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FROST-SPIKES HUNG off the window sill like a phantom's glassy fingers. The sweet smell of Christmas ghosts through the room, mixing with the cinnamon scents.
Rosalie stared down at her street, each house covered in a blanket of thick white snow, with the faint sight of Christmas lights and decorations peeking out from under their snowcaps.
She gazed down the street, the world a moonscape of white. It was Christmas, her favourite time of the year, yet her mind kept drifting to the reveal of her true parentage. It felt as though Jack Frost's fangs have bitten deep into the flesh and blood of her aura, leaving it clay-cold and drained.
Rosalie had visited the Tonks Household for Christmas Eve lunch with Remus and Sirius also joining; the discussion over her parentage a prominent yet a somewhat comfortable topic.
It had been a perfect day, her aunt had one of the kindest souls she'd ever had the pleasure of meeting. Andromeda had told her countless times that she'd love Narcissa. . . that the pair of them were extremely close until she married Ted and contact was forbidden.
Her tiger cub snored heavily as she rested in the crevasses of her legs. Rosalie smiled at the sight, her mind temporarily freeing her from the raging thoughts consuming it.
She crept downstairs into the living room, covering herself with a knit blanket she stared into the fire. It crackled and spat before hissing into life with magic. Its radiant light stole away the velvet-black shadows dancing on the wall as flames of rainbow-orange licked hungrily at the chimney.
Rosalie turned to gleam up at the Christmas tree content. It was beautiful. The tree flashed and flickered with dazzling lights. A glowing star perched on the top, glittering with its flash-silver lustre. A single candle twinkled merrily in the window.
The star-flash of tinsel glittering brightly, the bright white morning sunshine reflecting off it. The old and beloved ornaments, complemented by a cascading array of indigo and silver ones.
The scatter piles of presents beneath wrapped in glistening papers and ribbons. Whilst the three stockings on the fireplace mantel hung full of surprises.
Yet, the beauty of Christmas couldn't rid the shameful thoughts consuming the petite blonde's mind. She was a Malfoy by blood. . . no matter what she told herself she was one of them by birthright.
She wanted to desperately meet them, now knowing she was their daughter. But once again, the one thing holding her back was their prominence in society and the countless differing views and opinions on them.
