- Messages
- 92
- OOC First Name
- Clairey
- Blood Status
- Mixed Blood
- Relationship Status
- Too Young to Care
- Wand
- Knotted 10 Inch Flexible Walnut Wand with Horned Serpent Horn Core
- Age
- 11
It wasn't that Ondine was ungrateful for her owl. Her ma had been awfully kind to find Romeo for her, and he was quite handsome, if a little slow (his last owner had surrendered him for stealing other people's mail out of their letterboxes). It was just that Ondine had specifically asked for a raven. The school approved of them, the menagerie stocked them, and she knew for a fact her uncle Bertie had brought Lucille with him when he'd come to teach. So why had Ma bought her an owl?
Ondine knew why. Ma didn't trust her. On the one hand, she had a point. Ravens were notoriously difficult. Clever as toddlers, moody as teenagers, and equipped with sharper weapons than you'd entrust to either. On the other hand, Ondine had always had a way with animals. She knew how to handle snakes, spiders, and salamanders. And Lucille had warmed up to her quite quickly once they'd got past the rock-throwing stage. Ondine only had a tiny scar. You could barely even see it.
She sighed, put down her quill, and stroked Romeo's chest. The poor owl had been waiting over an hour for her to finish her letter, but she didn't know what to write. "Dear Ma," she said. "I sort of made two friends, but I don't think they really like me. Dear Ma. I should have brought some trousers. Can you send me a pair? Dear Ma..." The owl blinked at her, expectant. "I don't know. Can't you write it for me? I bet a raven could have written it for me. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?"
Ondine knew why. Ma didn't trust her. On the one hand, she had a point. Ravens were notoriously difficult. Clever as toddlers, moody as teenagers, and equipped with sharper weapons than you'd entrust to either. On the other hand, Ondine had always had a way with animals. She knew how to handle snakes, spiders, and salamanders. And Lucille had warmed up to her quite quickly once they'd got past the rock-throwing stage. Ondine only had a tiny scar. You could barely even see it.
She sighed, put down her quill, and stroked Romeo's chest. The poor owl had been waiting over an hour for her to finish her letter, but she didn't know what to write. "Dear Ma," she said. "I sort of made two friends, but I don't think they really like me. Dear Ma. I should have brought some trousers. Can you send me a pair? Dear Ma..." The owl blinked at her, expectant. "I don't know. Can't you write it for me? I bet a raven could have written it for me. O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?"