Post by Kymber Jones on May 20, 2015 21:25:12 GMT -5
Life. Happiness. Love.
All such fickle, passing things. Each has there place and time in one's existence. Each is something that you have until you just...don't. For Kymber Jones, the latter two had been stolen from her a long time ago - cold, dark resentment and anger...evil...slowly worming it's way in, wrapping around her heart like the spindly fingers of a dementor. She almost found it funny how no one noticed, no one suspected. While it was true that people tended to steer clear of her, it was more likely because she kept to herself or because of some unconscious instinct of survival than an outright fear of her.
Time.
There was always too much and never enough. Such a conundrum. If ever an oxymoron existed, in Kymber's opinion, it was time. You must always fill your time, keep busy. Idle hands are the devil's workshop. Kymber almost snorted in amusement as a distorted, almost forgotten, version of her mother's voice floated through her head. Almost. Time could heal all, destroy all, or simply torture you. It existed and it didn't. It wasn't tangible, but it was still irrevocably there twisting and winding it's way through reality, playing a game with the past, present, and future. It could be suffocating or exhilarating. It all depended upon one's view and situation. Time is either with you or against you; it's the one thing that is always black or white...there are no shades of grey.
All these thoughts were swirling through Kymber's head as she sat in a darkened corner of the common room, her personal spellbook laying open in her lap and what, for all intents and purposes, looked like a dagger in one hand as the tip danced lightly along the tip of a finger on the opposite. Her cold, calculating eyes scanned the crowded room watching, waiting, gathering information. For what, she wasn't quite sure yet. Constant vigilance isn't just something that old coot Moody preached to try to scare her when he had come baring the sincerest of apologies and condolences from the ministry all those years ago (god, she hated him) - it was a way of life no matter what side of the proverbial line in the sand you were on.
Laughter in the far corner of the room caught her attention and her sharp eyes quickly darted to the disturbance. Annoyed, she casually adjusted herself in her chair, the tip of her dagger blade pointing lazily in the third year boy's direction. She whispered so quietly that she could barely hear it herself and a sparkle of mirth actually entered her eyes for a split second as the boy's fingernails ripped from their roots and embedded themselves along his upper and lower lips, effectively clamping his mouth and shutting him up before he began screaming in a muffled terror.
As his idiot friends ran to his aid, Kymber silently slipped her dagger into it's sheath at her hip and turned her attention back to the book on her lap. Chewing silently on her quill as she contemplated the beginnings of a new spell, she overheard questions being asked and answers riddled in confusion being thrown around. No one was any the wiser to the evil lurking in the shadows.
All such fickle, passing things. Each has there place and time in one's existence. Each is something that you have until you just...don't. For Kymber Jones, the latter two had been stolen from her a long time ago - cold, dark resentment and anger...evil...slowly worming it's way in, wrapping around her heart like the spindly fingers of a dementor. She almost found it funny how no one noticed, no one suspected. While it was true that people tended to steer clear of her, it was more likely because she kept to herself or because of some unconscious instinct of survival than an outright fear of her.
Time.
There was always too much and never enough. Such a conundrum. If ever an oxymoron existed, in Kymber's opinion, it was time. You must always fill your time, keep busy. Idle hands are the devil's workshop. Kymber almost snorted in amusement as a distorted, almost forgotten, version of her mother's voice floated through her head. Almost. Time could heal all, destroy all, or simply torture you. It existed and it didn't. It wasn't tangible, but it was still irrevocably there twisting and winding it's way through reality, playing a game with the past, present, and future. It could be suffocating or exhilarating. It all depended upon one's view and situation. Time is either with you or against you; it's the one thing that is always black or white...there are no shades of grey.
All these thoughts were swirling through Kymber's head as she sat in a darkened corner of the common room, her personal spellbook laying open in her lap and what, for all intents and purposes, looked like a dagger in one hand as the tip danced lightly along the tip of a finger on the opposite. Her cold, calculating eyes scanned the crowded room watching, waiting, gathering information. For what, she wasn't quite sure yet. Constant vigilance isn't just something that old coot Moody preached to try to scare her when he had come baring the sincerest of apologies and condolences from the ministry all those years ago (god, she hated him) - it was a way of life no matter what side of the proverbial line in the sand you were on.
Laughter in the far corner of the room caught her attention and her sharp eyes quickly darted to the disturbance. Annoyed, she casually adjusted herself in her chair, the tip of her dagger blade pointing lazily in the third year boy's direction. She whispered so quietly that she could barely hear it herself and a sparkle of mirth actually entered her eyes for a split second as the boy's fingernails ripped from their roots and embedded themselves along his upper and lower lips, effectively clamping his mouth and shutting him up before he began screaming in a muffled terror.
As his idiot friends ran to his aid, Kymber silently slipped her dagger into it's sheath at her hip and turned her attention back to the book on her lap. Chewing silently on her quill as she contemplated the beginnings of a new spell, she overheard questions being asked and answers riddled in confusion being thrown around. No one was any the wiser to the evil lurking in the shadows.