Post by DAMIAN TOBIAS FROUD on Dec 13, 2010 23:35:20 GMT -5
Is there such thing as self torture? Of course there is.
Aunt Marlow, I know I should speak to Rae Lyn about how my soul has felt torn within the last few days. About how I can think only of climbing to the highest tower of Hogwarts and letting my body fall from the height. Maybe I should go for a swim within the Black Lake until I drown from exhaustion. Or perhaps, learn to fly a broom and join the Quiddich team, only to take a bludger to the head and fall into the black.
Oh dear Aunt, I cannot keep these morbid thoughts from my mind. Not even as I read the cards to find some meaning, a path to take that will lead me from this darkness cloaking my heart.
As you know, the others within my house (how strange to be calling Hufflepuff my house when I have always believed my rightful place to be in Slytherin) know of my dirty little secret, my curse of Divination. Professor Trelawney still follows me around Hogwart's halls, always ready to pounce on me and drag me away with her to her tower and teach me all of the secrets of the art she teaches. But enough about her. Some of the boys within my year have come to me, girls as well, asking me to tell their futures, to read their palms, and tell them what a wonderful and full life they will live, or if they will ever get their crush to look in their direction. Foolish children the lot of them.
Do they not know that my curse is exactly that? A curse? I cannot shake another hand for fear that I am not in control of myself and read their palm. Nor can will I allow myself to take tea with another, or even drink by myself. My salvation is in that I cannot preform any sort of Divination on myself other than the cards Rae Lyn provided me with so long ago.
Perhaps this is why the sorting hat didn't place me within my chosen house. Not just the tainted blood, but my struggle to accept what I could become, what Rae Lyn claims I can be, as well as my never ending argument in the morality of the use of this 'gift.'
Please shed some light on this situation, Aunt. I know that you don't possess the use any forms of Divination, but you have survived and flourished as a Hufflepuff when you were also raised to be the perfect Slytherin child. And don't worry for my health, I promise that it was nothing more than a moment of weakness at the beginning of this letter to grab your attention. I find that whenever I reach that point, writing to you has helped greatly.
Your nephew,
Damian
P.S. Let Rae Lyn play with your hair before it turns gray. And don't forget to water the roses on the window ledge; that way, they're nice and pretty when Christmas hits. I'll write to you again soon.
Aunt Marlow, I know I should speak to Rae Lyn about how my soul has felt torn within the last few days. About how I can think only of climbing to the highest tower of Hogwarts and letting my body fall from the height. Maybe I should go for a swim within the Black Lake until I drown from exhaustion. Or perhaps, learn to fly a broom and join the Quiddich team, only to take a bludger to the head and fall into the black.
Oh dear Aunt, I cannot keep these morbid thoughts from my mind. Not even as I read the cards to find some meaning, a path to take that will lead me from this darkness cloaking my heart.
As you know, the others within my house (how strange to be calling Hufflepuff my house when I have always believed my rightful place to be in Slytherin) know of my dirty little secret, my curse of Divination. Professor Trelawney still follows me around Hogwart's halls, always ready to pounce on me and drag me away with her to her tower and teach me all of the secrets of the art she teaches. But enough about her. Some of the boys within my year have come to me, girls as well, asking me to tell their futures, to read their palms, and tell them what a wonderful and full life they will live, or if they will ever get their crush to look in their direction. Foolish children the lot of them.
Do they not know that my curse is exactly that? A curse? I cannot shake another hand for fear that I am not in control of myself and read their palm. Nor can will I allow myself to take tea with another, or even drink by myself. My salvation is in that I cannot preform any sort of Divination on myself other than the cards Rae Lyn provided me with so long ago.
Perhaps this is why the sorting hat didn't place me within my chosen house. Not just the tainted blood, but my struggle to accept what I could become, what Rae Lyn claims I can be, as well as my never ending argument in the morality of the use of this 'gift.'
Please shed some light on this situation, Aunt. I know that you don't possess the use any forms of Divination, but you have survived and flourished as a Hufflepuff when you were also raised to be the perfect Slytherin child. And don't worry for my health, I promise that it was nothing more than a moment of weakness at the beginning of this letter to grab your attention. I find that whenever I reach that point, writing to you has helped greatly.
Your nephew,
Damian
P.S. Let Rae Lyn play with your hair before it turns gray. And don't forget to water the roses on the window ledge; that way, they're nice and pretty when Christmas hits. I'll write to you again soon.
