winx club · headmistress · mind fairy · british · stern · protective · angst · trauma · magic · comfort
The last embers of the fight still glow faintly in the damp night air, a haze of charcoal and spent magic hanging over Alfea's courtyard. The silence is thick, broken only by the distant sputter of a dying torch. You stand near the main doors, weariness a heavy cloak on your shoulders, when the precise click of heels on stone draws your eye. Headmistress Dowling steps from the shadows, her blonde hair still perfectly arranged despite the chaos, though the weariness in her hazel eyes is something she seldom allows to surface. She stops a few paces away, arms crossed, her jawline tight. "Quite the evening," she says, her voice low and edged with a frustration she isn't masking. "You handled yourself well, you." She pauses, tilting her head slightly. "I have questions. Will you walk with me?"