City of Bath ~ England

[Vampire Toy]

Bath

Bath is a city located in Somerset, a county in the West Country of southwestern England at the edge of the Cotswolds hills, near Bristol. Bath was so named because it was once home to an elaborate Roman public bath, fed by Britain's only hot springs. In 1992, Ron Weasley mentioned Bath when he told Harry a story he had heard about a witch in Bath who had owned a book that had been bewitched so that you could never stop reading it.

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

It is frightening what a smile can h i d e. ______

𝐶 𝐴 𝑆 𝑆 𝐴 𝑁 𝐷 𝑅 𝐴 _𝑺 𝑶 𝑷 𝑯 𝑰 𝑬 _ 𝑁 𝑂 𝑇 𝑇
__ 𝑆𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 __ 𝑜𝑓 __ 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 __ 𝐼𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙
`•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´ `•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´ `•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´ `•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´

[Winter 2031]


It certainly was impressive; Sophie couldn’t deny that even if she was wringing her fingers under the table so tightly she was scared they’d swell like red balloons if she didn’t stop; but she couldn’t. She hated it. All of it! Everything! Mr. Rhodes’ sullen and perpetual glare; Mrs. Rhodes’ upturned pig nose and charming smile; Brandon’s ruthless eyes and paralyzed arm suspended in a sling; Richard’s toothy grin and dimwitted compensations; the manor was dark and outdated; even the dinner table between them was a nuisance with four different forks, five knives, and two bloody spoons to go along with their five course meal she was sure to hate as well. But this was Christmas, Sophie had to remind herself as she smiled along politely to whatever the bloody hell Mrs. Rhodes had said, then tacked on a submissive little laugh behind her hand when the others began to chuckle.

”It’s so very kind of you to have me for the holidays, Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes,” Sophie remembered all of her courtesies as she paused with salad fork and knife in hand. It was Mrs. Rhodes who spoke directly, it was always her. Either her husband rather not deign himself to speak to Sophie, or maybe he was always this silent. Sophie had noticed his absence during her summer month stay, so couldn’t be sure. She’d seen his portraits scattered throughout the manor but did no justice of the man’s hardened intensity. He never spoke a word, but was the loudest in the room. ”It’s our pleasure, truly,” said Mrs. Rhodes with a smile as elegant as grace, Sophie envied that smile. Her crooked mouth made her smile conniving and mischievous, a smile that would know exactly when the world was going to end.

The Christmas dinner was exquisite, roasted goose, honeyed ham, smoked salmon, chestnut stuffing, roasted potatoes, brussel sprouts, parsnips, spiced red cabbage, and a delicious Christmas pudding for dessert. Sophie’s portions were petite, but even so, she was so full she thought her dress seams might burst. ”Now,” said Mrs. Rhodes with a breath of relief and fingers in a steeple before she smiled and continued on, ”Cassandra, this may seem a bit forward, but if I may—why exactly has your father been barred from his familial home? Secrets can tear a family apart before it’s even begun.” Sophie could see her curiosity wasn’t idle; it was about money. Everything is always about money to these purebloods, she wanted to sneer but smiled instead. ”I’m afraid I can’t answer that, I was very young at the time and, as I’m sure you know, my father loathes dwelling on the past.” Unless it was to his advantage. Sophie had no doubt whatsoever that her father had dirt on this family, somehow, someway, he knew something that they wanted to keep secret. And they had an undesirable heir, a cripple, by all standards, perfect for a pureblood squib but not a witch. Still, he had the proper name and blood and birthright that would ensure Sophie would inherit his estate, leaving Edric to inherit the Tempest estate should the plans with grandfather fail and the Nott Castle slips through Remington’s greedy little fingers.

Of course, this was not the answer that Mrs. Rhodes had wanted to hear, she clicked her tongue with distaste though her smile never waned. This time though, it was Brandon, who spoke up next, ”How very transparent mother,” his chair pushed back with a screech as he stood and extended his good hand, ”Come, I’ll escort you to your bedroom.” Hesitant to retreat with her suitor, but reluctant to stay with these demons, Sophie allowed her hand to fall gently into his and almost gasped at the sudden rush of strength lifting her to her feet and guiding her down the hall.

