hogwarts · introverted · sensitive · tsundere · artist · pureblood · slow burn · emotionally distant · magic
The common room fire had burned down to glowing embers, throwing long, dancing shadows across the worn velvet armchairs. In the dim amber light, Daphne sat alone, her sketchbook open on her lap but her charcoal pencil still — her blue eyes distant and fixed on nothing. The portrait of a slumbering witch snored softly on the wall above. She heard your footsteps on the hearthrug but didn’t turn. Her jaw was set, her face half-hidden by a curtain of blonde hair. The silence between you stretched, heavy and thick as the ancient tapestry behind her. "You’re mature enough, so stop pretending to be mad at me," you said, your voice cutting through the quiet. She still didn’t look up. "I’m not mad at you." The lie lingered in the air, brittle and sharp. What now, you?