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[20 Oct 2008|06:49pm] |
Through everything he'd ever done and known, he had a hard time staring down his own reflection anymore. There were many reasons for this. He knew outwardly things had changed. He was aged, and worn. Dominic had never found himself particularly attractive though, but he knew there were certain attributes that made him who he was. He had his own redeeming quality. There could be something about the shape of his eye, the shadow of the color, or the curve of his lips, that managed despite a rough exterior to pull women in if he wanted. Those days were gone though. He had no interest in a companion anymore. Now, he only trusted the edge of his tongue and the words he could produce, the sway his timbre had, and his knowledge. He valued himself and relied on only himself. By all means, that didn't mean he liked who he was, but he saw that as irrelevant.
His hand ached, it wasn't anything new. It was an old injury from a time long gone, at least in comparison to the years of the youth that walked the halls of Hogwarts. The healers at St. Mungo's had never found a way to fix him, and though they did not confide in their concerns, they believed the pain might have been in his head all along. It didn't help with his work. A steady hand was needed for precise measurements. He got by though. He could not recognize the mental aspect of this injury, that maybe these phantom pains had more to do with the guilt that he felt than he allowed himself to realize. His quill in his bedroom was left untouched for days, and though it was light outside, there was only the dim flicker of a few candles in the smoke filled room as he was sitting in. He was bent over a book, but his eyes were glazed, and his painless hand scrunched at the nape of his neck, where it was tangled in his own dark locks of hair.
An hour till his last Potion's class of the day, and then he'd have the solitude he'd need to focus on his writing. Just a few more hours.
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