Pureblood Witch

November 1st
Lives in
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Cruz Bello

Last Active: Dec 2 2017, 11:50 PM
do not go gentle into that good night/rage, rage against the dying of the light.

i. they told me once, "there's a place where love conquers all"

Octavia Ianthe Angelis was born on a warm, sun-drenched day with the french doors and windows wide open to allow a cool breeze from the sea. Named Octavia, after her paternal great-grandmother, this little girl with her mother's dark hair and her father's shocking eyes was a princess from the very beginning.

Even her first baby pictures were taken with a circlet.

The Angelis family treated Octavia as if she were the sun, the stars, and all that which made the world bright. She had a tower bedroom bigger than most small houses filled with sparkly baubles and toys. In the middle was a large swing held up to the ceiling by ever-blooming flower vines, and a dollhouse with charmed dolls that spoke and moved at her bidding. Her closet was filled with princess gowns, costumes, and perfect outfits to wear to playdates, of which she had many. Other children of old money invited her to their house as a bargaining tool to win favor amongst adults, something that was later picked up by all esteemed members of Greek society; diplomatic and new money alike.

But Octavia's life was not only playtime. Her father took great interest in her education, believing that personality, strength, and ability was determined even before a child turned five. Though his methods of teaching were unconventional at best, Octavia learned to be brave, strong, and ruthless.

When he was finished with her, mother provided addendums to those lessons. Be brave - but calculating, first. If the bravery was not worth the end result, the effort is not necessary. Be strong - but read your audience. If it suited your purposes to look weak, then do so; save your strength for a moment of surprise or necessity. Be ruthless, but wrap it up in candied words. Allowing someone to believe an action was their own idea often made the orders easier - and the blame cast to them.

And of course, her mother stressed that first impressions were always made by presentation. Octavia would never be seen with scraped knees, though she may have earned quite a few. Her hair would always be in thick, shiny cocoa ringlets down her back even when a wind-blown beach day would have left them wild. She mimed her mother's greeting smiles and gracious body language.

Until, in time, manipulating the other children became just as much playtime as her dollhouse.

ii. a city with the streets full of milk and honey

But the success of every princess, or so her mother said, was the man she stood next to. Even now the world was determined by men in offices and suits; men with money, or men who courted women who had money. The right partner would undoubtedly make their woman their key advisor; the smart ones would take up the helm on issues their woman felt passionate about. Men were a mouthpiece if used by a clever woman, Octavia was taught. A useful specimen for continuing a legacy and getting one designer heel into any door.

So in addition to the lessons Octavia began to receive in languages, fine arts, and core curricula, she began to learn how to run a household. It was never a secret that one day Octavia would be the Lady of a prestigious house, nor did it really matter what house that was; only how well Octavia would do with it. At the ripe age of seven, she began to learn how to ballroom dance, how to choose table settings, choose tailors and fabrics, oversee budgets, households, how to plan parties, how to pen letters of formal invite and how to offer congratulations or condolences. Her tutor taught her how to speak in the languages of her guests; her mother taught her how to wield those words far mightier than the sword.

Once again, Octavia used her friends to practice; older playdates used now to competitively place child against child to see who held the best parties, who charmed the most adults through intelligent conversation in flawless, accentless diction, and which parents were in talks about unions between their sons and daughters.

But one day out of nowhere - for it was not on her mama's schedule - a very handsome man arrived with a briefcase. He wasn't Greek, Octavia knew that for sure. His dialect was accented, his coloration wasn't quite the right shade of proper olive, and he most certainly did not greet her mother with the appropriate attention her status deserved. In fact, he refused to talk business with her in the room. It infuriated Astra enough to not send Octavia away when she whirled through the door and tried to listen.

