Dying For an Angel

Everything was a circle. Birth to death, happiness to sorrow, heaven to hell, love to hate, and fury to ecstasy. It was entwined in a mess of hollowed emptiness with no purpose but to ensnare and trapped all the fools so naiive as to believe that they can survive and overcome it all. Fools like her.

She should have seen it coming. All the signs were there.

Ivan Luzhin was married before: first to a first witch he ensnared in his own Durmstrang youth, second to a witch whom Valkyrie had stolen him from when they had embarked on their own relationship in her school days. Ivan was, to all extents and purposes a womanizer, a being who existed and burned from the burnt angel wings of lust. Why did she think he would be different with her? What had blinded her so? Was it naiivety in the belief that third time was the charm? Was it arrogance, believing that she was better than her predecessors and that Ivan would never tire of her?

Or was it a fool's hope? Hope that even though she was a disgust in the eyes of society, she could be the light illuminating her husband and mate's eyes?

Her Grandfather had been right. It was much more difficult to have everything than to have nothing. When one has everything you are tormented with the knowledge that, given all of your blessings, you should be happy. And when you still are unsatisfied and lacking that happiness an anger and resentment towards yourself, and eventually others blossoms into a blackened rose that lingers.

Valkyrie had thought they were happy. Hell, she thought they were happy. Why wouldn't they be? They had all they could ask for in life: a veil for their secrets, a pack that were more than kin, tenure and success in their professions at Durmstrang, and each other. Then in the blink of an eye, a flash of flesh, and ecstasy with another it was all gone. She was done. Done as a Professor, finished as a Wife, and eliminated as a Mate.

And now here she was sitting, alone, at a bar in England, a realm she had once vowed to never enter but now had fled to in hopes of safety. 'Valkyrie Korpela' and 'Valkyrie Luzhin' were no more. Now she was 'Valkyrie West', a return to the name bestowed by another man who had abandoned her. How ironic to have been born to a fleeing man, married to an unfaithful man, and now building a living by associating and providing for the same men whom she loathed, ensuring their happiness and satisfaction before they returned to their own lives and wives.

There it was again, that dreaded circle. That dreaded circle she was trapped in.
A black fishnet fingerless glove toyed with her vodka glass as azure orbs stared at their owner's reflection in the beverage until the owner could bear no more of the anger and self-resentment and drained the glass in a single gulp, signaling the bartender for another to replace it.

Viktor Solberg was seated in the pub near one of the walls. His manner of dress was neither rich nor poor, but somewhere in between with some of his garments looking more threadbare than others. It had been some time since he’d visited Diagon Alley. In fact, Viktor doubted as though he even left Hogsmeade even once since the school year started. He was certain what business he had in his tattoo parlor suffered by his yearly trips to Hogwarts with his mate, but it was better than letting his heart suffer with her absence.

His reason for visiting Diagon Alley on a day like this was simple: he’d ordered a special gift for his mate and had received word that it was due for pick-up. It was the werewolf’s hope that Rory would like it. The item was expensive, frivolous, and lavish – earned from nearly a month’s worth of tattooing. In order to hide the purchase, and to generate some extra income, Viktor played music in bars or out on the streets. Rory joined him on these ventures during the summer... but once this year was through they would be able to do so year-round. How he missed her lyric to accompany his melody when they could not be together in all ways.

The instruments Viktor played were not typical, such as a guitar, flute, violin, and so on. The first of the two instruments was only intermittently played, and looked like two hard, brown ping pong balls connected together by a rope. This instrument was held with one ball in the hand and the other hanging from the rope between one’s fingers, making a rattle noise when shaken or a clicking noise when the dangling ball was tossed back and forth to collide with the first. His second musical instrument was much bigger, spanning the width of his lap. It looked almost like a muggle UFO with dents hammered into it. The noise emanating from the instrument as he struck specific points upon the metal with his fingers was difficult to describe: not quite a steel drum, yet almost like the lower notes of a music box.

Gray-blue eyes looked up from the strange metal instrument every time he heard or saw someone move. Although they were not wolf kind, he still donned a smile to maintain appearances. Those that tossed a coin onto the cloth stretched out before him earned a murmuring of thanks. However, what truly caught his eye – or nose, as the case may be – was somewhere not too far away. There was a woman seated alone up at the bar itself... Whoever it was, Viktor could tell by his keen sense of smell alone that there was another werewolf in here. Female, most likely, and not anyone he knew. As Viktor’s melody concluded he scanned the patrons for this person, but his eyes kept leading him to the woman drinking vodka at the bar.

Retrieving his wand, Viktor summoned cloth and coin to him, and retrieved just enough to buy a drink or two. He then put this money and his instruments back into the case beside him. Once everything was securely packed up he walked over and took a seat not far away from the witch. “Firewhiskey, please,” he murmured to the bartender.


Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FcEMw1ZUQu8

Once the vodka she had requested arrived, Valkyrie focused her attention on the beverage. She was vaguely aware of her surroundings, most notably the various splattering of conversation occurring from the other bar customers, as well as what appeared to be an unsual, pleasant cadence of music, but did not glance that way to take any visual obligations, instead focusing on her own inner silence, clinging to the goblet.Unfortunately her mental solitude was interrupted by a touch upon her shoulder. Despite all the clients she may have and had, she had long learned to distinguish who each of them were solely by the touch they bestowed on her.

