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Post by Xanthe Lynnette Murder on Feb 17, 2010 1:06:31 GMT -5
Laughter built up quickly in her stomach and exploded out of Xanthe’s mouth quicker than she could ever dream of hexing someone. Her hands grasped her waist, her arms crisscrossing the other. It was hard to contain herself after seeing such a “pretty” girl fall into the thick muck on the Quidditch field. Especially on her bum in such a graceful way.
You see, Xanthe had awoken early that morning to the stars. She was never a sleeper and hardly entered the girls dormitory other than to retrieve her classroom materials. Most nights she would prowl around doing practically nothing but plotting against various students she disliked, and wrote about. Xanthe used the night for reflection, not rest. That’s what History of Magic, Charms, and Transfiguration was for.
The fifth year Slytherin stood from the stands proudly, feeling as tall as the goal keeps in the distance, and placed her quill into the black notebook to save her place. She shut it gently and sat it beside where she was sitting just previously to be sure not to forget it. A smile curved her small, pink lips to her cheeks as she looked on to Allison. Her emerald eyes were locked mercilessly on the dirtied girl, who was about to become her next victim, her newest target of abuse… whether she knew it or not.
“Are you as dim-witted as you look?” Xanthe asked loudly, taking a few steps down the stairs on the stands to reach the grounds where her fellow Slytherin had fallen. “You poor little princess.”
She never really liked or cared for Allison. In Miss Murder’s mind, Allison wasn’t even considered a Slytherin. The clothes, the hair, her gait, her smile, it was all too stuck-up for someone with a true Slytherin heart. She felt the upperclassmen was much more suitable for Hufflepuff, where all the high-class snobs tended to gather.
A shiver broke her thoughts; the morning air was relatively cold today.
The world was peaceful around the two girls; the birds had begun to chirp, the sun was just rising, and the sky was colored with pink, purple, and brilliant hues. This sight made the castle look so calm, so beautiful in such a way she had never realized before.
The brunette took a deep, appreciative breath, placing a hand on the railing of the bleachers as she neared the bottom.
“Why do you bother trying to look nice, Allison,” Xanthe taunted, descending the final steps to the Quidditch field, “when you know you’re only going to slip up?”
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