Both teacher and student, collecting information.

iii. all I know is a hopeless place that flows with the blood of my kin

That meeting would form the path of Octavia's life from the moment the strange man with the shiniest shoes walked back through their foyer and into the balmy day. Her father was a merciless negotiator with exact knowledge of what his wife expected through an arranged marriage and enough love for his daughter to add a few loopholes. The boy was her age, older by a few months, and pure Greek - one of her mother's checkpoints. Though he has lost his family tragically - whatever that meant - he was being raised by a well-to-do Greek family who would continue his education of Greek pride and nationalism. Another check. Both Patroklos and this man - Mikheil? Definitely not Greek - would be putting a pre-determined sum into an account for Octavia's life every year from now until she turned eighteen, upon which the union would be completed. It would be more than enough to purchase an estate, hire a staff, decorate it the way Octavia pleased, and pay for the wedding itself - undoubtedly the most lavish event of the year. If for whatever reason, Octavia decided to break the contract, it would be permittable with the return of the reverse dowry but must be done before the marriage document was signed. His name was Lysander Kostas, and she was provided a picture.

He would do, the precocious eight-year-old had said upon a mere glance at curls and green eyes. Kostas meant steady/stable, which wasn't all that exciting but flowed nicely with her name. Octavia Ianthe Kostas.

And so it began.

Periodically Octavia would write letters to her new fiancee, mere wishes for happy holidays or a small token for his birthday. Little details trickled down from that Drakos family that hosted him, each fact written in a list at the back of her diary but otherwise barely paid mind. It was not his specific details that she needed to know just yet.

Instead, the focus became her continued education. Upon turning eleven and receiving her letters of invite to schools, Octavia's parents informed her that there was no Greek school of magic and thus, no all-Greek staff at any of the places she might have gone. It was unacceptable for her to be taught by professors of lesser caliber when her parents could just purchase her tutors who were the best in their fields <i>and</i> Greek. So Octavia stayed home, learning how to brew potions, transfigure teacups, charm feathers, recite the epics, and cast offensive and defensive spells. She learned to care for various different plants used for potions specifically, could identify poisons even hidden in drinks, and memorized the basics of any magical creatures she might feasibly come into contact with.

It wasn't until Octavia was fifteen that her fiancee became a real boy instead of an overhanging idea.

iv. but nothing here is as it seems

To be honest, meeting Lysander - now firmly told to call him 'Siraj', which was strange - was a waste of their time. They were to be married, which provided them with a lifetime to learn just how much they would irritate the other. Perhaps it was Siraj's mother's idea, expecting them to sit and talk for hours and fall in love. Octavia knew how much an arranged marriage bothered her. Helena, she believed it was. Or perhaps it was Octavia's father, just making sure Octavia did not find an obvious aspect of this boy repugnant. The meeting itself was wildly uninformative; her sharp eyes scanning over a boy who more or less fit the picture she had received at eight, surly expressions at home on his face. That was fine. She abhorred the fake smiles and leering rake of eyes over her prettiest dresses and could work with taciturn and unfriendly.

The aftermath, of course, was a new type of education her mother had been saving. Thus far her lessons had been how her husband might be useful; how she could manipulate her husband into pleasing her/doing her bidding. Apparently the other side of the coin was also true. All but locked in her tower ala Rapunzel, Octavia did not have much experience in the newest tactic to get her husband to do as she wanted: Pleasing a Man 101. She'd read the novels, of course. Color had been bright and warm on her cheeks as she read the ways a woman might find euphoria from a pirate or a Robin Hood in books that didn't seem very anatomically correct. She had not, however, felt it herself.

It was best, her mother started, to keep herself pure in the traditional sense for her husband. It showed a dedication and a respect that men would not often find. However, it was not helpful to be fumbling and uneducated on the basic principles of male pleasure, and as long as neither of them told Octavia's father, it was time for her to learn.

A guided sexual awakening manufactured by one's mother was about as mortifying as you'd expect, but she did learn. There were, shockingly, multitudes of instructional books on nearly any sexual act she had ever imagined - and many she'd never thought of too. And, just like she had when she learned how to look while playing with toddlers, claim the most playdates while a child, and win over adults with her cheeky innocence as a young teenager, Octavia learned how to keep her husband interested.

v. the shores bend and break for her; and she begs to be loved

When Octavia was deemed prepared to take her NEWTs and join the world as an adult, her father made the decision that she would have one year of schooling at the same institution of her promised. She arrived in a flurry on the night of a Halloween ball just a few hours before her birthday and celebrated with a magical evening of sharp, teasing words and large hands on her waist.

