- Messages
- 568
- OOC First Name
- Amanda
- Blood Status
- Mixed Blood
- Relationship Status
- Single
- Sexual Orientation
- Bi
- Wand
- 13.5" Fir with Core of Basilisk Skin
- Age
- September 13, 2025 (31)
Lydia woke to the sun crashing in through her window. She covered her face with her elbow, forgetting for a second where she was. Then she remembered. Her breath hitching, she reached under her second pillow, the one crammed against the wall. She grabbed the journal and held it to her chest. It was small and silver, not much bigger than a postcard, and tied with purple ribbon. Lydia pulled on the bow and turned to a random page. It was penciled in delicate handwriting that made her heart ache:
Whether or not you know this yet- and you will someday, I promise- your house does not define you.
Whatever that means. Lydia dressed and pocketed the journal in her mustard-colored robes. She groaned at the assortment of plants lined along the back wall, next to the dresser. They had not taken over the room, yet.
It was strange to revisit a place she used to live in, so long ago. Was this home? No, not really. To be honest, Lydia hadn't thought much about New Zealand since she was ten, when they moved back to the States. When she, Olivia, and the twins were very young, they were dragged back and forth across the world. Then, all of a sudden, their mother put a stop to this. Said they deserved to have a consistent home to come back to. Lydia shipped off to Ilvermorny the following year, but her mother stayed true to her word and lived in the same sturdy farmhouse until, well, this turn of events.
Lydia descended the staircase. On every available space were living things of every color- some still, some wriggling, some ugly, some gorgeous. She sighed as she swept away a spot on the counter to heat a pot of water and cook some breakfast. One of the plants wrapped around her wrist with a slimy tendril; she slapped it away with a yelp.
Plants, plants, everywhere. More found their way into the house daily. Like the kettle, Lydia was set to boil. As she waited, she stepped out into the garden for some fresh air. The garden- torn up to hell and back. No one had asked her opinion on the matter. She squinted at what she thought was a rock for some bizarre new landscaping, but then she noticed the rock was covered in clothes and rumbling like a thunderstorm. Lydia reached down and grabbed the lump by a shoulder, shaking it awake.
Whether or not you know this yet- and you will someday, I promise- your house does not define you.
Whatever that means. Lydia dressed and pocketed the journal in her mustard-colored robes. She groaned at the assortment of plants lined along the back wall, next to the dresser. They had not taken over the room, yet.
It was strange to revisit a place she used to live in, so long ago. Was this home? No, not really. To be honest, Lydia hadn't thought much about New Zealand since she was ten, when they moved back to the States. When she, Olivia, and the twins were very young, they were dragged back and forth across the world. Then, all of a sudden, their mother put a stop to this. Said they deserved to have a consistent home to come back to. Lydia shipped off to Ilvermorny the following year, but her mother stayed true to her word and lived in the same sturdy farmhouse until, well, this turn of events.
Lydia descended the staircase. On every available space were living things of every color- some still, some wriggling, some ugly, some gorgeous. She sighed as she swept away a spot on the counter to heat a pot of water and cook some breakfast. One of the plants wrapped around her wrist with a slimy tendril; she slapped it away with a yelp.
Plants, plants, everywhere. More found their way into the house daily. Like the kettle, Lydia was set to boil. As she waited, she stepped out into the garden for some fresh air. The garden- torn up to hell and back. No one had asked her opinion on the matter. She squinted at what she thought was a rock for some bizarre new landscaping, but then she noticed the rock was covered in clothes and rumbling like a thunderstorm. Lydia reached down and grabbed the lump by a shoulder, shaking it awake.