Poison Ivy [Sirius Black]

IVY AND THE WIDOW

ＯＮＥ

𝕚𝕧𝕪 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕕𝕠𝕨

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"He has her eyes."

                                   "You used to like her eyes."

"I used to be able to consume dairy too."

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 𝙹𝚊𝚗𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝟺, 𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟶

SHE CLASPED THE cards firmly within her worn hands, her fatigued eyelids drawn thin, revealing mere slivers of dark hazel peeking through the narrow gaps. Her deft hands manipulated the tarot cards, their corners gliding seamlessly between her fingertips. Her lips, coated in a rich, velvety crimson, hid a small smile, peaking out the corners.

A solemn figure seemed to sink in her seat, her eyes brimming with tears that glistened like dewdrops on a fragile petal. With delicate grace, she reached for a handkerchief, lightly blotting her misted gaze. Her attention was drawn to the meticulous movements of Ivy's fingers—or Wendy as she went by here—deftly arranging a deck of cards into a neat stack. Ivy exuded an aura of carefully crafted tranquillity, emanating a gentle smile that seemed to weave a soothing spell around the weeping woman.

"They told me you can—you can get in contact with loved ones passed." The woman's voice trembled, tears slipping onto her lips. Ivy's features turned stoic, her eyes fixed on a distant point. "I just want to speak to my husband."

Widows, burdened by their grief and desperation, often proved to be the most willing benefactors. Ivy was hardly a good woman, and she wasn't one to turn down an opportunity in magic. Leaning closer, Ivy extended her hand. "Allow me to examine your palm," she intoned, her voice embracing a melodic rhythm that echoed through the room.