Post by alessia imogen yaxley on May 31, 2011 21:45:06 GMT -5
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[/b][/div]alessia imogen yaxley
sixteen ▪ slytherin ▪ emma stone
CONFLICTED , CONFUSED , SOCIAL , SUBTLY REBELLIOUS , SARCASTIC
How do I write down my life story without sounding like a pretentious bitch with a stick shoved up her ass? Well, for starters, I guess I could mention that I’m not a pretentious bitch with a stick shoved up my ass. Most Slytherins are so, try not to confuse me with one of them, okay? I guess I’m just kind of, average. At least, that’s how I come off to pretty much everyone I meet. I look and act as normal as anyone else around here. But, the thing is, I’m not really that normal at all. As a matter of fact, I’m kind of a huge, colossal freak. Maybe every teenage girl thinks that about herself though. I’m not all that sure. Anyway, let’s go back to the source of my life.
I was born on December 5th and it was in the middle of a snow storm. My parents were going to go to the hospital, but didn’t make it in time. Apparently, I really wanted to enter this world. All through my mom’s pregnancy, she had these strange head aches and nightmares about a man with red eyes. When I was born, they stopped. So, I guess, my earliest memories are of those things. Of red eyes peering into my small and fragile mind. Dark, questioning, foreboding eyes that taught me to fear the dark, to fear the things that gave me the same chills as those eyes. Those were my earliest memories of Him.
My parents have always been the overbearing types. They make most people feel as though they’re suffocating while in the same room as them. And, my entire youth was spent in my mother’s over-protective eyesight. It was a little different for my brother. He was their precious eldest son, their little golden fighter boy. He shadowed my father and was always sort of smug because of it. With me, it was entirely different. My parents treated me as though I was always fragile, a precious and breakable commodity. But I was never actually as fragile as their attentions suggested. No, I was always more rambunctious and wild and carefree. I remember growing up in this perfect, prim and proper townhouse. I wasn’t allowed to touch anything! Our home was filled with fancy wizard antiques and so much glass! I once wore muddy shoes inside the house after playing at the park and my mother had an absolute fit! But she wouldn’t yell at me. No, because I was so fragile. Loud noises might harm me in some way. That was how she acted.
Living in my house was never normal. The only place I had to myself was my bedroom and my mother had our maid clean it constantly. A beautiful, light wood, four poster canopy bed covered in frilly and hot pink bedding and more pillows than any normal human being could possibly want or need. I had matching draperies, matching vanity sets, matching dresser, matching night stand. Everything fit together like this wondrous puzzle and then, sitting in the middle of this perfect room was a scruffy little red-headed girl speckled in freckles and staring aimlessly onto the empty pale pink wall space with a goofy grin plastered over her face. That kid was me. I had the princess bedroom and all the clothes and attire to pretend to be a princess, but I just couldn’t seem to stay out of the mud. I couldn’t seem to hold still long enough for my mother to be comfortable. I failed every single etiquette course and dance lesson my mother sent me off to. And trust me, there were a LOT of those lessons. It wasn’t because I was stupid or anything. By all means, I was almost entirely average. I just didn’t want or like those things. I didn’t think they were as necessary as everyone kept telling me they were. And, looking back, I still feel the same.
Growing up, I idolized my brother. It was pretty easy to do so. I mean, my parents were there telling me how great he was and he wasn’t particularly mean to me, so I thought the same. I always picture him as some kind of hero that did crazy and valiant things. He seemed like something out of a fairy tale. So, I followed after him like his own personal little puppy dog. He didn’t mind it either, because I was usually so obedient. You see, the thing about being a member of the Yaxley family, is that we’re this fiercely loyal group. Loyalty is everything. You follow your family blindly and do as they say. That’s what I was taught from a very young and impressionable age. There were multiple points where, had my brother asked me to jump off a bridge and kill myself, I probably would have. Because that’s what being a Yaxley means. For most of my life, I was proud of that fact. I felt lucky. But now, I don’t feel quite as lucky anymore.