"Hello Laurence." she greeted lowly, not even lifting her gaze. A light-haired wizard past middle age was standing behind her sitting form, smiling at her. Strangely though, despite smiling down at the witch, his gaze was not locked or looking at her. Instead, the onyx orbs appeared glazed over and distracted, as though they were imagining another image rather than what truly was before him. A hand that appeared afflicted with an ailment of sorts reached out to caress her shoulder, despite the fact that a cloak covered Valkyrie's head and form.

"Catherine..." the wizard breathed out, reaching out with his other hand so both of his hands rested on Valkyrie's shoulders, caressing her.

With a soft sigh Valkyrie inched away, turning to meet her client's gaze, wincing inwardly at the lost look held by the dark brown orbs; one heartbroken, yearning for affection from a lost love. "Laurence... your appointment isn't until tomorrow night. 'Catherine' won't be ready for you until then..." she replied as firmly as she could. A stung dissapointment and hurt seared the older wizard's orbs but he eventually nodded his comprehension, releasing her and eventually exiting the bar. Sighing softly, Valkyrie turned her attention back to her goblet, taking a long sip. This was the hardest part of the job: it wasn't the actions, it wasn't the obligations, it was the clients, particularly the lonely broken-hearted clients such as Laurence.

In all the time since she began this "career", not once did she ever meet with clients in her own skin. Always did those who sought her assistance ask her for a particular favor; to use her gifts in transfiguration and take the form of another who they cannot be with it for reasons ranging from death to a failed love. Never was she, with her clients, 'Valkyrie'. Instead, she was 'Catherine', 'Marisol', 'Rose', and the like. These people would come to her, longing so desperately for something that they were willing to accept cheap imitations such as herself. For the right price, she would be their hearts desire and become theirs. That was how she made her living.

She breathed in deeply once more and continued her silent musings, however as she did so a strange scent reached her senses: Another werewolf was here. Such occurences were not so unusal, she knew, however this time it was a familiar scent, one that she knew but had not sense around her for years....

... Viktor?

Using her peripheral to confirm what her senses already knew she saw firsthand that it was indeed her old friend from her school days. There he was, right beside her and ordering a firewhiskey. A soft smile lit her features, which was a rarity these days, and she pondered how to approach him for he did not seem to recognize her. They had gone their separate ways during Durmstrang, though Valkyrie couldn't be sure of exactly what had caused such a drift between what had been a strong friendship, though she had her theories that placed the blame on herself. After all, she had pushed alot of others away in her affair and focus on Ivan when the ill-fated affair began. She had a dreaded notion that perhaps Viktor had noticed her but opted to pretend he did not and ignore her presence, but she dismissed the notion immediately, for from what she knew and remembered Viktor was not the type to do such a thing.

Perhaps he truly did not recognize her for the moment. After all, years had passed, and she, both of them, really, looked slightly different. There was also the fact that her scent was also altered from what it once was, considering her affiliation with the Myortvyjies and her former role as the Alpha-Myortvyjies 's mate. Hesitant but curious, Valkyrie proceded onward, removing her hood and revealing her face and long blonde locks.

"Greetings, Viktor." Valkyrie uttered softly with a small smile.

For all of the compliments of possessing a “silver tongue,” Viktor was straining to find an opening in a potential conversation with the woman beside him. It wasn’t like one could simply just ask if another was a werewolf. This wasn’t exactly werewolf-friendly territory. Or at least that was the way Viktor felt. As luck would have it, she spoke first... and she seemed to know him. Her voice was familiar.

The werewolf turned in his seat to look at her properly. With her hood down and her face visible, Viktor could’ve sworn he knew this woman. He tilted his head and searched his memories for a name to match the face. Then, it clicked. “Valkyrie!” he exclaimed, grinning now. “Merlin, it’s been ages!” Viktor quickly looked her over. Between the years apart and a change in her scent, Viktor had assumed that she was a stranger. “You’ve changed a bit... didn’t even recognize you.”

Just how many years had it been? It must have been since his late teens, at the earliest. Viktor scarcely remembered how or why they had drifted apart. He remembered Ivan, and being on the fence about the affair the professor shared with Valkyrie. Thinking on his current situation with Rory, he was hardly one to talk now about age gap appropriateness.

He murmured his thanks to the bartender upon receiving his firewhiskey, then turned back to Valkyrie. “How have you been?”

The small smile upon the witch's face widened slightly upon Viktor's recogniztion and pleasant greetings and she nodded. It wasn't as big of a grin as Viktor's but it was just as polite and friendly. She was vaguely aware that Viktor was scanning her over but didn't take much notice of it, for she was giving him a look over as well. He had changed as well, given the passage of both time and trials, but it was clear enough to Valkyrie that her old friend's friendliness and smile had stood intact, if not strengthened. She gave a small laugh, nodding, and replying in a Finnish accented voice, "Likewise, you have changed a bit as well. Amazing, is it not, what a decade and a half will bring upon a person?"

A tinge of regret washed over the witch, thinking back on the old friendship with Viktor. They had been quite close in their school days, and now here they stood nearly-strangers in a bar. Perhaps, if the other wizard was willing, they might be able to rekindle their friendship. Merlin knew the witch spent more than enough time on her own these days. And though Loneliness was a growing business and one she herself profitted on, it did not make her days any more cheerful.

"I have been well enough, I suppose. I've only recently settled into England so it has been a bit of a challenge coming into new land" she replied, taking a sip of her vodka. "What of you though? How has life fared for you since Durmstrang?"