Welcome to Charming
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
Maybe a choice shade of grey - the closest thing she had to mourning clothes - as a symbolic marker that her relationship with Victor was dead.
dining is pageantry

That went downhill fast - Sloane
Clarke had thought against all odds Professor Hightower had forgotten about her detention since she'd never heard anything else about it since he'd declared she was getting one.. then today as she was eating lunch the jolly old bastard had made his way over and kindly informed her that she was to carry it out by polishing all of the weapons in the large display case in the armory. The look on his face when he'd said it... the words had been so casual and yet... that son of a bitch knew exactly what he'd been doing.

As it stood it was armory three, Clarke zero. She'd managed to somehow nick herself on each of the weapons she'd taken out of the case thus far. They may have looked ancient but they were still sharp as shit. Flinching slightly as she ran her rag near the edge of the blade she was holding, she shook her head and took a deep breath. Now she just needed to finish up as quickly... and as painlessly as possible..

@Sloane Bixby
Barnabas was going to be the death of her, if he didn't actually die first. He sort of looked like he was on his last legs, something Sloane was loath to admit, but it had been nearly seven years of having him. She didn't think rats were supposed to live that long. He'd become sort of lethargic and his fur a little patchy. Sloane had taken to carrying him around in the pocket of her robe, but somehow between her last class and lunch, he'd managed to scamper off. Was this what Davis was constantly doing to his Slytherin? It was mildly annoying to say the least. At least the hedgehog had an excuse; his owner was rather unpleasant.

"Barnabas!" Sloane whisper-yelled as she scooted through what felt like her umpteenth hallway in search of him. She had a piece of apple, one of his favorites, in hopes to lure him out from wherever it was he was hiding, but the further she got into the castle, the less likely she thought she'd be successful. Perhaps she'd have to pool together her friends later, and Splash, to conduct a wider search party.

As she rounded the corner to the armory, or one of them anyway, she saw Clarke polishing weapons. Detentions sort of sucked. Sloane had served enough of them to know that much, but these sort of manual labor ones really were the worst. Last time she'd had to scrub cauldrons she'd nearly been sick. "Have you seen a little black and white rat around here?" She asked a little hopelessly.

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