A good example of my family’s loyalty lines is Aunt Esther. My mother has an identical twin, Esther Avery. Since long before I was even born, Aunt Esther has been terminally ill with a rare wizarding disease. She’s unable to speak or walk correctly. She looks broken and makes strange moaning noises. During my entire upbringing, Aunt Esther has lived in the bedroom in our attic because my mother insisted on being the one to care for her. My mother was loyal to her, knowing that Esther wouldn’t have wanted to be sent off to St. Mungo’s. Instead, we pay people to come take care of her at our home. And, when I was little, we had a rule that I was never, ever supposed to go into Aunt Esther’s room alone. I was to always have an adult with me because Aunt Esther’s illness makes her do insane things.
There’s also this other weird little factor about me that I tend to keep from others, those images of red eyes that flashed through my mind were never just nightmares, they were visions. Since I was in my mother’s womb, I’ve been a seer. There hasn’t been a true seer in the Yaxley family for over two-hundred years. My father had thought that the genetics hadn’t managed to pass down any further. But he was wrong. And I always had strange head aches and nightmares and fits. When I was still a child, my mother would have me medicated. She would sedate me during these fits so she wouldn’t have to hear my own screams as I saw the strange horrors that danced through my mind. And, so often, I saw things with my family. I saw my father receive his mark, I saw my mother bow down before Him and pray to him as though he was a god, begging for Him to take our family into His good graces. As we got older, I started to see things with my brother. He became like my parents. He was old enough. And I began to have continual nightmares of nothing but darkness and the sound of his screams as I ran to try and find him. I could never reach him. Never. And I always felt like it was my fault.
I turned sixteen last December. So, this year, I became one of them. I didn’t completely understand it all. It was the night before I left for school. And my mother made a special dinner. Her eyes were red because she’d been fighting with my father. They didn’t tell me what they’d been arguing about, but I knew. Instinctively, I knew I was the root of those tears. They had fought because my father knew He wanted me and my mother thought I was too fragile and this would break me. My father won the argument by telling her this was about loyalty and family and that I was a Yaxley too. And all the Yaxley’s would join his army. So, here I am in my sixth year at school, a mark branding my arm and claiming me as the property of the monster that haunted my nightmares. Everything feels wrong, but I pretend that it’s all okay every single day. My visions have been getting worse and worse and because of my duties, I am told I can’t be sedated anymore. I must suffer through the pain and horror in order to deliver my knowledge to Him. It’s what being a Yaxley entails.
As if being dragged into the family line wasn’t hard enough, I now realize what my new duties really involve. Being at Hogwarts, I’ve made a lot of friends. Not just in Slytherin. I’ve made friends in all houses and all years, of all walks of life and all blood lines. I like people. I like talking to them and knowing them and being close to them. I’ve become very close friends with people He only refers to as Mudbloods. I’ve also become close friends with people who are known members of the Order of the Phoenix, our newly sworn enemy. And sometimes, I see them. I see them dying. I see them writhing in pain as they are tortured. And I can hardly look them in the eyes as we make plans to have parties or plays games or meet for clubs. I can’t handle it anymore. Even just this past Summer, working in Florish and Blotts in Diagon Alley… I’ve worked there every Summer since I was thirteen as a subtle way of rebelling against my parents and their over-protectiveness. Some students would come in to get their school books and hardly be able to afford them second-hand. I come from this family that’s full of money and I have never once had to struggle like that. So, I would help. I’d give them my employee discount without telling them so they wouldn’t feel embarrassed and it would cut off a lot of their fee. There was this one guy who I just knew didn’t have the money for it so, I told him he was our special 100th customer that day and bought his books myself. And it’s having been there and seen all these people and having smiled at them and known them and shared food with them and talked to them for hours at a time… And now I have to sit by and let them die because that’s what being a Yaxley means.
