Post by nicolev on Aug 24, 2007 18:23:06 GMT -5
Her homework was done, piled neatly on her bedside table in the Ravenclaw girls' dormitory, and Adriana was caught up with every text book she owned. One thing she didn't begrudge from inheriting from the Sullivan family and that was her photographic memory. It helped largely when needing answers, as one who goes to any school would know. The Ravenclaw sighed gently as her body shifted on the low couch she sat on, her knees drawn up to her chest, as her crystal blue eyes perused, once again, Wuthering Heights.
Everyone knew that Emily Bronte was a witch. Perhaps she didn't know it, but the fact was written in these very pages. How did one sixteen year-old girl write a story so hauntingly beautiful that it stayed with the reader long after the put it down. Not that they happened for very long with Adriana; she didn't seem to be physically able to let it stay down. One of her favourite stories of all time, the novel had captured her attention this evening.
As a matter of habit, Adriana glanced away from the worn and well-read pages of the book in her hands to the clock above the door to the Library, making sure that she was still in her rights to be here. Only six, plenty of time left. She wasn't sure that she wanted to be in the Ravenclaw Common Room, what with the other Ravenclaw she preferred to avoid at the moment, though Desmond, being as much a book work as Adriana, would know exactly where her hideout was.
The girl had considered going back to the Room of Requirement, to practise some more, but her muscles had screamed out in defiance for that idea. And so it was that she was curled up in the Library, surrounded by the books that still held so much interest for her, considering that she'd already read most of them. Adriana sighed again, unconciously, as her eyes read over one of the best quotes of the book. Turning a page, the last passage stayed with her, pushed back into a corner of her mind, stored for later use.
Everyone knew that Emily Bronte was a witch. Perhaps she didn't know it, but the fact was written in these very pages. How did one sixteen year-old girl write a story so hauntingly beautiful that it stayed with the reader long after the put it down. Not that they happened for very long with Adriana; she didn't seem to be physically able to let it stay down. One of her favourite stories of all time, the novel had captured her attention this evening.
As a matter of habit, Adriana glanced away from the worn and well-read pages of the book in her hands to the clock above the door to the Library, making sure that she was still in her rights to be here. Only six, plenty of time left. She wasn't sure that she wanted to be in the Ravenclaw Common Room, what with the other Ravenclaw she preferred to avoid at the moment, though Desmond, being as much a book work as Adriana, would know exactly where her hideout was.
The girl had considered going back to the Room of Requirement, to practise some more, but her muscles had screamed out in defiance for that idea. And so it was that she was curled up in the Library, surrounded by the books that still held so much interest for her, considering that she'd already read most of them. Adriana sighed again, unconciously, as her eyes read over one of the best quotes of the book. Turning a page, the last passage stayed with her, pushed back into a corner of her mind, stored for later use.
If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.