June 17th, 1888 - Yaxley Home, Wellingtonshire
I sold my soul to a three-piece
And he told me I was holy
He’s got me down on both knees
But it’s the devil that's tryna...
-Halsey
And he told me I was holy
He’s got me down on both knees
But it’s the devil that's tryna...
-Halsey
It was utterly ridiculous. The fog was perhaps the worst thing to ever happen to Phoebe. Well, other than being forced to marry the spineless Gregory Yaxley. He was just as useless as her wand was thanks to the damnable fog. And then, then she found out that someone in the kitchens had let some vagrant into her house. At least, that's what the man sitting at a table in the kitchen looked like when she'd wandered in to try and find something that could dull the headache should could feel throbbing in her temples.
"And who the bloody hell are you?" she asked, delicate brows arched high as she narrowed her crystal blue eyes on the man. She knew exactly who worked for her and he was most certainly not one of them. Whoever let him in would be fired immediately. Rubbing her temples, she waited for a response rather impatiently.
"And who the bloody hell are you?" she asked, delicate brows arched high as she narrowed her crystal blue eyes on the man. She knew exactly who worked for her and he was most certainly not one of them. Whoever let him in would be fired immediately. Rubbing her temples, she waited for a response rather impatiently.