» what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, private

[Viola Prince]

It has been nearly a week since the Ministry retrieved her unconscious and sickly form from the woods to receive medical care, and Viola was still recovering from her rather astounding astonishment that she had even fell ill to begin with. She had spent the last two weeks before the expedition would begin preparing herself for what may befall her and how she would be able to handle the situations in a calm and knowledgeable manner. Viola would have thought that the potions she acquired from the apothecary would have spared her being from contracting some illness whilst journeying, but she was very disappointed with its results when she awoken in St. Mungo’s a few days after the height of her illness. What was the illness one may ask, and Viola’s only answer would be Yellow Fever. Of course, it was a fairly speedy recovery, but she had mostly been unconscious during the moments when the symptoms multiplied, and she was rather grateful that she was.

Viola sighed as she gently laid her quill in the inkpot, and lifted her brown-eyed gaze to stare at the beauty that were the beginning phases of summer. Of course, the scenery was not very divergent from the spring months (same bright sun, bloom flowers and trees, bee buzzing lazily, and butterflies batting their wings destination to destination), but it was considerably more dry and the sun was decidedly bearing down heat much more strongly. The beauty of the summer scenery was inviting to Viola, and had she not still been weak and recovering from her life-threatening illness, she may have been outside and basking in the sun’s warm rays or going into High Street to do a bit of shopping or visit with friends. Of course, then she had to remind herself that even if she were not ill, she would still be traipsing through unknown wooded destinations and facing dangers that she attempted to prepare for. Honestly, it was quite lovely to be home again, and Viola wished her group members (especially Miss Browne whom Viola found to possess a potential as a future intellect) all the fortune the universe could provide.

Viola had always known that Aunt Dosia was an overbearing woman with an affectionate side, but she just was not aware of how overbearing the elderly woman truly was. Aunt Dosia has insisted- no, demanded that Viola take to her bed for another week for recovery purposes, but Viola had been adamant that she should walk a little and be up and about more because she could not stand being confined to her bed. In the beginning, Viola had been perfectly accepting to stay in her bed as she had been quite weak and fatigued, but as she progressively recovered, she began to wish to stretch her limbs and tidy herself a tad. Finally, after four solid hours of squabbling with Aunt Dosia, the two women finally came to an agreement. Viola must be within the confines of the Prince household, no wandering out of doors and no calling on acquaintances; should Viola become fatigued or dizzy, she was to rest until she felt recovered; and lastly, should Viola’s condition worsen over time due to being up and about, she was to be hastily confined to her bed once more without complaint.

The ink from her journal has dried and Viola stared down at the pages she had written with precision. Viola was uncertain if unburdening her thoughts upon a journal in the form of a letter to her deceased mother was assisting her as Aunt Dosia had hoped it would, but for a lack of anything else better to occupy her time with, there were many letters written to her mother, some emotional and some informational. She wondered what her father would think should he know that she wrote her mother letters that would never be sent. Would he smile? Would he gaze at something behind her, face stoic to mask the expression of pain that would inevitably cross his face? Once again, Viola sighed. She has attempted (and failed, though she endeavors to think otherwise) to assist her father in handling his grief, and the list of ideas were rather becoming rather limited, and that frightened Viola. No. There was still hope for her father to find happiness yet. She just had to believe in herself to accomplish this one particular goal she has spent the majority of her childhood attempting to succeed. Yes, there was still hope yet.

Hearing a knock at her door, Viola straightened up quick (and quite painfully so), and in the process was painfully pinched by her corset. If there was any one women’s garment she detested the most, it would be a corset. Yes, it glorified the woman’s figure, but it also had health hazards she was surprised the healers at the hospital have not yet petitioned against, as well. After inhaling a sharp intake of breath, Viola uttered out, “Come in.” Looking up, she saw that it was only her ladies’ maid, Antonina, whom had knocked. “May I help you, Nina?,” she inquired civilly, the pain from the pink thankfully subsided. The uptight young woman nodded sagely once as she continued, “Yes, I thought it best to inform you that your father is in the family parlor awaiting your presence, Madam.”

