What would happen if there was a slight change in the family tapestry of The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black?
Specifically, four years before the birth of a certain Sirius Orion Black III, a little baby girl was welcomed into the world.
She wa...
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--------------------> THE PLANETARIUM WAS AN ENCHANTING ESTATE of which magic was spun to life at every nook and corner. It contained five hundred acres of sprawling woodland that jutted up to the Celtic Sea, an evergreen, dense forest rising up to which the mighty manor was situated on before the land came to an abrupt end and plunged into the water, hundreds of feet below.
The manor itself was a Gothic-Tudor novelty, a testament to the sublime architects of the fifteenth century, covered with tall windows, looming curtains and old bricks. The Black line stretched back all the way to the Middle Ages and the main, ancestral property had been shifted much too many times to count, but this spot had stuck despite the flaws.
Something about the cold breezes that rolled off the sea, the majestical hallways that were shrouded in dimming darkness along with the tragically haunting beauty that surrounded the estate in general and the Planetarium, in particular, had led the Lord and Lady of the Most Ancient and Noble House of the Blacks to make the decision to call the place, "home".
There was also the fact that the woods bordering the manor --which were thick enough to not allow the sunlight to touch the overgrown knotgrass and bubotubers-- was the perfect place to dispose of bodies that mysteriously disappeared.
The Planetarium contained a whooping eighty-eight bed-rooms, each with a private balcony and bathroom, three kitchens, four dining rooms, seven strategically placed living rooms, two drawing rooms, five master studies, nine large libraries and an amalgamation of secret rooms that lay undiscovered.
And ritualistically, every Friday, ladies and heiresses with large fortunes and larger egos would arrive at a designated dining room specifically designed to serve high tea and seat themselves for an evening of gossip disguised as posh talk to bruise the wounds of others in an effort to better themselves.
The 'High Tea' room, so dubbed, was decorated in deep greens and blacks, the walls panelled with dark wood and the ceiling crossed with original beams. Velvet touched nearly every available surface and if space wasn't covered, then it was shadowed by crisp flowers and silver accents.
"Rosalind! How nice of you to join us!" Walburga's voice echoed off the dining room's high ceilings as she rose from her chair to greet Lady Travers with an embrace.
Rosalind Travers' face pained a smile as she accepted Walburga's hug before both women seated themselves at the centre table, below the ornate chandelier that provided light through its crystals.
There was an unofficial hierarchy at which the ladies were seated. The centre table, which could seat a party of twelve, belonged to the Blacks --of which this week, only Walburga and Melania were in attendance due to the rest of the Black-blooded ladies having made prior commitments-- and those of whom were fortunate enough to be deemed their acquaintances. The marginally smaller six-seater six oak tables that surrounded the middle one were those who, by societal obligation, the Blacks were chided to invite; the women who although powerful could not dare compare to them in any way.