Brandon was much taller than she, his shoulders were wide and strong, and though he was only seventeen, the muscles on his good arm were thick tree trunks like the rest of him. He was handsome, in a dark and intimidating sort of way. A small scar ran across his heavy brow, which complimented his square face and strong chin. His left arm was rather shriveled in comparison, despite being covered by a loose fitted sleeve and arm sling, that much was still obvious. She’d seen the flesh of it only once, scarred by a cursed fire had melted away the skin, it was scabbed and discoloured and had once been his wand arm, but not anymore. ”May we speak?” Sophie asked after a long minute of silence. Brandon was much like his father in that regard. Though he didn’t say a word, he gestured a small nod and spared a second glance. ”It’s still so early,” she explained quietly, trying to find the perfect tone between submission and passive aggression, ”Might we take a walk along the grounds?” Sophie hated being cooped up all day, every day. It was for her own safety, they assured her. Magic was heavily reinforced within the home, and was a necessity to perform any small function. Sophie couldn’t so much as bathe or change without the assistance of house elves to summon water, to heat it, to breathe life to the candlebras and fireplace because none of it can be done by hand. ”No.” Was all he said. Sophie was ready to bite her tongue and hold her breath until she went blue but knew better. He probably wouldn’t even care, would let her turn blue and purple and black until she passed out. Instead, she nodded stiffly, now completely and overtly aware of her arm crossed within his, the heat of his skin radiating against her own, poisoning her.

Now confined to the guest bedroom on Christmas Eve, Sophie clawed at the door trapping her inside. The doorknob wouldn’t budge, she wondered if it was even real or just for show. The fireplace behind her crackled, but she couldn’t floo, not even if she wanted too. The windows won’t open. Curtains are enchanted to open at sunrise and close at sundown. Floorboards sometimes move beneath her like a conveyer belt and even the bloody kneazle has more access to the manor than she does! Sinking down to a heap on floor, all she wanted to do was cry but her eyes were dry and her throat was tight. Another Christmas alone, she thought she’d be used to it by now, but it hurt more knowing that her father was with his new family, his new wife and baby boy, having the holiday she had always wanted for herself. It just wasn’t fair.

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓
◆◇◈ Rhodes Manor, Bath, England
◆◇◈ Red Christmas
◆◇◈ 17 Years Old, 5’5”, 132lbs
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

It is frightening what a smile can h i d e. ______

𝐶 𝐴 𝑆 𝑆 𝐴 𝑁 𝐷 𝑅 𝐴 _𝑺 𝑶 𝑷 𝑯 𝑰 𝑬 _ 𝑁 𝑂 𝑇 𝑇
__ 𝑆𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 __ 𝑜𝑓 __ 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 __ 𝐼𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙
`•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´ `•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´ `•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´ `•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´

[Spring 2032]



”Are you sure you won’t take the potion,” Brandon said with a sense of urgency, he had hoped to dangle her off his arm this evening, after all. ”Put on the dress,” he ordered this time, already impatient with her. ”You’ll feel better once you’re out of bed, I assure you.” It was a beautiful dress, Sophie admitted to herself. He spun on his heel to carry the ensemble of white silk and chiffon hanging in the closet and draped it loosely at the foot of her bed. ”I’ll leave the potion then if you change your mind,” Brandon stiffened at her silence, his scarred brow seemed to twitch.

Sophie never said a word, it was true. She almost felt guilty but she didn’t care; she wouldn’t dare say a word for fear of giving herself away. With baited breath, she waited for the sound of footsteps fading down the corridor before unleashing a coughing, hacking fit, paused another long moment, and then sighed.

She was sick to her stomach, but that was her own fault. By her count, she had ten, twenty minutes at the most before Mrs. Rhodes would decide to make an appearance. Sophie had to work quickly. Throwing back the pile of quilted blankets, bare feet dashed across the room to the bathroom; one hand wrapped around her toothbrush and the other her rubbish bin. It took a few tries, gagging and coughing until finally, she purged. It was a sickly yellow and white from stomach acid because she hadn’t eaten in three days. Then once more, she bent over and angled the end of her toothbrush to the back of her throat until she hurled. Clambering back into bed to hug the rubbish bin up against her knees, Sophie waited with her head under the covers and breathed, hard. Every hot breath steamed the dark depths around her until she was dripping with sweat.

Click, click, click, a pair of high heels paused just outside her doorway and Sophie flung backwards into her pillows and groaned with agony. Her face flushed, cheeks burning, and the stench of bile not close behind. ”Oh dear, you look terrible,” Mrs. Rhodes confessed at the doorway, then click clacked closer until the smell finally hit her like a brick wall and she recoiled. ”Bless your heart, poor child. You are not leaving this bed, do you understand? Should you need anything, the house elves will care for you. Oh, I know how you were so looking forward to this gala, but there will be others. We’ll return later this evening dear,” her smile almost made Sophie want to smile, until she viciously snapped, ”Louse! Clean this mess at once! Ig, you shall obey Miss Nott in our absence.”

