 astronomizzle ♧ gryffinDORK | & the rest is drag ♣ #badluckDerf
A blast of crisp January air greeted Iris as she stepped outside, but the warming charms woven into her uniform ensured she hardly noticed the chill. She strode down the cleared path toward the Pumpkin Patch, her boots pressing firm prints into the frost-dusted ground. Tucked beneath her arm was her ever-present notebook, its pages currently filled with notes on a work-in-progress translation of an ancient tome on ritual magic, written in Old Persian. The text was proving to be an absolutely fascinating challenge thus far, one layered with symbolic meanings, archaic phrasing, and a structure vastly different from modern spellwork. Balanced on top of her notebook was perhaps the only thing that could tear her focus away from her translation work: The Clockmaker’s Curse, a gothic horror mystery she had barely been able to put down and might have spent all night reading. A blend of eerie atmosphere, intricate puzzles, and a protagonist trapped in a town where time itself was rebelling against its people, the way the author described the unsettling sensation of gears ticking, the way shadows stretched at unnatural angles...it all sent delightful shivers down her spine. Iris was determined to finish it before the week was out - though she was also determined to finish her translation of Old Persian too and there simply were not enough hours in the day to accomplish both these goals.
...if only timeturners could still be a thing.
The change was subtle but immediate, like stepping from winter into a cozy fireside study when she was, in fact simply, crossing into the magically extended space of the Patch. She offered a bright smile towards Professor Khanna as they stood at the front, framed by the curious sight of a pile of freshly grown pumpkins. No doubt Nyle spent a fair bit of time down here bringing his own potted plants along for some vicarious motivation or whatever he called it these days. Iris quickly scanned the area and shrugged off her coat, neatly folding it over the rack before moving toward the front row of seats. She would have waved as well but her hands were quite full and she would rather not have to go chasing down the loose leaf bits from her notebook. Quite the impressive display of magical horticulture, if she did say so herself. Settling onto a stump, the Ravenclaw adjusted her hold and - once she knew her notebook was properly secured - flipped it open, running a finger along the most recent passage she had been working through.
The section she had been puzzling over last night, between reading her book, seemed to reference a purification rite that required celestial alignment...though the wording was frustratingly vague. Did it require actual starlight? Or was it a metaphor for something else entirely? She tapped her quill against the page, lips pursed and completely oblivious to the board and the question she ought to be pondering. She'd get there eventually - probably.
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When you're stuck in a moment and your spark has been stolen .................................................. ...........
this is our time to own it, so own it.....................................
baby we were born with fire and gold in our eyes |