|My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun |
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound:
I grant I never saw a goddess go,—
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.
þu me ærest saga, hu þu gedyrstig þurh deop gehygd wurde þus wigþrist ofer eall wifa cyn, þæt þu mec þus fæste fetrum gebunde, æghwæs orwigne. Juliana Cynewulf
|Millicent Bulstrode. Yeah, I'm a girl. Slytherin, Hogwarts class of 1998. My mother was Cicuta Umbell Bulstrode. Yeah, those Umbells. My father is Garrod Bulstrode, younger brother of G. Marius Bulstrode. Yeah, the Buckinghamshire Bulstrodes. Except magical. Very definitely magical.|
Not that it's any of your business, but my wand's thirteen inches of cedar with a dragon heartstring core. Which means I can still use it to beat your head in if it's broken.
The portrait icons are not really me. They are a hard-working model named Marian. She's a bomb. Go visit her. The texture is by Julianne. The background is a Photoshop manipulation: a monkey key. Hands off, or you're hexed.
| ||Charms - CCR|