prologue — nine of swords.

upright: anxiety, hopelessness, trauma.

reversed: hope, reaching out, despair. 

( alternatively: the drowning of verity finch! )

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VERITY FINCH'S FIRST memory of her aunt is not from the night of her mother's murder, like most assume, but rather seven years later on a mundane summer day. A lot can change about a person over the span of seven years, and Verity was no exception, the ten-year-old as inquisitive as one could be. Fortunately for her, her father was willing to answer the plethora of questions she had, no matter how obscure or even curiously morbid they were— Alexander Finch was rarely one to censor his words after all—and if he was hiding something, Verity would know.

It wasn't that her father was a terrible liar, quite the opposite actually, but Verity saw a lot more than others did.

Unlike the superheroes on the comics she'd seen in a Muggle shop, there hadn't been a theatrical reveal or a life altering moment where Verity's peculiar abilities had decided to make their grandiose entrance, marking a turning point where she'd turned from ordinary to extraordinary overnight. Every human being has instincts and fundamentals of themselves layered into chromosomes that twisted together, and Verity was no exception. Just like everyone else, she had her own instincts and fundamentals wrapped in her DNA.

However, hers happened to be aligned in just the right way; chromosomes mixing and magic melding and slumbering genes awakening with enthusiasm. Thus when Verity Finch was born on October 13th, 1977 to Alexander and Eleanor Finch, she was born different.

Not ordinary but not extraordinary either, just... different.

Different because she could see things no one else could see; things that no one else had even imagined one could see. For a long time, Verity had assumed that others could see the same haze surrounding every individual that she could and by association, she also assumed that every one could see the strange sentences as well. She wasn't sure why some sentences peeled off of people's aura and lingered in her vision, just that they did.

It was only when she was six that Verity had made an off-handed comment about the sheer amount of a man's words she saw to her father that she discovered no one else saw what she did, and also what those visible sentences meant. That was the first time Verity learned the true meaning of liar.

Four years later and Verity wasn't trying very hard to comprehend her abilities. She knew she could see lies and also that she could see every witch and wizard's magical imprints, but she didn't understand why nor did she particularly care to. Not when she had more interesting things to investigate, like the dragon sanctuaries in Romania (she was determined to convince her father to take her to one for her eleventh birthday) and the fact that in just a few months she'd be traveling to Diagon Alley to get her very own wand (sadly, her birthday made it so she wasn't able to attend Hogwarts for almost an entire year after her birthday which was honestly the worst) but she was still looking forward to it.

It was nearing noon when the ten-year-old grew sick of the Muggle crayons and coloring book her father had gifted her for Christmas, and after wandering through the cabin a few times, the girl decided to venture outside.

While her father didn't have many rules, the few he did have were expected to be upheld no matter how stir-crazy or annoyed Verity got. There were five rules total, and the third rule was the only one that involved the woods surrounding the cabin; do not pass the markings. The aforementioned markings were ones her father had made with his wand, scratches dug into trees or rocks that mimicked nature so to not raise suspicion, but Verity knew them by heart.

There were eight markings, each one showing where the magical barrier her father had created ended with the cabin smack in the center. Verity never bothered to go too far into the woods though, instead choosing to venture East where the woods thinned into smooth cliffs and a large lake lapped at the bottom of a curricular canyon.

It was near those cliffs that Verity found the prettiest rocks, and considering the extensive collection that had overtaken nearly every window sill in the cabin, it was safe to say scavenging for rocks was one of her favorite pastimes.

Jamming her trusty hat on top of her short hair (a gift from her father on her ninth birthday, the bucket hat was bewitched with a variety of flying dragons and Verity never left the house without it), she grabs her small red pail and skips out the door, making sure to shut it behind her before scampering into the woods.

The warmth of summer casts a golden haze over the woods and birds chirp from their perches among the branches. A soft breeze made the heat bearable and the scent of pine enveloped Verity as she dashes through the woods, arms spread out slightly as she mimics one of the great beasts she loves so much. She jumps over a small fallen branch with a giggle, foliage brushing against her exposed knees and tugging at her chopped overalls.

Verity had taken to the faded fabric with a pair of scissors earlier in the month, annoyed at how hot the fabric had been, and now sported the self-made, crooked shorts with pride.

She skids to a stop as the tree-line starts to thin, humming softly as she focuses her attention on the ground. Already a few rocks have caught her attention, but none are the rock. Her father's birthday was coming up in a few days and she needed to find the perfect rock for a present. Last year she had found glittering sea glass along the ocean shore in Norway to give him, and the year before that an icicle in Greenland that she thought looked a lot like his wand (he'd even used a freezing spell on it so it would never melt). Now, somewhere in the rural area of Northern Wales, Verity was determined to find this perfect rock.

See, Verity had read in a book about good luck items, and she figured a small rock (roughly the size of a sickle) would make an excellent good luck charm for her father. He was always vanishing for his work, and while she didn't know the specifics of his job, she did know it was dangerous.

And the best way to combat danger? Pocket luck!

She didn't know what would make a perfect good luck rock, just that she would know when she found one. She did find a few strong contenders; a turquoise rock with thin stripes of marble wrapping around it, a brilliant red rock dotted with flecks of gold and silver, and a rock with two colored sides, the top obsidian and the bottom a sandy brown. But they weren't quite right.

