Sewing & Organs

The Platform of the Gateways is always the same, stained glass allowing sun to shine through into the train station, different religions depicted on each one of them, and between each one of them is a normal clear pane of glass allowing space for each individual. And the architecture is a mix of all things, some of the space you can see something more modern, some places where French and Italian shine, but the majority is of Greek, but all of them are equally old, some of it more than others, and is made all of stone.

And that’s just the building. I find the people much more interesting though, they give it its sparkle, its life, its happiness, its beginnings and ends, and stories. Businessman running about, plenty of families of any size getting on and off of vacation, people seeking adventure, people seeking of opportunities, and then the well traveled travelers, who have begun a cult of some kind, leaving gifts, treats, and all kinds of offerings in hope of safe travels, and many more people who come through these doors and enter a different world far from their own. Now back on to routine, my brothers like to worry, I quickly collect the offering the well traveled travelers leave ( A bad habit, but they leave such good treats and gifts. ), check on the trains, and then lounge about for a bit, and people watch.

It’s not like the people can see me, in fact they phase through me quite a bit, and it’s not until I get tired of looking around and watching the bustling Gateway for the umpteenth time that I saw Him. Just a teen nearing adulthood, not that common, but common enough that I’m not surprised in the slightest. But that’s not why I’m as shocked as I am, it’s the clouds at the young adults feet, sizzling green lightning, threatening a burn, and sounds of thunder. It’s the seemingly endless start and end to them. It’s the smell of petrichor and dew along with an underlying hint of smoke from a wildfire, and the smell of a thousand different flowers accompanying it. And what ties it together is the golden thread that is everywhere and nowhere at once dancing along in the dark clouds. An ancient form of magic that is only a million years younger than me.

How interesting, the teen has a mop of black for hair, a normal dress shirt, and some slacks with a couple more pockets than usual, along with a measuring tape meant for sewing sticking out of one of them, and then there are the ordinary oxford shoes. But there are a couple more things as I move in closer to get a good look at the boy. Sadly he’s looking down at his ticket and his hair is in the way so I can’t get a good look at his face. Though as far as I can see he has a couple of scars on him, some on his neck, looking like a few too many close calls, with more almost everywhere I can see where skin is showing, and a unique one on the back of his left one saying ‘I Must Not Tell Lies’, I do wonder about the story behind that one, and if there are more on his face. The boy's hands are rough and are holding the paper ticket delicately like he’s going to ruin it if he grips just a slight to tight, it speaks of hard labor and a bit too much strength.

Then the posture of the boy, if one was not experienced or vigilant enough they would have thought the teen to be lax, easy going, etc. Though to eyes of knowing, their is an air of paranoia around the young adult, his jaw just barely seen is just slightly tense, like the rest of his body, legs are at the ready to run at a moment's notice, one hand scarred while not like the unique left, still is scarred, but is holding onto his trunk tightly, and it’s his only luggage, nothing else. It tells a tale of scarcity in necessities. All of it together speaks of a child who never got to be a child, but forced labor and battle.

Zap - I seethe in pain, the area numb where lightning from dark clouds hit me. Green, green eyes look up from the ticket looking around, the greenest I have ever seen and not unlike the color of lightning that hit me, they slightly glow with power. And with the young adult looking up I see three scars that run along his face, one just starting nose bridge running straight across to end on the rest of the left side and overlapping the last one, a burn scar taking up some of his right cheek, and the last, of lightning from his hairline over his eye lid and taking most of the right side of the boys face and a little on the left overlapping with the one starting on the nose bridge. It seems more stories are left untold of the fate this teen has had.

Ding Dong - It seems that I have overstayed than what I originally planned, oh well. It has been a while since I have taken the Train to Witchlight. I think that is what I shall do, take the Train to Witchlight, and meet my bothersome brothers at Entryway and tell them about… Mr. Harry James Potter.