Welcome to Charming, where swirling petticoats, the language of flowers, and old-fashioned duels are only the beginning of what is lying underneath…
After a magical attempt on her life in 1877, Queen Victoria launched a crusade against magic that, while tidied up by the Ministry of Magic, saw the Wizarding community exiled to Hogsmeade, previously little more than a crossroad near the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the years that have passed since, Hogsmeade has suffered plagues, fires, and Victorian hypocrisy but is still standing firm.
Thethe year is now 1895. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
No, she supposed she didn't need to tell anyone (although any of her friends with half a brain would recognize her discomfort, she thought).
"It is so uncomfortable," she bemoaned, leaning forward, elbows resting on her knees, to rest her face in her palms. "And what am I to do if the blood... leaks?" She grimaced at the thought. "And you said this will happen until I have children?" She would be counting the years—no wonder girls liked to marry as soon as they graduated!
July 21, 2021 – 10:04 PM
Last modified: August 24, 2021 – 7:57 PM by Rufina Mulciber.
"When you are with child, and for some time afterwards, your cycle will disappear," Rufina confirmed encouragingly, "and then go away for good when you become a grandmother."
"Unfortunately," Rufina affirmed with a sad, but resigned, smile. "Truly, though, Dearest, it is not so bad once you grow accustomed to it. In time, you will be able to predict the comings and goings of your cycle so you know when to anticipate it, and it shall simply be an inconvenience—after all, before now, had you any idea that I am so afflicted for part of every month?"
She believed her mother, even told herself that this was not the end of the world, that all would be well and—like her mother had said—that she'd grow accustomed to the monthly inconvenience. Still, her heart had not pounded so heavily since the carriage incident years ago, or since seeing the ghastly image of Mrs. Whitledge in the boggart. This was, to put it simply, terrifying.
"I am strong, Mama," she said, wrapping her arms across her torso, "but I'm not sure I'm that strong."
In spite of the discomfort of the situation, Rufina couldn't help but laugh.
"Flora, even the weakest of women endure their cycle," she remarked in explanation. "Girls and women who could never even hope to equal your strength. You will be fine."
It seemed her mother would never offer her the affirmation she sought, even if it meant admitting that she was doomed. Flora slouched back in her chair, her frown unmoved. "Only because it seems we have no choice to endure it," she complained, and then, looking up at Mama, deepened her frown. "At least I understand why girls want to marry as quickly as they can."
Rufina bit back a laugh, but could not prevent a wry smile from forming on her lips.
"Truly, my pet, it is not so bad once you get used to it," she offered, though given Flora's rude awakening, the socialite was unsure her daughter was quite ready for logical reassurance.
Mama was so certain, and Flora wanted to believe it. She really did. If only she didn't feel so gross—and sad, and doomed, and even a little angry at everyone for withholding this part of her womanhood.
"I will trust you, Mama," she said sourly, pulling her legs up so she could better curl up into a ball in her seat.
"Forgive me," she teased, "if I do not quite believe your sincerity."
Rufina looked fondly at her daughter, a tightening in her chest at the realization that Flora—her dear, dear Flora—was truly growing up. This latest change struck the mother far harder than her daughter's departure to Hogwarts; Flora was a woman now. In a few short years, Rufina thought with a tinge of bitterness, Flora would be married, with a household of her own.
It was slightly more terrifying than it was exciting.
Flora cracked a smile, but buried her face in her arms before it could get any wider. She couldn't deny that becoming a woman was exciting, but what else of womanhood had she not yet learned about? She'd always expected to get a bigger bosom and wider hips so she could fit into all the fashions all the debutantes loved, but she'd thought that was the most of it! Now she was fourteen, still looking as much a girl as she looked last year, but now she bled.
"I am terribly sincere," she complained insincerely, her face still buried in her arms.
The sigh that left Rufina was an affectionate one as she moved to rest a hand on her daughter's arm.
"Go back to bed, my dearest," she instructed gently. "I shall have the appropriate supplies sent up, and no doubt this will all seem much less dire in the light of proper day."
For the umpteenth time Flora doubted her mother's words, but she could not deny her exhaustion. "Of course, Mama," she said, rising from her seat. She gave Mama one last smile before she turned to leave. "May I sleep in if my body doesn't wake up on its own?" She'd always been an early riser, but she just knew tomorrow would be a day she'd rather spend in bed.
"Of course," Rufina answered. Given the state Flora had worked herself into, the young witch was more than deserving of a lie in. "I shall have a breakfast tray sent up midmorning."