Viola’s eyes widened briefly as she assessed the information given to her. Her father has come for her? Well, this was certainly a pleasant surprise, yet a wonderful occurrence. Her father rarely visited home and prefers to reside in the castle for Holiday breaks, including summers, and her only conclusion for his visiting was that he had heard word of her illness and had come to check upon her, to ensure that she was still alive. Cautiously standing up, Viola dismissed her ladies’ maid and proceeded to walk down to the family parlor, while deciphering which greeting to use; happy, melancholy, chipper, polite, or formal? Viola decided upon a polite and formal greeting. She had not seen her father since Christmas, so she had no idea what to expect besides a sad version of a man that was once a chipper, happy soul before his wife’s death immensely altered him.

Taking a deep breath, Viola entered the drawing room with a pleasant smile upon her face, and a polite tone as she greeted, “Good morning, Father. I must admit, I was most unprepared for your arrival, but I have requested for some tea and scones which should be served momentarily.”

tag: Icarus (Daddy Dearest) | outfit: here | notes: none
made by Emily exclusively for Charming

[Icarus Prince]

Don't you worry turn around, I'll still be here

In all honesty, Icarus had been worried sick about Viola since the day she got drafted, though he hid that as well as he ever did. There had been a point when he had truly feared that he would lose his eldest daughter and the thought had shaken him severely. It uprooted all the emotions he had felt when Adelaide had died. He couldn't lose Viola too. Any of his children. He simply couldn't.

For all his agitation, he had not visited his eldest child yet to see how she fared. He had been relying on reports from those in contact with her and while he was desperate to see how she was, the fact he had hesitated longer than a day made him feel guilty which only delayed him further. It was a vicious cycle and one he had finally made the decision to break.

Having stayed at the school past the end of the school year, he had secluded himself in the Greenhouses for the most part, tending to the plants. Being the Herbology professor was more taxing than say Charms professor; he had to care for the plants year round or else they would die or get out of control and he certainly could not trust the gameskeeper - goodness knows the plants would be treated the wrong way out of ignorance and all hell would break loose. No, it was best he dealt with them himself, and so he did.

Today, however, he had come to see his eldest daughter and make sure she was not frailer than the reports said she was. He had been relieved beyond all belief when he had been informed that her condition was no longer potentially life-threatening and finally, finally he had come to see for himself rather than rely on relayed information from others. Straight from the horse's mouth so to speak.

He waited anxiously in the parlor as Viola was informed of his presence. Now he was there he had no idea what he was going to say. What would she want to hear other than an expected 'how are you?' if even that? He toyed with the fabric of his jacket, his customary frown of consternation upon his lined forehead. The sound of the door opening caught his attention and he slowly turned to see his eldest daughter. A pang of guilt struck him as he observed the signs of her having been ill. He should have come sooner. He attempted a smile which was weak and by no means reached his eyes. He didn't speak at first, the urge to embrace her just to make sure she was not an apparition struggling against his instinct to stay put like a stubborn mule. "Viola... That sounds... That sounds wonderful." He got to his feet slowly and awkwardly hovered before taking a few steps closer. He was going to hug her, he was going to hug her... And then he patted her slightly on the shoulder instead. "How are you feeling?"

Tag: Viola Words: 506
created by kay of caution and sds

[Viola Prince]

In all honesty, Viola detested the awkwardness between herself and her father. Of course, she could recollect a time when conversations between them were not so particularly strained and inept, and while she yearned for those times when she and her father had once possessed a strong familial bond that was expected between a father and his eldest daughter, she had to admit that the awkwardness continued for so long that it was rather unfathomable to imagine that they could once converse with ease and contentedness. Now, after months of not setting eyes upon one another and very few owl-exchanged letters, the same awkwardness that Viola had gotten used to began, but she rather felt that something in the relationship between them may shift during her father’s unexpected visitation.

