libby mcmouthpiece quirke (ex_quirkless555) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2008-12-31 15:35:00 |
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Gripping a bottle of whiskey, Libitina pushed open the gates to the little cemetery, sunlight was filtering through the trees and lighting up some of the tombstones rather eerily. If she believed in the afterlife, that would be some kind of sign that it was really there. But it wasn't, it was just sunlight on a slab of rock. Walking through rows and rows of graves, some huge, ornate statues, some simple. Some worn from time and some disturbingly fresh. Stopping at the grave she had been looking for, she glared at the headstone, her dark eyes flashing. She had never seen the grave, she hadn't gone to the funeral. She didn't even understand why she was tempted to see it now. A slab of rock with words carved in it, that's all it was. Staring at it would not bring her mother back, and frankly she didn't want her mother back. 4 March 1939 - 1 January 1979. The mistakes of life are forgiven by death. "Forgiven, hah," she muttered apathetically, using her wand to open the bottle of whiskey. She poured approximately a shot over the grave and then took a swallow herself, wincing at how badly it burned. "Well I haven't forgiven you," she all but yelled at the headstone. "This is ridiculous, it's not like she can hear me," Libitina told herself. "Well, if you can hear me. I still hate you." Their was a dull thudding in her chest and her heart had begun racing, color bloomed on her cheeks and tears filled her eyes. Blinking them away, she furrowed her eyebrows. She didn't feel anything. Other than a response from her heart, from her body, there was no real conviction behind it. She wasn't sad for her mother, but she wasn't happy. She was just...there. Existing, but what was existing if you were heartless? Though, Libitina couldn't call herself entirely heartless, she had felt happy and excited and relieved and loved lately. She could feel, which was a surprisingly discovery she had made in recent months. Taking another swallow of the whiskey, and more prepared for the burn in her throat this time, she turned her back on the tombstone. She was ready to leave this place and never come back. This little cemetery overlooking this sleepy village where her mother had lived in, probably the same little village her father lived in. Merlin knew that people stuck in these places hardly ever moved on to bigger things, bigger cities. Libitina desperately needed to get out of this village. What if she saw some man with her shade of hair, a replacement daughter with her eyes? Suddenly, she felt as if she were suffocating, and she hurried out of the graveyard, hurried towards a secluded spot to apparate and get away from this. The familiar suffocation of apparition was nothing compared to the tightness in her throat, the rapid beating of her heart. She walked from the apparition point in Diagon Alley back to her flat, clutching the bottle of whiskey as tightly as possible. By the time she collapsed on her, admittedly ugly, brown couch, she barely even remembered walking up the stairs or taking the lift or whatever it was she had actually done. Taking the biggest gulp of whiskey should could manage, she thought for a moment. What could she do? It was the middle of the afternoon. Drinking away the day seemed...irresponsible. But the urge to be a bit irresponsible overwhelmed her and she took another drink. |