Third floor common room, Friday afternoon

[thishouseishaunted]

Mae was determined never to do anything properly in Seivarden's class -- and was so far doing very well at that -- but the assignment today, to write poetry about someone they cared about, was actually something that got her thinking.

Something that got her interested.

So after class, she grabbed her journal and a blanket from her room and went to go curl up on a common room couch and try to write a real poem.

( cut for the sake of the flist )

It was probably terrible. She was sure it was terrible. It didn't even rhyme.

She stared at the page for several long moments, idly doodling her grandfather's face next to her poem.

She wished it would snow.

[tiny emo post is open! Mae's poem is an extremely rough pantoum, aka baby-creative-writing-major!Bella's favorite poetic form. . . .]