red_pepper (red_pepper) wrote in breaking_point, @ 2010-04-26 00:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | *complete, 2025 04, character: dominique weasley |
RP: Dom
Who: Dominique Weasley
Where: Hogwarts
When: 26 April, 2025
Rating/Warnings:
Summary: Dom writes a few letters
She had written the entire letter out to Dylan in her mind on Friday night, somewhere between the dancing and the drinking, and the dancing and the further drinking Dom had composed what she had thought was a very well thought out letter in her mind that she was going to write as soon as she got back to the castle, since she hadn't been allowed to talk about men while out with the girls.
Of course once she'd gotten back into her rooms, and some how ended up in her bed again, sleep had seemed like a much better course of action than writing any letters now matter how eloquent her drunken mind thought she could be right at that particular moment.
The next morning, after a few potions and breakfast, Dom couldn't remember half of what she'd thought up the night before, and the half she did manage to come up with was no where near eloquent. And so she ended up with a mountain of crumpled papers as she'd tried to find that eloquence that she thought she needed for this. Saturday passed, and she hadn't been able to find the right words, and then Sunday.
It was Monday now, she was in her rooms after classes. Sitting at a table with a blank page of parchment in front of her trying once again to find the right words.
Dylan, I miss you. I've been doing a lot of thinking this week. mostly about how much I miss you, how much it hurts that you don't want to spend time with me. I think maybe you were right, maybe it is better that we don't spend time together for a while. I still don't know if there ever was a bond, I've talked to Patrick - and I can't say for certain one way or the other. Even though there are some nights where I am absolutely certain there is, it hurts just thinking about you.
She stopped writing then, crumpling the paper between her hands and sighing as she tossed it across the room, and pressed her face against the tabletop and put her hands over her ears, blocking out the sounds of students in the hallways laughing, shouting. None of it sounded right. It was obvious she was much more capable of fashioning this sort of letter when she was drunk, it was too bad she'd never been the sort to drink alone or she would have tried it now - instead she found her broom pushed open the window and kicked off.