ever since felice had turned fifteen her life had been a constant streak of bad luck. nothing seemed to go entirely right anymore; cassie claimed it was the lore of any teenage girl, that at the day of your fifteenth birthday your life turns to a mess, but felice wasn't sure about that. mentally, that might be true, but there were so many thing happening that could not be coincidental; she was sure that someone had hexed her

first, she had tried to use a hair treatment - that she had used before, with no side effects whatsoever - which turned her hair green and forced her to cut at least four inches off when she had been trying to grow it out, then, when she was in a halfway healthy situationship with sirius black, that had broken, too, and then her broom flew away on its own and her bed collapsed, all in one night

that had been the start, followed by three months of hoping it would go away and then another two months of accepting it. by now felice had bended her bad luck into her talent; it was quite practical, sometimes, just flying near someone of the opposite quidditch team would cause them to get hit by a bludger or fall off their broom miraculously

sometimes she thought that she could outsmart her bad luck; be faster than it, she meant. ending her talking stage with evan rosier had stung a little, but it wasn't like she didn't have options

"ugh," she grimaced down at the cottagecore-y teacup in her hand, the wet, dark remnants of tea grounds sticking to the bottom, "great, a cross," felice's neatly painted, dark purple finger nails traced the lines of the tessomancy book, searching for the meaning of the symbolism; "trials and suffering"

with an exasperated huff she slammed the book shut, making the tarot cards flutter off the desk and looked over at you, "see? it's been saying that for the past one and a half years, I get it now," the girl complained and reached for your teacup, "let me see yours," she demanded and sipped on your rose-leave tea to empty the cup