Forget Me Not

It was nearly five in the morning and all the streets within a small town just outside of the London area were empty. The lights which illuminated either side of the road had begun to dim and appeared dull in comparison to the bright light that streamed from a second story bedroom. The curtains framing the window remained were wide open and revealed the backside of a young females head. Her long chocolate brown hair, though scraggly and slightly greasy, seemed to dance angelically with each gust of wind that blew by. If anyone had happened to wander along that street they would just barely be able to hear the girl’s tiny voice as she mumbled a sort of gibberish while she read to herself aloud from a large tattered book.

"As for the third brother, Death searched for many years, but was never able to find him. Only when he attained a great age did the youngest brother shed the Cloak of Invisibility, and give it to his son. He then greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, departing this life, as equals."

Lyra White sat upon her bed and allowed her teary eyes to read the stories final words. Her pale hands instinctively closed her aged copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard. She had promised herself repeatedly that she was going to read through an entire tale without crying but that never seemed to happen. As if in unison with the stories end, a stream of tears spilled from her eyes and landed on her oversized grey nightshirt. Violent sobs rumbled throughout her body and caused her entire bed to tremor as if an earthquake were occurring at that very moment. With a final wipe of her eyes, she shook her head in an attempt to rid herself of any unwelcomed thoughts that had threatened to resurface. To free her mind, Lyra took one look out her open window allowing herself to bask in the sheer chill that summer nights provided. It wasn’t until her book had fallen off her bed in a hard thud that she noticed the growing lightness of the sky. The sun was due to rise soon which was a sign that Lyra would need to get to sleep as she would soon be due to awaken. With one last look at the night sky, Lyra shut her window, pulled her curtains shut and tucked herself into bed.

“Lyra Adele White, Breakfast is made and you better get out of that bed now or you will be late for your tutoring!” A woman’s voice shrieked loudly which caused the wild haired youth to awaken, much to her dismay. To avoid being yelled at further, Lyra immediately untangled herself from the mess of blankets that had formed over the past two hours. She groggily made her way up from bed trying her best to avoid the mounds of books and parchment that had plagued the floor from the previous night. Once showered, Lyra detangled her hair and heading towards the kitchen. As she grew nearer, the smoky smell of bacon graced her nostrils which made Lyra fully awake and in a rush to reach the source of the smell.

The small kitchen was crowded with the other two members of the Taylor family, both of which had already begun to eat. At the head of the table was her uncle Malcolm Taylor, a thin balding man with brown hair and brown eyes to match. That particular morning, he sported a grey suit with a mustard yellow tie which he had paired with an especially goofy grin on his face. Like every other morning he was in the midst of reading through the paper very slowly as if taking his time to absorb every bit of news word by word. On his right sat his wife Elsa Taylor, a plump and curvy woman with an aged face and weary, hazel eyes. Her greying hair was styled into a sleek bun and on her face was a look that showed obvious discomfort, an expression she only wore when Lyra was in the room. It was during these moments when it was hard to believe that Elsa had once been full of genuine smiles and childish antics.

When Elsa first met Malcolm, it was as if she had known him for years, and before long, she was able to throw her old life aside like dirty laundry and start anew. A life where nightmares no longer plagued her sleep, since she was now safe and secure in the arms of her husband. The relief continued with the absence of conversations of the past. Elsa never felt pressured to explain how the “magic gene” had skipped over her entirely or the fact that her Pureblood relatives and magic in general left her trembling through her core. However all of that was short lived.

A few years later, her niece came into the picture and at first all was well. And Elsa realized that even within her new life she wasn’t safe. Now the unwanted aspects of her old life were going to re-emerge and conflict with everything she had tried her best to create. Once again she was going to be living with an unstable young witch in the household, who embodied everything that Elsa had grown fearful of.

All efforts in the attempt to gain her happiness back remained fruitless. Even as time passed Elsa’s beliefs remained unchanged, she couldn’t shake the thought that one day Lyra’s eyes would grow cruel just like her sisters had. She knew firsthand the painful consequences that occurred when a young witch’s emotional hold slipped and the possibilities continued consumed her thoughts.

Even when Lyra greeted the pair that morning, she had only earned an enthusiastic “Good Morning” from her uncle. She turned to her aunt, her eyes pleading for some sort of acknowledgment. On the inside Elsa was heartbroken at the extents Lyra took to gain her approval, but she just was not able to shake her past. To make momentary amends, she forced a smile onto her face. Sporting a wide grin full of satisfaction on her face, Lyra sat herself at the table where a plate full of food was ready and waiting for her. Without hesitation or time to breathe the food was devoured. Lyra politely thanked her aunt for the delicious meal, excused herself from her seat and cleared the table of dirty dishes. At that very moment an obnoxious alarm went off signalling that both Lyra and Malcolm were due to head out towards their individual destinations.

Malcolm was headed towards his job as a reporter for one of the local newspapers. He prided himself on his friendly nature during interviews which had led him to many successful published works within various issues of the paper. Lyra, on the other hand, raced across the street toward the humble home of Griselda Marchbanks whom tutored her solely in the various studies of magical practice.