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Welcome to Charming, the year is now 1892. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.

Where will you fall?

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“Got the morbs” was Victorian slang for a temporary melancholia — Dante
In a panic sort of reaction, she shut the door but neglected to make sure she was on the other side of it.
the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways

Stronger Than Dead
May 13th, 1892 — Oakshire Hall, Kent

Dawn was slowly encroaching and she was long past exhaustion. If she wasn't delirious she was surely close to it. Tig grinned lazily to herself. It was a boy. Hadn't she said she could do it? No one could question her now, no one could speculate that something was wrong with her, that she wasn't fit for purpose. To hell with Ellory, to hell with Tatiana, to hell with the lot of them! His family could all go to hell she had nothing to prove anymore, she was as good as any of them, better even. The infant was healthy and whole and very much a boy. At least that was what she'd been told, she hadn't yet inspected her handiwork for herself. She'd done the impossible and she firmly believed it was proof of how exceptional she was. Antigone Lestrange always got what she wanted in the end, her willpower was unmatched, she was invincible, she was a queen, she was... Not alone.

Tiberius? She turned her head to the side to make sure it really was him. Her (extra) inflated ego, albeit (probably) temporary, had very little to do with the toll of childbirth and everything to do with her nature. If exhaustion was exaggerating her delusions of grandeur it was a drop in the ocean.

Tig held her hand out for him to take because it seemed entirely suitable in this moment for him to take it, kiss it, and kneel as though her bedside were the altar of a deity. He had wished for a son and hadn't she so graciously granted it, and at great personal risk? Wasn't she just as powerful as any goddess? She could give life as well as take it, even he didn't have that power.

She waited in dignified silence for him to shower her with the praise, gratitude, and undying admiration she was due.

Outfit | Tag: @Tiberius Lestrange" | Notes:

Tiberius had no role in the birth whatsoever — even summoning the midwife had been a task left to the servants last night — but even so he hadn't slept all night. It had been a long labor. Too long? he had wondered, but apparently not. The child arrived at last, apparently healthy. The midwife had passed the baby to him for inspection before carrying him down to the wetnurse, who had arrived a few hours prior and made herself at home in the nursery. The whole interaction felt a little unreal. He had long since come to terms with the fact that this wouldn't happen. He had never expected a legitimate heir. Antigone wasn't supposed to be able to carry a healthy baby to term, and the healers had said that if she tried it might kill her. Maybe something was wrong with the baby that wasn't obvious yet. Maybe it was an idiot, or its organs were only half-developed and it would die within a week. Maybe it was a squib. He was stubbornly convinced something must be wrong with it because the alternative must have been that Antigone was dying, and no one told him that was the case.

He went to see for himself. The room smelled oppressively of sweat and blood from the moment he opened the door. Antigone looked atrocious. Maybe she was dying, though the look on her face seemed to imply otherwise.

She reached out her hand in his direction and he hesitated to take it. He wasn't sure if he expected her skin to be cold and clammy or burning up, but surely one of the two was true, and either seemed like a bad sign. He was hesitant to have any confirmation of her poor state of health, because then he would have to determine what, if anything, could be done about it.

"I'm opening a window," he announced, moving away from the bedside to do so. "It stinks in here."
Twinkle twinkle you can't hide
I'm the devil in disguise

To say his "greeting" (if it could be called such) was underwhelming would be a woeful understatement. In fact it thoroughly soured her mood. If that's the extent of your gratitude after everything I've done... She mentally swatted the words 'for you' out of her head before they could disgust her any further. They told you, didn't they? She couldn't believe he didn't know, there was no way he couldn't know.

Unless there was something she didn't know... It is healthy, isn't it? There was an obvious note of anxiety in her voice. She refused to accept a reality where she hadn't succeeded in producing a perfect, living son.

Outfit | Tag: Tiberius Lestrange | Notes:

The window stuck, and screeched when it opened. Tiberius exhaled into the morning air.

"It appears healthy," he said, still unwilling to commit to the term entirely. He had the conviction that it was too early to tell, whatever the midwife said. Not that Tiberius knew anything about infants to contradict her assessment. Aside from the gender, the baby looked just the same as the twin girls had when they were born, and both of them were still alive and well, and apparently of at least normal intellect. Still, he didn't entirely trust it.

"Are you healthy?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at her on the bed. He wasn't sure Antigone would tell him if she wasn't, or if she would even know if something were wrong, but on the off chance that she was both self-aware and feeling honest, it couldn't hurt to ask. (As he thought this, though, he realized the question had been a waste of breath; self-aware and honest were two of the last terms he would have used to describe his wife, so the odds of her being both at once were slim to none).

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