Post by Mordena Yaxley on Sept 13, 2013 4:10:06 GMT 1
Who will believe my verse in time to come
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To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still
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Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove
Or to thyself at least kind-hearted prove
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My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
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History:
Things progressed more miserably than ever. Not even the pages of her most cherished books could provide any source of comfort-her thoughts lingered only on death. She had never professed any religious faith, but where did one go after death? Was there truly some merciful deity-though it seemed that only a devil reined above the mortals? Or was the soul completely and utterly erased from all existence? These questions will drive her mad, especially at night. Death has become an almost fascination, one which is perhaps filled with great fear and curiosity.
Nearly a year after the trauma Lord Yaxley became ill with a muggle sickness-it was easily curable through potion. Though he had been struck heavily with illness and was confined to their bed, pleading and begging for Mordena to brew the remedy that would spare his life. She instead told him to ‘burn in hell’ and locked the door, ignoring his cries. He passed by the end of the week. Rumors circulated that as a woman skilled in herbs and potions she had poisoned him herself, but no evidence was ever found. Mordena says little on the rumors themselves, sometimes even encouraging them, it is with bitter regret that she did not kill him by strictly her own hand sooner.
Eventually she came to Hogwarts. With little fortune to inherit from her husband and not wishing to return to a domineering brother, she came to the magic school in hopes of becoming its healer. Mordena, as previously stated, has always found the concept of death something she is unable to pry herself from. Coupled with a natural ability as a potioneer and an interest in herbs, Mordena works to cure those kissing death. It’s more of a personal desire, a sort of study on the afflicted, than of anything kind hearted. [/ul]
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Your name:
Have you read the rules?
Rp sample:
Eleanor pursed her lips tightly scrutinizing the scene before her. She paid little heed as he addressed her, obvious contempt laced within his words. Her attention was solely focused on the disarray scattered throughout his office; every fiber within her being twitched in horror threatening to break her very soul. Drake’s retorts rung dully within her mind like a worn bell. She took a step forward unable to peel her eyes from the mess. When the threads of her sanity were stretched too tight Eleanor snapped and lurched forward, grabbing at the papers with her hands and gathered them in a small pool. Her chocolate orbs were narrowed in concentration and she barely even looked towards her company. “Yes. Yes.” Eleanor gushed absent mindedly scurrying about the space. “On occasion I drop in to complete and sort paperwork of recent expeditions. I work primarily out of the country as a curse breaker.”
Her fingers riffled through documents as she scanned the titles, hastily filing them in alphabetical order. When finished she made to set them upon the desk but cringed and instead set them back onto the floor. She arched a brow in distaste. “The ministry is a well-established agency that offers a variety of careers aimed at the bettering of society. Of course it is my place,” Eleanor snapped finally straightening her back to peer at him. She brushed back a loose strand of hair that had fallen loose in her tizzy.
If my slight muse do please these curious days,
The pain be mine, but thine shall be the praise
The form was made by Malena. The lines are taken from Shakespeare's sonnets. Feel free to edit the application if you want to, but please don't remove the credits