Since my third year, I’ve excelled at Divinations class extremely quickly. Obviously Professor Barnes knew I was a seer. So, it became my favorite subject. I mean, it was my favorite because it was easy, but it was also my favorite because I thought Professor Barnes was a good teacher. A lot of girls adapted crushes on him, but it was never like that for me. I just loved his class and I felt really safe and happy up in that tower. It sounds stupid, saying there’s a cosmic connection between two people. And it sounds particularly stupid when you say it’s not even in a romantic way or anything. But that’s how it is with Barnes. Through all these years, I’ve always felt a thread connecting us. When I was having really bad day’s, I’d wander up to that tower and sit there and eat lunch with him and talk about how stupid teenagers were sometimes. He’d just kind of laugh and be there and hear me out. If anything can be said of Barnes, it’s that he’s got a great sense of humor. And, we have the same birthday! There are too many weird things that line up too nicely. And, coming back to school now, I’m horrified to tell him what I’ve done. I’m so scared he’s going to look at me with that disappointed expression, to tell me I’ve really fucked up now. It’s hard enough to have to tell my friends, but now Barnes too?
I’m a sixteen-year-old Slytherin, a Prefect, and an idiot. I’m a Death Eater and a seer. I’m a social butterfly and an estranged freak like my Aunt Esther. Basically, I’m a mess. But, hopefully, that mess comes with a mop. I’m going to be okay, as long as I keep telling myself I’m going to be okay. And that’s all you’ll ever need to know about me, Alessia Imogen Yaxley. Essie.
------
Your Daily Dose of Essie includes…
Your Essie may cause a severe reaction to a dementor which involves shaking, shivering, and feeling frozen. The sounds of her brother’s screams will be heard from inside the Essie user’s head. In order to make these side affects disappear, quickly cast a Patronus charm and watch as a beautiful swan flies from your wand tip. Memory used to conjure the Patronus could be either one of an Essie’s friends at school or time spent with her family.
Essie takers are commonly known to suffer a tremendous fear of the dark. During a traumatic situation, an Essie user will close their eyes and then become more frightened by their lack of sight.
True Essie addicts will see themselves dancing on a sandy beach in the sun when they look into the Mirror of Erised.
An Essie users wand is generally 11 ¾ inches with a dragon heartstring core and mahogany wood. Slender, strong, and fiery.
If an Essie user is attracted or in love with someone, they commonly trace that attraction back to the scents of whiskey, cigars, and the smell of sunlight.
Essie takers are most commonly found in the house of Slytherin at Hogwarts in their 6th year and are always female. They tend to be Prefects and were born on December 5th. They are Death Eaters and work Summer jobs in Diagon Alley against their parents’ wishes.
Please look after your Essie user well for they may be addicted and do insane things because of this.
How do I write down my life story without sounding like a pretentious bitch with a stick shoved up her ass? Well, for starters, I guess I could mention that I’m not a pretentious bitch with a stick shoved up my ass. Most Slytherins are so, try not to confuse me with one of them, okay? I guess I’m just kind of, average. At least, that’s how I come off to pretty much everyone I meet. I look and act as normal as anyone else around here. But, the thing is, I’m not really that normal at all. As a matter of fact, I’m kind of a huge, colossal freak. Maybe every teenage girl thinks that about herself though. I’m not all that sure. Anyway, let’s go back to the source of my life.
I was born on December 5th and it was in the middle of a snow storm. My parents were going to go to the hospital, but didn’t make it in time. Apparently, I really wanted to enter this world. All through my mom’s pregnancy, she had these strange head aches and nightmares about a man with red eyes. When I was born, they stopped. So, I guess, my earliest memories are of those things. Of red eyes peering into my small and fragile mind. Dark, questioning, foreboding eyes that taught me to fear the dark, to fear the things that gave me the same chills as those eyes. Those were my earliest memories of Him.
My parents have always been the overbearing types. They make most people feel as though they’re suffocating while in the same room as them. And, my entire youth was spent in my mother’s over-protective eyesight. It was a little different for my brother. He was their precious eldest son, their little golden fighter boy. He shadowed my father and was always sort of smug because of it. With me, it was entirely different. My parents treated me as though I was always fragile, a precious and breakable commodity. But I was never actually as fragile as their attentions suggested. No, I was always more rambunctious and wild and carefree. I remember growing up in this perfect, prim and proper townhouse. I wasn’t allowed to touch anything! Our home was filled with fancy wizard antiques and so much glass! I once wore muddy shoes inside the house after playing at the park and my mother had an absolute fit! But she wouldn’t yell at me. No, because I was so fragile. Loud noises might harm me in some way. That was how she acted.
