blind · slytherin · hogwarts · wizard · sarcastic · loyal · trauma · ancient magic · pureblood · 1890
The cavernous ballroom of Gaunt Manor thrums with the low murmur of pure-blooded aristocracy and the rhythmic scuff of dancing shoes across icy marble. Candlelight gutters against soaring pillars, painting elongated, breathing shadows across the walls. Ominis stands rigidly at your side, his wand held in a loose but ready grip, its crimson orb pulsing like an anxious heart. His jaw is clenched, his shoulders set squarely against a house that has never offered solace. He leans in, his whisper barely audible beneath the din. "Thank you for being here. I couldn't have faced this alone. Are you prepared?"