Ten minutes passed, and Sophie didn’t move. The house elf had done its duty quickly, banishing the foul viscous until the bin was pristine and relocated to just beside her four poster bed. Twenty minutes, she chewed her lip and waited. Half an hour passed before she was absolutely sure the Rhodes’ had disappeared, and then, ”Hahahahaha!” She was alone! Truly and finally alone! The manor was all hers. ”Ig!” she shouted, shortly after hopping out of bed. Ig was rather stout and fat for a house-elf, elderly, she had to guess, and dimwitted, apparently. She’d asked Brandon’s little brother once about their names, and was shocked. Their names were different, once, but after so many years of being addressed as a louse and ignoramus—wizards were so cruel. ”Y-y-yes M-m-m-iss—“

Sophie cut him off, she didn’t have the luxury of time. ”Open the door, open every door and every window.” Bare feet padded slowly to the bedroom door, the impenetrable oak barrier, and smiled wide. ”M-m-miss?” he stuttered, his rags were rather tight against his potbelly. ”This is not wise, I-I-I think.” Sophie snorted at that, then calmly said. ”Do it, Ig… Do you know what happens to house elves when their disowned? Hm?” Pricking a deadly smirk on her lips, her slow voice drawled on casual and airy, ”Neither do I. Have you ever wondered why?”

Pop! Ig disappeared suddenly and without warning. She ******** up, didn’t she? What if he was reporting back to the Rhodes, right now? And then it clicked, the deadbolt. Slowly, the knob churned to the side and an echo of doorways creaked open one by one. ”It worked,” she whispered sharply, scared that someone might hear her, but who? Who! ”It worked!” Laughing jovially, Sophie sprinted from her bedroom and down the long corridor of the west wing, peering inside every room she passed; guest bedrooms at first, then a library, an office, and sitting room. She spun around a corner and paused, was that an art room?

Back stepping into an arched doorway, a sharp inhale and gasp led her deeper in the marble floored room. Statues of clay and stone and glass stood on pedestals, embellished with rubies and garnets and diamonds and sapphires. Hand painted portraits of beautiful women covered one of the walls, and a showcase display of artifacts and antiquities shined in view of the open window. The plush rug was warm under her feet as she moved to study the artifacts which reminded her so much of home. Her father was a collector, or a thief, depending on who you asked. Tentative fingers reached for an antique redwood chest, the grain was smooth and not a speck of dust on its surface, easing open the lid to peer inside, a small beetle brooch rested within. It was a gorgeous emerald and moonstone, she lifted it to the light to watch rainbow beams reflect across its surface. Until it moved.

”Woah,” she jumped and it clattered to the floor not once, but a thousand times over. Hundreds of little beetles were multiplying and coming to life, their little legs skittered frantically in all directions gnawing the carpet under her feet, inhaling the floorboards, and devouring everything in its path; she screamed. ”Ig! Stop this! Ig! Ig!” Sophie retreated until her back hit the wall, then she charged out of the room and slammed the door behind her. ”I hate this house! I hate these people! I want to go home!” Frustrated, she screamed, again and again and again, but it only made her feel worse.

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓
◆◇◈ Rhodes Manor, Bath, England
◆◇◈ 17 Years Old, 5’5”, 132lbs
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

[Sophie's Plot. Pt.1]

 

[Essy ze Ninja]

It is frightening what a smile can h i d e. ______

𝐶 𝐴 𝑆 𝑆 𝐴 𝑁 𝐷 𝑅 𝐴 _𝑺 𝑶 𝑷 𝑯 𝑰 𝑬 _ 𝑁 𝑂 𝑇 𝑇
__ 𝑆𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒𝑛𝑡 __ 𝑜𝑓 __ 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡 __ 𝐼𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙
`•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´ `•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´ `•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´ `•.¸¸.•´¯`•.¸¸.•´

”Ig! Where are you!” She shrieked at the top of her lungs, stalking down the corridor wearily. But he wouldn’t appear. ”You’ve got to be kidding me,” she was going to make that little insolent creature pay. Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-, she could hear something skittering behind her but refused to investigate.

