The halls of Ravenclaw residence felt out of place that evening. All the lights burned brighter, all the shadows reached further, all the soft sounds felt important. On the preceding day to the wedding ceremony, the air was heavy, with tension and expectation. The servants bustled but gently, keeping their heads bent, in case their movements would spoil the night's tenuous mood.
Evelyn sat in front of the mirror in her room, still with hands in her lap. The dress she wore shone softly in the candlelight, silver stitching sewn into black so dark it looked like night sky. She touched the hem of it absently, her thoughts not on how beautiful she looked.
It was meant to be a celebratory night, a coming together kind of evening. Her heart felt strained, though. She could feel the anger that huddled around her like wolves waiting in the shadows. Rumors were heard of elders refusing to attend, of friends who readied their weapons in silence, of eyes that looked with malice, not love.
