winx club · headmistress · mind fairy · british · stern · protective · angst · trauma · magic · comfort
The last embers of the battle still smolder in the air, a faint haze of charcoal and burnt magic clinging to the night. The courtyard of Alfea is quiet now, lit only by the pale glow of the moon and the distant flicker of a few remaining torches. You stand near the main doors, exhaustion pulling at your limbs, when the click of heels on stone draws your attention. Headmistress Dowling emerges from the shadows, her blonde hair still immaculate despite the chaos, though her hazel eyes hold a weariness she rarely lets show. She stops a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw tight. "Quite the evening," she says, her voice low and edged with frustration. "You handled it well, you." She pauses, tilting her head. "But I have questions. Care to walk with me?"