11th November, 1887 — The Painted Lady
Mason Skeeter
Mason Skeeter
The change in her appearance since the last time she had seen her son was causing her so much worry that Morwenna knew it was only making her look worse. The loss of weight she could do very little to hide, beyond hoping that her son’s observational skills would not turn on her too closely, but she looked tired, haggard, older than ever before and being anxious to boot would not soften any of that. She had tried to combat her own deterioration but there seemed to be precious little she could do – even sleeping all the hours she had free didn’t seem to make her any less exhausted and food turned her stomach more often than not. It truly was a shit state of affairs and she didn’t know what to do about it.
She took a deep breath and sipped her tea sparingly as she waited for him. The Painted Lady had the advantage of being slightly dim at least and she was grateful for that. Anything that might take the edge off was a benefit at this point and she was only glad that the Hogsmeade weekend this month was not so close to the full moon that she looked, if possible, even worse. She rather suspected her colleagues at the Ministry were wondering how much longer she could last given that she was ill more often than she was not.
The bell over the door caught her attention, breaking her out of her morose thoughts, and she spotted her son coming through the door, looking younger and brighter than she could possibly imagine and Morwenna broke into a wide smile at the sight of him. Getting to her feet she called him over and immediately gripped hold of his arms, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.
“Hello darling, you look well,” and he did. He always did and she felt a weight lift in her chest at the very sight of him. "How have you been?”
MJ knows my soul rings to the rune of this iconic hat