Condemned as a coward by her elder brother and underestimated by every other family member, Frida appreciated that every other student—be it the know-it-alls, the full-of-themselves, and the bullies—would be no better off than her during this classroom activity. Not that she was particularly excited about it either; Frida had fears of her own, and many that she would rather her classmates not be aware of.
She also had the misfortune to be near the front of the line when her classmates pushed and shoved each other into places. Arms wrapped protectively around her body, it was only Professor Sleptov's insistence that saw her wand extracted from her robe pocket. She held it up, her wrist shaking with anticipation—or fear, but she wasn't sure which—for what was to come.
And then—there it was. The familiar figure Aunt Nephele stood there, her backside facing Frida, her mother's pearl necklace dangling from her hand. They were the pearls that were left in Frida following her passing; she never wore them out of fear of breaking them, instead leaving them in her jewelry box back at home. It was not a frightening sight, at least not at first.
Frida watched with knitted brows as the figure of her aunt turned around, revealing instead a pale, sickly-looking version of her mother. The most frightening sight awaited her as Frida's eyes scanned upwards: in place of her mother eyes were two black holes that seemed to stare directly at her despite not visible focus. The boggart's frail hands—(she tried to remind herself it was a boggart, but it made not difference as her own hands began to shake)—rose, grasping the pearl beads within the long, bony fingers, when suddenly—snap.
The pearl beads clattered to the ground, leaving Frida with a disturbed expression on her face. She struggled to raise her wand, her eyes flickering between the professor and boggart in search of confirmation. She could not possibly think of something that would make this form any less horrifying, but did—perhaps by memory, or perhaps by adrenaline—manage to cast her spell. "R-R-Riddikulus," she stuttered.
Frida is at level, but "brave" is not a word I'd use to describe her :P
She also had the misfortune to be near the front of the line when her classmates pushed and shoved each other into places. Arms wrapped protectively around her body, it was only Professor Sleptov's insistence that saw her wand extracted from her robe pocket. She held it up, her wrist shaking with anticipation—or fear, but she wasn't sure which—for what was to come.
And then—there it was. The familiar figure Aunt Nephele stood there, her backside facing Frida, her mother's pearl necklace dangling from her hand. They were the pearls that were left in Frida following her passing; she never wore them out of fear of breaking them, instead leaving them in her jewelry box back at home. It was not a frightening sight, at least not at first.
Frida watched with knitted brows as the figure of her aunt turned around, revealing instead a pale, sickly-looking version of her mother. The most frightening sight awaited her as Frida's eyes scanned upwards: in place of her mother eyes were two black holes that seemed to stare directly at her despite not visible focus. The boggart's frail hands—(she tried to remind herself it was a boggart, but it made not difference as her own hands began to shake)—rose, grasping the pearl beads within the long, bony fingers, when suddenly—snap.
The pearl beads clattered to the ground, leaving Frida with a disturbed expression on her face. She struggled to raise her wand, her eyes flickering between the professor and boggart in search of confirmation. She could not possibly think of something that would make this form any less horrifying, but did—perhaps by memory, or perhaps by adrenaline—manage to cast her spell. "R-R-Riddikulus," she stuttered.
Frida is at level, but "brave" is not a word I'd use to describe her :P
— set by mj —