When her father approached ever steadily towards her, Viola stood quite still, a small, courteous smile concealing her astonishment at his intention to embrace her? However, when her father came to a halt in front of her, he merely patted her on the shoulder as if she was contagious. Viola’s mixed emotions upon this action made by her father was all displayed in her cinnamon-brown orbs that so resembled her mother’s. The most clear emotion one could easily observe was the hurt she felt that he did not wish to embrace her. She attempted to reason with herself that perhaps he did not wish to contract the illness she was diagnosed with (as she is by no means truly recovered as of yet), but she had a suspecting feeling that his reason was entirely divergent to hers.

“I am well,” she uttered out softly, concealing the hurt her father had unknowingly inflicted. “Perhaps still slightly weakened, but it is nothing too alarming to be overly concerned about. It was a fairly mild case of Yellow Fever, the Healers diagnosed, and it could have been infinitely worse they informed me. I was fortunate enough to have been unconscious for the majority of my stay in Hogsmeade Hospital, and when I had awakened I had already undergone such an appeasing recovery that I was only kept within the confines of the hospital for three days.”

After her speech, there was a brief silence as Viola motioned to the parlor’s red-velvet sofa for her father to sit and she gracefully sat into one of the singular armchairs if, indeed, her observation of his not wanting to contract her illness was proven true, but the silence was soon broken by the arrival of a maid with a tea tray arranged with a china tea pot and teacups and an arrangement of finger foods ranging from sweet to unsweetened situated upon white doily. After graciously thanking the maid for their food (provided that should their conversation become too awkward, she could always spare herself of speaking by nibbling upon a scone or an unsweetened wafer), she poured her father some tea into the fragile, china teacup as she softly inquired, “How are you fairing, dear Father? Was the Coming Out Ball anymore interesting than it was the previous years?”

tag: Icarus (Daddy Dearest) | outfit: here | notes: none
made by Emily exclusively for Charming

[Icarus Prince]

Don't you worry turn around, I'll still be here

It was with a strong, sickening tug of guilt that he caught sight of the look in Viola's eyes. He was quite certain he knew what had caused it but he still made no move to rectify it. He couldn't. He simply could not bring himself to and that only pained him all the more. He knew he had failed his children as a father, he knew it but found himself incapable of doing anything to fix that. Ah but it was too late, wasn't it? Viola would inevitably marry sometime soon and their relationship would be doomed to non-existence. As for his younger two... Well he knew them even less than Viola.

He was genuinely pleased to hear the optimistic overview Viola afforded him. It didn't clear up the guilt he felt that he had not been brave enough to visit her when she was at her worst but it certainly made him feel better than she was steadily gaining back her health, that the worst was very much past and over with. "I am very pleased to hear that you are making a swift recovery. It is very reassuring." He noted how very detached and impersonal he sounded and internally cringed at it. He ought to just up and leave, leave his children in the care of the housekeeper or their aunt and leave. He was doing them no favors being hanging around and filling the role of disappointing father.

Hesitantly, he took the chair Viola had gestured to and sat down. As usual, he desperately wanted to run away from his problems, it was the easiest way out. The coward's way out. He barely noticed as tea and snacks were brought in, his mind otherwise distracted, his eyes staring quite vacantly at the grate of the fireplace. He looked back to Viola with slight surprise as she asked after him and it took him a few moments to collect himself before he replied. "I am as I always am, as was the Ball." Yet another short and abrupt answer. Icarus almost added something else, perhaps an elaboration but couldn't seem to form the words. There was consequently a long gap of silence before he managed to say something again. "What... What happened on this... This expedition?"

Tag: Viola Words: 379
created by kay of caution and sds

[Viola Prince]

It took quite a bit of Viola’s will to conjure the corners of her lips to turn up into a small smile as the attempted to resist frowning at her father’s detached and mechanic voice. Unless her ears and her eyes were deceiving her, she could honestly confess that perhaps her father’s depression had only worsened rather than healed, and there was no mistake of the feeling within gut: guilt. She had had a hand in her father’s depression when she had been a fairly young girl, but when she had come to the realization that her mother’s death had not been her father’s doing, she had neglected to remedy her misconception, and she could not help but wonder what might have been had she attempted to heal his grief and undeniable guilt earlier.

