Trust me when I say,
I won’t harm you for nothing but do not to get in my way.
Often mistaken for the devil in disguise. Always on the lookout for my next prey.
Nor am I evil nor perfecly good. There must be balance. I am just misunderstood.
Here’s to then, here’s to now. Wake up, breath in the crisp air as you whisper welcome. Welcoming the season where everything starts to wither. To fall, to decay, cease to be. Listen as the trees outside prepare for a deep slumber, some might even prepare for death. The world bears itself for us, as a last hurrah. Unraveling, falling apart. Yet, we carry on. So carry on.
The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though Doxys had gnawed it in places. Nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show them a sprawling family tree dating back (as far as Harry could tell) to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black 'Toujours pur’.