The stones rattle in her metal pail and she nears the first cliff, keeping a healthy distance between her and the edge. She crouches down and sets her pail down, picking up a few rocks and examining them before carefully placing them back down after they don't pass her scrutinizing gaze. Light glints to her left and she creeps a little closer to the edge, eyes widening as she scoops up the small rock. It's smooth and in the shape of an oval, flecks of crystal material littered throughout the gleaming obsidian stone. And just like that, Verity knows that this is the pocket luck stone. She holds it up to the light, grinning giddily.

"What on earth are you doing, child?"

Verity's heart jumps in her chest and she gets to her feet, clutching the good luck rock to her chest. A woman stands in front of her, on hand propped on her hip, the other hanging loosely at her side. Her dark brown hair drapes over one shoulder in a neat braid, two thin pieces of hair framing her angular face. She's wearing a simple yet beautiful blue dress, a corset-like metal encircling her waist in thin plates, accentuating her waist.

It's then that Verity notices the wand in the woman's hand.

Her father had few rules, but Verity knew them by heart and followed them without complaint because they were to keep her safe. And rule number five? Never go near another witch or wizard without her father.

Verity scoots back, fear tightening her throat, eyes flickering from the wand to the woman's face. The woman looks vaguely familiar, but the little girl can't place where she may have met her before.

The woman's mouth quirks up into a cold smile, green eyes flickering with fire. "A Montgomery playing in the dirt like a Mudblood," she tsks, shaking her head slowly, "your father really is the worst sort, isn't he?"

Verity doesn't know if the woman expects her to respond so she stays quiet, hoping she'll lose interest and leave her alone.

"You don't remember me, do you Verity?" The woman smiles again, but the action looks misplaced on her, not quite reaching her eyes, "I'm your aunt. My name is Evangeline."

Oh. Verity takes another step back, oh no. She knew who this witch was now and her lower lip trembles. She wants her dad. She wants to be back in the cabin. She wants to be anywhere but here with the woman who killed her mom.

"Go away," Verity mumbles, hugging the rock even closer.

"Now why would I do that? I've spent all this time searching for you," her aunt coos, "and now that I've found you, we can leave. We can go anywhere you'd like, just the two of us. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Verity shakes her head, her aunt's lie stark in the air, "I don't wanna go with you."

"And why not, Verity?"

Tears are building in her eyes. She can't stand how her aunt says her name, like she knows Verity well and that Verity should want to go with her. But she doesn't know her aunt, and she doesn't want to know her aunt. She just wants her dad.

She wants her dad, she wants her dad, she wants her dad—

"You killed my mom," Verity whispers, tears starting to trickle down her cheeks. Her father always said she was brave, that she was his l'venok, his little lion, but she couldn't find that bravery in the moment she needed it most.

Evangeline laughs sharply and Verity thinks it might be the most dangerous sound she's ever head.

"Oh Verity," her name sounds wrong coming out of her aunt's mouth, and Verity has never hated her own name before this moment, "I didn't kill your mother."

Verity freezes, the truity of her aunt's words sinking into her skin, "...what?"

There's a sharp crack! that rings out in the air and her father appears at the edge of the barrier on the second cliff, "VERITY!" Verity had never been so thankful to hear her father's voice and her knees buckle in relief as he crosses the barrier, wand raised and a spell already on the tip of his tongue.

But then Evangeline is directly in front of Verity, fingernails digging into Verity's arm, her other hand holding the collar of her shirt, her hauntingly beautiful face twisted in rage. The next sequence of events happen within the span of a few seconds; her aunt whispers mercilessly into her ear, a bright flash of green sparks in the corner of her vision, red encapsulates Verity, then her aunt lets go and turns her wand on Verity, the spell knocking the little girl backwards.

Verity tetters on the edge of the cliff, heart hammering in her chest. She should be moving, she should be tumbling forward and landing on her hands and knees on solid ground. But instead she's frozen, unable to move a single muscle.

Without a single sound escaping her mouth, Verity falls.

There's a split second as she falls that she feels as though this moment may last indefinitely, the tower of earth jutting up around her not seeming to change as she falls, falls, falls—

She can make out bright flashes of light overhead as the lip of the cliff vanishes from sight, air whistling in her ears, screaming in terror for the little girl who couldn't make a noise. Her bucket hat vanishes between one moment and the next, her shortened hair whipping around her face, her hands locked around that pocket luck rock, her stomach twisting and churning, tears still flowing.

There's a flash of excruciating pain when she hits the water, a slap that sends her nerves into a frenzy of panic and her bones crack from the impact. For a moment Verity thinks she may be able to float on the surface, and even though her body is shrieking in agony at least she's done falling.

But then she starts to sink.

The water gently tugs her below its cold surface, a flurry of bubbles following her descent. She remembers to hold her breath and the shock of hitting the surface combined with the fear of her fall begin to thaw Evangeline's spell. But thawing takes time and the surface rapidly disappearing and her chest aches and the water tries pries open her mouth with greedy hands and she needs air. She needs air, sheneeds air, sheneedsair, sheneedsairsheneedsair—

Verity gasps without meaning to, choking as water flows in.

And now she's not only sinking, she's drowning too. She's drowning and black edges her vision and she's drowning and panic ensnares her and she's drowning and she can't move a single muscle and all she can do is sink and drown and—

The last thing Verity remembers is hearing a faint boom! as something hits the water, and then she blacks out, the lake swallowing her whole. 

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