He hadn't been happy to find her there, ultimately. They butted heads again and again until something began to change, shifting in infinitesimal pieces until the iceberg sunk. She wasn't really sure what it was, to be honest, but there were little moments that turned into big things.

He called her vasilissa, and eventually, it became an endearment.

His friends grew to love her, and though she didn't necessarily need it, were protective of her.

When she was sick, he snuck in to care for her.

When he touched her, she felt like he coaxed the sun into shining under her skin.

When one of his friends got hurt, Octavia saw just how much he needed gentle hands in his life.

Somewhere in their numerous talks, challenges, fights, and make ups, she'd fallen in love with him.

So when they began to talk about their future and the requirements placed upon them, there were some questions he'd asked that she didn't know how to answer without regurgitating what her parents had trained her to be her entire life. She was to be a wife; she was to throw the best parties, head several successful foundations and charities, run a perfect household, and have babies. It had never occurred to her to want something more - and so he taught her to be ravenous.

When they graduated, Octavia was solid in her decision that she would become a lawyer. The skillset she had developed most in her life included the ability to read people, to collect information and make connections, and to coax truth from people who didn't necessarily plan on giving it. She had a presence every time she walked into the room; why shouldn't she use it on something valuable? Something more than decorating their house and waiting for him to come home every day? Something more than popping out children?

That wasn't to say she didn't want children with him. She did, very much.

So they planned for their future by taking it by the horns and deciding what they were going to do, not what their parents decided for them. He gave her a ring filled with the night sky and they both set off for their respective careers, spending the evenings together like a real couple and not those with arranged marriages. She was empowered.

She was happy.

vi. perhaps hopeless isn't a place; nothing but a state of mind

Unfortunately, that didn't last.

Incensed that the arrangement had been willingly broken by both parties, Octavia's parents laid down some ultimatums that Tavi decided to ignore. For the most part, Octavia thought they were surprised that she and Siraj had pushed back; thought they might leave her alone given that in the end, they would get what they wanted.

Except, Octavia found that her home did not have the strong foundation she thought it did. One day she came home from the office to find the lights off; the flat silent.

The closet empty.

His toiletries were gone from the bathroom; his trinkets dusted away from their shelves and surfaces. Any sense of 'male' had disappeared from the apartment completely - even his scent. Even the flowers he had surprised her with a few evenings previous. The apartment had been cleaned with something that smelled of lemon; the sheets washed and pillows fluffed until there was nothing of him left.

Nothing but the ring on her finger.

Naturally, this devastated Octavia. She'd seen her entire future in his bright eyes; had dreamed of children with his riotous black curls on a beach they planned owning. There had never been a fantasy of their future where he wasn't by her side.

Octavia tried calling. Texting. Owling. She interrogated his friends for information; his family. She questioned why he left - she begged him to come back. She grew angry.

And all the while she waited for him to come home.

Eventually her parents decided enough was enough and started planning for her future while she was reeling, lost and empty as her plans were abruptly erased once again. She knew what they wanted - but she couldn't be that daughter anymore. Still, no matter how many times she told them how much she still loved Raj, they told her she would get over it.

Like he was a cold.

Meeting her new fiancee was a terrible affair. He looked the way she'd always anticipated her bethrothed to look - aristocratic, all smooth lines and perfect attire, accessorized by a silver tongue and appropriate career. He would have been everything she had wanted before she'd rubbed up against rough edges; before she'd tasted the wild.

She had nothing to give him.

So Octavia threw herself into work with a vengeance, chasing after the fire that filled her when she tore someone down in court and proved them wrong. It was all she had, because every other moment there wasn't even the flicker of a flame.

Everything was just cold - but this was her life now. She did the bare minimum she had to and that was all she could muster. Sometimes she felt guilt - most of the time, she just let it go.
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