment Charm. It felt as if a yolk had been spilled over her head as an alabaster light erased her visibility. She had never been particularly good at Disillusionment. She was too loud, too much, to ever be unseen, but it was good enough.
      XXX"Clementine, come on!" a fellow healer bellowed midair. "What are you waiting for?"
      XXX"A salary," Clementine grumbled. The Wizard laughed in response, nudging her with the end of his conveyance.
      XXX"I'll race you," he challenged.
      XXX"It wouldn't be fair to you."
      XXX"All bark and no bite, Clem."
      XXX"I wasn't aware you liked it rough." She beamed. Before he could respond, she lunged into the clouds.

      ใƒป โ€ข โ— โ€ข ใƒป


      XXXThe wind felt like iron arms tearing at the bars of her cage, like her mother's hands as they brushed her strawberry strands behind her ear. They whipped her midnight blue hair across her face, caressing a body the colour and texture of the sky beyond her. Clementine's smile widened. Invisible, airborne, alone, she could do whatever she wanted. She was free.
      XXXShe unclasped her fingers from her broom, and opened her arms wide.
      XXXClementine laughed soundlessly, throwing her head back to taste abandon as if it were snow dissolving on her tongue. Her body tipped. Her stomach lurched. She swerved to the right and for an instant, she dangled upside-down. For a little while, she thought she might fall. She thought she might die, and she found she didn't mind. It was liberating.
      XXXBut her hands found the shaft of her broomstick and she righted herself as she had so many times on the Quidditch Pitch, when she became the first Keeper in Hogwarts' history, and her name had been something else. Clementine was out of practice, she was not as fast or as agile as she had been before. Years anchored to the stone mansion had chipped away all those hours, days and nights spent training, and she found that was the saddest thing of all. The only fact she had to mourn.
      XXXFireworks erupted beneath her as if the sky and earth had switched places, spirals of incandescent light tearing through the chaos like a creative installation. Seth flew ahead of her, his dark cloak billowing in the wind as he swerved. Suddenly, his body gave a violent jerk, and he pitched to the side.
      XXXClementine lunged forward and down, the impact as Seth fell against her yanked her broomstick off its course. It knocked the breath from her chest, but she wrapped an arm tight around his waist, and grasped the oak shaft with all her might. Flesh and dark hair rippled from her illusion, as the night sky bled from her arms. She swore as she barely dodged the crackle of scarlet lightning that came their way. The last of the Disillusionment Charm slipped from her body, not that it mattered, because an unconscious Seth hovering midair was conspicuous enough.
      XXX"Dammit, Seth. I'm giving you shit for this when we get back." A bolt of red skimmed her cheekbone as she jerked to the left. "If we get back." The broom bent beneath the weight of two people. "You really need to lay off the croissants."
      XXXThere was no other choice as she eased them to the ground. Immediately, she heard the beginnings of a spell. Clementine shoved Seth's body from the broom and he landed with a loud thump. No doubt it would hurt when he awoke, by whence she would refuse to heal him and instead laugh at his writhing, bitter agony.
      XXX"Expelliarmus!" she cried as she pointed the wand at the blonde Witch. A hiss of magenta light shot from its tip and struck her opponent's hand. Her wand flew from her grip. Clementine spun around and flipped Seth onto his back.
      XXX"Come on, come on," she murmured, but Seth's eyes were white. She recognised the symptoms, and knew his mind was wherever he went when overcome with a vision. No healing would wake him now. She swore, cursing him, his family, and every generation of useless, unconscious Song's that would come after him. He had the worst timing known to Wizarding kind.
      XXXA burst of agony split her side as a tongue of flames sliced into her ribcage and ignited her blouse. She swore, before remembering to speak the Extinguishing Spell. The fire died, but the wound in her side did not. She had no time to heal it as she spun around to face the obnoxious blonde Witch, only to find she had acquired a companion.
      XXX"Oh, come on."
      XXX"Locomotor Mortis!" bellowed the tall Wizard by her side.
      XXX"Confrigo!" cried the fair-haired Witch.
      XXXHer legs gave from under her as the Leg-Locker Curse bound them together. She hit the ground hard just as the boulder above her head shattered. Clementine spun her wand clockwise thrice, and pointed it at her legs. They pulled apart with a violent tug and she leapt into motion, dragging Seth's prone body under her arm and leaping into the nearest alley just as the debris from the explosion collapsed onto where they'd lain moments before.
      XXXThe two Resistance members marched towards, arms raised as they spoke a curse Clementine could not hear over the roar of battle around them. She recognised it for it was when a screeching pain tore through her legs. She heard her knees break from their sockets and twist around. For a moment, darkness devoured her, but years spent with the things of nightmares had taught her to march through Hell and agony and back. Her jaw ached with the strength of her teeth as she clenched them shut. Fire hissed through her legs and stained her vision white, and quickly, her knees returned to their rightful positions.
      XXX"Protego!" she called out as a spell came her way. It struck the invisible shield, exploding in a shower of kaleidoscope hues. The impact pushed her back, her head striking the wall behind her as she fell against it. Her eyes met the scene before her: cloaked Dementors falling to their knees. It was rare that she ever engaged in combat; the others occupied the Resistance well enough on their own. But tonight they crumbled like moths from a flame.