With a small heaved sigh, Viola began pouring tea into teacups due to something to steady her trembling hands. If it was not her Mathilda whom unsettled her with her ways and manners, it was her father with his melancholy manners as she truly never expects which kind of mood he shall be in when she converses with him. At one moment he could be businesslike, forced cheeriness, or the most common of moods, melancholy and expressionless. Viola could faintly recollect moments of when her father had been a happy man, and those memories usually consisted of her mother alive and mobile, and at present, Adelaide Prince was buried at Asphodel Cemetery (at Viola’s insistence and reasoning that the Prince children be able to visit their mother’s grave and reduce their chances of traveling by portkey or floo to their old residence) and would never be reunited with her husband and children until it was their time to pass.

At the direction her thoughts had taken, Viola wondered if her father had, on occasion, thought of committing suicide to join his beloved wife in death. At the mere thought, Viola had to close her eyes to conceal the freshly brewed tears nearly about to brim over. We Prince children shall truly be abandoned…, she thought forlornly as she willed the tears back and attempted to at least appear optimistic, if not somewhat happy that her father had plucked up the courage to visit her after her sufferings of illness and excessively clambering through woods.

Nodding her head at his answers to show the acknowledgement that she was, indeed, listening, Viola handed her father a cup of tea as she retorted, her tone having become decidedly more cheery, “Father, the expedition was quite exhausting; myself and my group, arranged with those that I are quite amiable and conversable, trekked through good amounts of woods and I had been prepared for all types of weather, unbearable heat and downpour. I rather like to think of it as a particularly long camping trip, and we’ve been hiking for the enjoyment of scenery rather than for our escape, but I cannot honestly admit that it was at all enjoyable.” Her tone had taken on a dreamy hint as she began recollecting the moments of the expedition before she had taken ill; indeed, it was hardly enjoyable, but she would rather ease her father’s mind than alarm him.

tag: Icarus (Daddy Dearest) | outfit: here | notes: none
made by Emily exclusively for Charming

[Icarus Prince]

Don't you worry turn around, I'll still be here

Icarus wasn't sure if his daughter was withholding details about her 'adventure' from him so that it did not sound as bad as he thought but even then he supposed she was back in one piece, not traumatized and she was slowly getting over her illness. If there was anything else to know he wasn't sure he wanted to know it. "I am pleased to hear it was not too taxing on you," he murmured, not really sure if that was an accurate assumption but rather preferred to think that it was. "And there were no dangerous beasts or creatures along the way?" He wasn't quite sure what she might have come across though not all dangerous creatures lived in the Forbidden Forest, just as not all wizards lived in Hogsmeade.

As he sat there next to his daughter, he wondered whether this could be called bonding. When she had been very small, spending time with her had been far easier but then Adelaide had always been there smiling and encouraging and laughing. It haunted him now just to think of such times. He knew plenty of other widowers who seemed far less affected by the loss of their spouse but then he supposed they had never truly loved their wives for he doubted it was possible for him to ever get over the loss. He would always carry the burden of his guilt like a ten ton weight upon his shoulders and it would only get heavier as he watched his children grow even more distant from him and he failed to do anything to stop it.

Icarus reached forwards for his teacup and took a slow sip, his mind straining and struggling to think of something to say that would be of any use or interest to either of them. He didn't even know what interests his daughter had! He likely knew less than fathers with an illegitimate daughter they had only recently found out existed. It was deplorable but he was too guilt-ridden and afraid to do anything to fix what he had broken. After a long while of not saying anything, he finally spoke, though his words were strained yet not forced sounding. "Your- Your... Mother... Would be proud of you." It had seemed like something he ought to say but speaking of Adelaide hurt and it wasn't easy. Clearing his throat, he looked away and tried to think of other things beside his grief and ailing daughter.

