Slytherin Artwork 소설 & 이야기

My perfume sat untouched on the vanity like an artifact from a life I barely recognized. Above the hearth, the portrait remained. Us—painted in ceremonial stillness. Ronan in black, one hand curled possessively around mine. I in pale silk, chin tilted modestly, eyes dulled into submission. Behind us, wolves painted into obedient crouches, symbols of loyalty neither of us had truly earned.

Taking a deep breath, I swipe right. I continue on, and also swipe right on three other men. One mentions Slytherin—I decide not to tell Charlie, who told me to only date Hufflepuffs—one mentions he has a beagle, which is my favorite breed, and the third also has a photo of him with a dog and, in the background, a World of Warcraft poster. All three of them are smiling and are normal looking, maybe seven out of ten, which is what I consider myself to be, so hopefully they’re not out of my league.

I asked. "No, just strange, he collects items from the black market aswell and moves them over the water. He favours rare artifacts, magical potions, some art, anything really. If I were a betting man, I'd start with him." Arthur replied dropping the second file onto the desk between us with the first page open as I looked down at the face staring back from the surveillance style photo and the name printed on the sheet confirmed my horror. "Well Fuck me." I gasped as Cadmus Drakos was depicted in the photo clear as day.

I place it in the oven with some garlic baguettes and set the timer. Leading her to the counter to sit while we wait, I gently lift her arm to inspect the artwork on it. I am impressed, she has a red dragon design that wraps it’s whole body fully around her arm. The level of detail in this image is exquisite and almost makes it seem as though the creature could leap off her skin and become alive. I lift the sleeve of her t-shirt to be able to see all of it and the head of the animal rests on her shoulder. “This is amazing Angel, and you say you have one on your back as well?”

Saraya said and came down the front stairs to stand by my side. Adalwulf, Gloringreag Horncoat and the pale guy, opened a rolled-up fabric and unveiled a hand-woven symbol of a head of Lycan done with black thread. The fur was white but the rest of it was black, and embedded in it was a distinctive shape of a dwarf, a witch with a pointy hat and bats.

Draco's deathly aura when he entered the van indicated he was in one of his worst moods, which was very surprising considering he had been with the lady boss just a few moments ago. Let's face it, Draco had finally been showing human emotions these past few weeks ever since he met Miss Jones. The man was previously like a robot who, apart from his deathly glares and his signature frigid scowl that always adorned his face, showed no emotion that could tell you what he was thinking or feeling inside.

"The answers aren't in your journals. They were buried long before your father was even born." ​Lysander stepped up beside her, his sharp eyes scanning the massive, vivid illustrations. The mural depicted a grand, catastrophic battle from the first age of the world. On the left side stood a massive, midnight-black wolf with eyes of pure, deep obsidian—the ancestor of the Midnight Eclipse. On the right, a towering, lethal Lycan king with eyes of molten gold—the first of the Ashthorne bloodline. But it was the figure at the absolute center of the painting that made Lysander’s breath hitch in his throat.

It was a choke collar disguised as parchment. The classroom glowed with suspended enchantments. Floating scrolls circled overhead, each bearing a realm sigil—Lycandra’s silver moon, Lycan’Dra’s crowned wolf, Valoria’s crystalline spires, Drakonis’s blackened flame, and the serrated green seal of the Wilds. They drifted around like bored little planets, glowing faintly as if reminding us: these are the powers running your life. Professor Eliane’s voice snapped like a blade, her pale hair yanked back so tight it practically buzzed with tension. She tapped her quill against the board, sharp staccato strikes that made the wards hum in response.