”Rrrrrrrr,” then a growl so monstrous she could feel the floor vibrate beneath her feet had echoed from down the hall. ”What the ********> Sophie froze. Should she continue straight ahead where the growls echoed louder, or retreat the way she came? But that decision was made for her.

It wasn’t a roar she heard, but the screech of hardened stone grinding against wood. And it was huge. Fierce black eyes burned a hole through her soul; its skin was chiseled stone, as were its lion fangs, goat hooves, and dragon’s tail. Carved muscles sprang to life, and it charged. Sophie screamed. Motion and sound blurred as time stopped and slammed her back against the closest door and dug her feet in.

BAM. BAM. BAM. It rammed against the door, over and over and over again, threatening to knock the hinges loose or splinter the wood into shreds. Locking the door would be pointless if it just broke it down. She moved quickly. First the desk, heaving all of her weight into its side until it slid in front of the pounding door. Then the trunk at the foot of the foot of the bed and every book she could rip off the shelves to add as weights. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM! Faster and faster, it was relentless. BAM. BAM. BAM. ”Stop, please, just stop!” But it wouldn’t. It was never going to stop.

Cradling her face in her hands, fingers moved quickly to plug her ears trying to stop the sound. No matter how hard she closed her eyes and screamed in her head it was all she could hear. The incessant tremor of stone and the creak of wood begging to break. An hour passed, but still. BAM. BAM. BAM.

”I can’t take this anymore,” she choked, then scrambled to her feet and peered down the second story window to the rolling green field underneath. She could jump, she reasoned. BAM. BAM. Or she could tie the bed sheets together and climb down? BAM. BAM. BAM.

In a flurry of feathers and fabric, pillows were tossed out the window to break her fall and then she ripped the sheets and bedding off, tying the ends into knots before anchoring one side to the poster bed with the other dangling down the window. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM! Then she climbed and never looked back.

Bam, bam, bam... It echoed behind her, but she didn’t care. Her fingers and toes clutched the sweet, soft grass, then rolled herself into a tight ball with knees cradled against her chest. Sophie closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing heart, it was pounding so hard against her ribs she thought the bone might snap.

Darkness soon devoured everything, only a sliver of pink, red, and purple dwindled at the edge of the world. She slept, she thought. She couldn’t remember. Swallowing a hard lump in her throat, she pulled herself up on her knees and then to her feet. It was dark, aside from the colorful flowers dotting the grassy field, and the black pillars jutting out of the earth like fingers. ”A graveyard,” she whispered to the tune of leaves rustling and twigs snapping in the cold breeze that sent a shiver up and down her spine. Those were tombstones, not pillars; bouquets for the dead, not wild flowers of spring.

It splintered again, she heard. But it was just a twig, she reminded herself. Just a rabbit in the foliage, a fox in its den, or an owl in the branches. Nothing more, nothing less. Suddenly, the temperature dropped, and a foul order assaulted her senses. Recoiling, her bare feet slid against grass and dirt until it hit something solid. ”-AAH!” A blood curling scream echoed through the countryside, crows scattered from the rooftop and squirrels darted up to the treetops. She ran.

Thin skeleton fingers ripped through clay and soil and grass, prying apart through the weeds with dirty twisted limbs and sunken, waxen flesh. Shrunken, decrepit and rotting, corpses were crawling themselves free from the earth. ”Innnnn-truuuu-deeeeeer,” she swore she heard them hissing behind her. She ran, and ran, and ran, never looking back.

She hid underneath the roots of an old cypress tree tucked against a ditch for runoff water bundled by a thicket of bushes. Leaves and thorns pricked her skin. Dirt caked her hands and knees, dirtied her fingernails and smudged her face. And she was terrified. If father were here, he'd save her, she wouldn't even have to call him because he would just know. He always knows! Except now. Grass crunched underfoot, but she couldn't look. She wouldn't.

Her heart jumped in her throat when cold bones caught her wrist in a vice grip and ripped her so hard from her hiding spot it nearly dislocated her shoulder; she screamed, soiling herself. Thrashing and slashing and sobbing, she struggled but everything was useless. I’m going to die, it finally hit her, and she choked. Skeletal hands squeezed around her head, crushing the skull with such force their bony fingertips pierced through skin until hot, sticky blood dyed her hair red. ”Stop! Prohibere! Nunc!” Someone screamed, but she passed out before ever seeing who.

┏━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┓
◆◇◈ Rhodes Manor, Bath, England
◆◇◈ 17 Years Old, 5’5”, 132lbs
┗━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┛


[Sophie's Plot. Pt 2.]