Tag: Viola Words: 412
created by kay of caution and sds

[Viola Prince]

Viola was uncertain as to whether or not the expedition had been difficult to endure, but she must admit, it was no easy feat attempting to survive in the forest with minimal water supply and walking about said forest without tripping due to unseen tree roots or dead carcasses of small animals. At the latter of her thoughts, she had to attempt to resist the urge to scrounge up her face in disgust. She could still recollect the horrid aroma of decay as if it were the day before rather than a week previous, and yet, the familiar lump of bile rose in her throat at the thought of the incarcerated carcasses, and she hastily turned her attention back towards her father.

However, it would seem as if she was not meant to avoid the topic of deceased animals, and it was with reluctance that she forcibly assured her father, “None but little animals that would have done no harm if we just paid them no mind, Father. Do not you over concern yourself; believe me when I saw that I was quite out of harm’s way.” The firm edge to her voice was intentional as she wanted to thoroughly convince her father that there was nothing more to be concerned over. She was partially recovered from her illness and she was home safe and sound without so much as a faint scar from some branch or other, and those were effortlessly healed by the magic of Healers, and that was that.

At the mention of her beloved mother, Viola tore her cinnamon-brown gaze away from her father to stare at her hands in a dismal manner. Indeed, no matter how pivotal it was for her to impersonate the role of a polite and sociable woman, she could not feign her sadness at any mention of her mother before her. Sometimes the pain was so unbearable that she could not fathom life continuing her life in that moment, but it was with her siblings’ welfare in mind that she heaves herself into the independent and kind young woman she attempted to appear to society. No wonder Mathilda cannot stand my company, she thought sadly as absentmindedly picked at a loose thread in the sleeve of her cream morning gown, Whom would want to be in the company of one whom conceals their emotions?

It was in that moment when Viola realized that she and her father had one thing in common: they both were hiding their emotions, but in different manners. Viola concealed her grief in the form of appearing open and approachable to all, whilst her father committed himself to the exact opposite, and was much more reserved and stoic. We are the same, Father; we share the same grief, but yours must be greater since you loved her unconditionally, despite the many bumps in the road that would have prevented you from marrying her. However, rather than openly admit her realization, she cleared her throat to will the lump the formed in her throat to fade as she questioned in a quiet, thoughtful tone, her gaze still upon her hands that were clutching her teacup and plate, “Do you truly believe so, Father?” There was an unmistakable break in her voice.

tag: Icarus (Daddy Dearest) | outfit: here | notes: none
made by Emily exclusively for Charming

[Icarus Prince]

Don't you worry turn around, I'll still be here

Icarus wished dearly he had not brought up Adelaide. It was painful, excruciatingly painful even still. He couldn't get over her and didn't ever see a point at which he would. If only he hadn't been brewing potions that day, if only she hadn't walked in... Why? Why his Adelaide? Of all the people to die, why her and not him? He was a terrible father, he should've died instead and Adelaide would've picked up the pieces far better than he ever had. As far as the pieces were concerned, he was still laying among the fragments of his shattered existence, simply passing through life until life was done with him. The longer he waited, the more regret he felt but it was always too late to do anything.

Without warning, he buried his face in his hands. For some reason his grief was affecting him worse today, likely because the prospect of losing Viola too had rattled him. He knew he needed to change, he knew it but it was so... so difficult. "Yes," came his muffled reply. He was trying so hard to remain composed in front of his daughter but he was teetering so close to the edge that he wasn't sure he could keep his balance whether he liked it or not.

Breathing in deeply, he sat back slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't look at his daughter, dared not look for the expression he might find written on her face. He just wanted to melt and disappear, never to be seen again. He cursed his wretched existence. It wasn't fair. It was then, in that particular moment as he tried to picture her face, youthful as it had been the day he'd married her, peaceful as it had been when she uttered her last breath, that he realized he couldn't. He strained his memory but her face was gone. Yes, he had pictures of her but he couldn't bare looking at them as it broke his heart. "I can't remember what she looks like," he murmured so quietly it could've been missed if minimal attention were being paid. His hands slowly returned to his lap and he felt a lone tear ease it's way down his cheek.

Tag: Viola Words: 376
created by kay of caution and sds