I Will Not Calm Down!

I Imagined Being A Famous Writer Would Be Like Being Like Jane Austen.

You See What You Expect To See, Severus.

The Sky Was A Cold Iron-grey, Like The Underside Of A Shield. A Sharp Breeze Lifted The Hems Of Skirts And Rattled The Leaves On The Immature Trees; A Spiteful, Chill Wind That Sought Out Your Weakest Places, The Nape Of Your Neck And Your Knees, And Which Denied You The Comfort Of Dreaming, Of Retreating A Little From Reality.

The Owls Are Gathering; Find Out Why Soon.

You Can Exist Without Your Soul, You Know, As Long As Your Brain And Heart Are Still Working. But You’ll Have No Sense Of Self Anymore, No Memory, No . . . Anything. There’s No Chance At All Of Recovery. You’ll Just — Exist. As An Empty Shell. And Your Soul Is Gone Forever . . . Lost.