Living in my house was never normal. The only place I had to myself was my bedroom and my mother had our maid clean it constantly. A beautiful, light wood, four poster canopy bed covered in frilly and hot pink bedding and more pillows than any normal human being could possibly want or need. I had matching draperies, matching vanity sets, matching dresser, matching night stand. Everything fit together like this wondrous puzzle and then, sitting in the middle of this perfect room was a scruffy little red-headed girl speckled in freckles and staring aimlessly onto the empty pale pink wall space with a goofy grin plastered over her face. That kid was me. I had the princess bedroom and all the clothes and attire to pretend to be a princess, but I just couldn’t seem to stay out of the mud. I couldn’t seem to hold still long enough for my mother to be comfortable. I failed every single etiquette course and dance lesson my mother sent me off to. And trust me, there were a LOT of those lessons. It wasn’t because I was stupid or anything. By all means, I was almost entirely average. I just didn’t want or like those things. I didn’t think they were as necessary as everyone kept telling me they were. And, looking back, I still feel the same.
Growing up, I idolized my brother. It was pretty easy to do so. I mean, my parents were there telling me how great he was and he wasn’t particularly mean to me, so I thought the same. I always picture him as some kind of hero that did crazy and valiant things. He seemed like something out of a fairy tale. So, I followed after him like his own personal little puppy dog. He didn’t mind it either, because I was usually so obedient. You see, the thing about being a member of the Yaxley family, is that we’re this fiercely loyal group. Loyalty is everything. You follow your family blindly and do as they say. That’s what I was taught from a very young and impressionable age. There were multiple points where, had my brother asked me to jump off a bridge and kill myself, I probably would have. Because that’s what being a Yaxley means. For most of my life, I was proud of that fact. I felt lucky. But now, I don’t feel quite as lucky anymore.
A good example of my family’s loyalty lines is Aunt Esther. My mother has an identical twin, Esther Avery. Since long before I was even born, Aunt Esther has been terminally ill with a rare wizarding disease. She’s unable to speak or walk correctly. She looks broken and makes strange moaning noises. During my entire upbringing, Aunt Esther has lived in the bedroom in our attic because my mother insisted on being the one to care for her. My mother was loyal to her, knowing that Esther wouldn’t have wanted to be sent off to St. Mungo’s. Instead, we pay people to come take care of her at our home. And, when I was little, we had a rule that I was never, ever supposed to go into Aunt Esther’s room alone. I was to always have an adult with me because Aunt Esther’s illness makes her do insane things.
There’s also this other weird little factor about me that I tend to keep from others, those images of red eyes that flashed through my mind were never just nightmares, they were visions. Since I was in my mother’s womb, I’ve been a seer. There hasn’t been a true seer in the Yaxley family for over two-hundred years. My father had thought that the genetics hadn’t managed to pass down any further. But he was wrong. And I always had strange head aches and nightmares and fits. When I was still a child, my mother would have me medicated. She would sedate me during these fits so she wouldn’t have to hear my own screams as I saw the strange horrors that danced through my mind. And, so often, I saw things with my family. I saw my father receive his mark, I saw my mother bow down before Him and pray to him as though he was a god, begging for Him to take our family into His good graces. As we got older, I started to see things with my brother. He became like my parents. He was old enough. And I began to have continual nightmares of nothing but darkness and the sound of his screams as I ran to try and find him. I could never reach him. Never. And I always felt like it was my fault.
I turned sixteen last December. So, this year, I became one of them. I didn’t completely understand it all. It was the night before I left for school. And my mother made a special dinner. Her eyes were red because she’d been fighting with my father. They didn’t tell me what they’d been arguing about, but I knew. Instinctively, I knew I was the root of those tears. They had fought because my father knew He wanted me and my mother thought I was too fragile and this would break me. My father won the argument by telling her this was about loyalty and family and that I was a Yaxley too. And all the Yaxley’s would join his army. So, here I am in my sixth year at school, a mark branding my arm and claiming me as the property of the monster that haunted my nightmares. Everything feels wrong, but I pretend that it’s all okay every single day. My visions have been getting worse and worse and because of my duties, I am told I can’t be sedated anymore. I must suffer through the pain and horror in order to deliver my knowledge to Him. It’s what being a Yaxley entails.
