Ginny never took Ancient Runes, but she grew up with magic seething in her sinew and coiling in her gut, and so laughter, hard and hysterical, bubbles up in her chest when she sees a precisely cut crescent moon sitting inside a pictogram of a sun.
The sun marks the hours of the day, but the moon marks the passage of weeks. Months. Years.
There’s still shouting behind her.
Ginny doesn’t hesitate.
Bookmarked by alkanel
26 Mar 2017