Dame du Lac
Last night I could not sleep. Perhaps that was not so different from the first night I spent at Hogwarts. I found the same difficulties - an unfamiliar bed and the sound of a stranger's breathing.
After much tossing and turning, I slipped out of my room and walked the Beauxbatons grounds beneath the moonlight dressed only in my night gown. The wind was hard, as was the rain, and I felt like a wraith haunting the premises. Yet, out there, it was almost beautiful.
Not to far away there is a lake named "lac du perdu" which means simply "lake of the lost." I found myself there. While I would not say I was called there, it could be said that I was drawn in the subtlest sense. The waters were dark, like pitch black tar, and I couldn't see my reflection, only the faintest glimmer of light frosting the tips of the waves. I thought I heard someone talking there...
According to the other students, the lake is rumoured to have been the watery grave of a hundred or so young maidens, who drowned themselves because to broken hearts or unrequited love over the past century. It is even said to be haunted by its very own "dame du lac" (lady of the lake). I do not know if I believe there is any truth to these stories - it very well could be simpy a tall tale used to frighten the first year students - but I can see how one might believe it. The winds sound like the lamenting spirits. Still, I refuse to join those hundred lost souls.... I only wish I could return to England.
My mother wrote to me this morning and yet, in truth, her letter held nothing but veiled criticism and talk of how glad the malfoys were to see me go. In truth, her words hurt me, and I have no doubts that the stinging remarks in her letter were not made by accident, merely written to appear to be.
I wonder when was the last time I was able to laugh?
I want to laugh, even if it's at someone else's expense - or perheps especially so..
After much tossing and turning, I slipped out of my room and walked the Beauxbatons grounds beneath the moonlight dressed only in my night gown. The wind was hard, as was the rain, and I felt like a wraith haunting the premises. Yet, out there, it was almost beautiful.
Not to far away there is a lake named "lac du perdu" which means simply "lake of the lost." I found myself there. While I would not say I was called there, it could be said that I was drawn in the subtlest sense. The waters were dark, like pitch black tar, and I couldn't see my reflection, only the faintest glimmer of light frosting the tips of the waves. I thought I heard someone talking there...
According to the other students, the lake is rumoured to have been the watery grave of a hundred or so young maidens, who drowned themselves because to broken hearts or unrequited love over the past century. It is even said to be haunted by its very own "dame du lac" (lady of the lake). I do not know if I believe there is any truth to these stories - it very well could be simpy a tall tale used to frighten the first year students - but I can see how one might believe it. The winds sound like the lamenting spirits. Still, I refuse to join those hundred lost souls.... I only wish I could return to England.
My mother wrote to me this morning and yet, in truth, her letter held nothing but veiled criticism and talk of how glad the malfoys were to see me go. In truth, her words hurt me, and I have no doubts that the stinging remarks in her letter were not made by accident, merely written to appear to be.
I wonder when was the last time I was able to laugh?
I want to laugh, even if it's at someone else's expense - or perheps especially so..