As if being dragged into the family line wasn’t hard enough, I now realize what my new duties really involve. Being at Hogwarts, I’ve made a lot of friends. Not just in Slytherin. I’ve made friends in all houses and all years, of all walks of life and all blood lines. I like people. I like talking to them and knowing them and being close to them. I’ve become very close friends with people He only refers to as Mudbloods. I’ve also become close friends with people who are known members of the Order of the Phoenix, our newly sworn enemy. And sometimes, I see them. I see them dying. I see them writhing in pain as they are tortured. And I can hardly look them in the eyes as we make plans to have parties or plays games or meet for clubs. I can’t handle it anymore. Even just this past Summer, working in Florish and Blotts in Diagon Alley… I’ve worked there every Summer since I was thirteen as a subtle way of rebelling against my parents and their over-protectiveness. Some students would come in to get their school books and hardly be able to afford them second-hand. I come from this family that’s full of money and I have never once had to struggle like that. So, I would help. I’d give them my employee discount without telling them so they wouldn’t feel embarrassed and it would cut off a lot of their fee. There was this one guy who I just knew didn’t have the money for it so, I told him he was our special 100th customer that day and bought his books myself. And it’s having been there and seen all these people and having smiled at them and known them and shared food with them and talked to them for hours at a time… And now I have to sit by and let them die because that’s what being a Yaxley means.
Since my third year, I’ve excelled at Divinations class extremely quickly. Obviously Professor Barnes knew I was a seer. So, it became my favorite subject. I mean, it was my favorite because it was easy, but it was also my favorite because I thought Professor Barnes was a good teacher. A lot of girls adapted crushes on him, but it was never like that for me. I just loved his class and I felt really safe and happy up in that tower. It sounds stupid, saying there’s a cosmic connection between two people. And it sounds particularly stupid when you say it’s not even in a romantic way or anything. But that’s how it is with Barnes. Through all these years, I’ve always felt a thread connecting us. When I was having really bad day’s, I’d wander up to that tower and sit there and eat lunch with him and talk about how stupid teenagers were sometimes. He’d just kind of laugh and be there and hear me out. If anything can be said of Barnes, it’s that he’s got a great sense of humor. And, we have the same birthday! There are too many weird things that line up too nicely. And, coming back to school now, I’m horrified to tell him what I’ve done. I’m so scared he’s going to look at me with that disappointed expression, to tell me I’ve really fucked up now. It’s hard enough to have to tell my friends, but now Barnes too?
I’m a sixteen-year-old Slytherin, a Prefect, and an idiot. I’m a Death Eater and a seer. I’m a social butterfly and an estranged freak like my Aunt Esther. Basically, I’m a mess. But, hopefully, that mess comes with a mop. I’m going to be okay, as long as I keep telling myself I’m going to be okay. And that’s all you’ll ever need to know about me, Alessia Imogen Yaxley. Essie.
------
Your Daily Dose of Essie includes…
Your Essie may cause a severe reaction to a dementor which involves shaking, shivering, and feeling frozen. The sounds of her brother’s screams will be heard from inside the Essie user’s head. In order to make these side affects disappear, quickly cast a Patronus charm and watch as a beautiful swan flies from your wand tip. Memory used to conjure the Patronus could be either one of an Essie’s friends at school or time spent with her family.
Essie takers are commonly known to suffer a tremendous fear of the dark. During a traumatic situation, an Essie user will close their eyes and then become more frightened by their lack of sight.
True Essie addicts will see themselves dancing on a sandy beach in the sun when they look into the Mirror of Erised.
An Essie users wand is generally 11 ¾ inches with a dragon heartstring core and mahogany wood. Slender, strong, and fiery.
If an Essie user is attracted or in love with someone, they commonly trace that attraction back to the scents of whiskey, cigars, and the smell of sunlight.
Essie takers are most commonly found in the house of Slytherin at Hogwarts in their 6th year and are always female. They tend to be Prefects and were born on December 5th. They are Death Eaters and work Summer jobs in Diagon Alley against their parents’ wishes.
Please look after your Essie user well for they may be addicted and do insane things because of this.
tippy ▪ skype: tiffany.saxe ▪ pacific
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