Setting the Scene: Back To Hogwarts

I approached the scarlet steam engine, my trolley trailing behind me. Dazed and overwhelmed at the sight of it. The last time I saw the Hogwarts Express was at the start of my 7th year many years ago.

© Bobbie Rebultan

The platform wasn't crowded yet; only the early and earnest few were around. My hands quivered, and a queasy feeling made its way from my stomach to my chest. I realized I was having a panic attack. Automatically, my senses keyed in to where my wand was tucked inside my coat pocket, ready whenever I need it. I took a deep breath and tried to slow my breathing. I took out my ticket, desperately clutching it with clammy hands, afraid I'd loose it along with the chance of a lifetime.

Setting the Scene: She Believed

© Bobbie Rebultan

She's always been pessimistic and skeptical. She doesn't like getting her hopes up.

So when he brought her to their favorite seafood shack where they had their first date, she only thought he wanted to indulge on a Friday night.

So when he asked her if she had any plans for the night, she didn't think any of it and just said none.

So when after that, he brought her to a bookstore that was open late at night while he watched with a smile as she browsed the shelves for two hours, she only thought he was amused at how indecisive she's always been when book shopping.

Setting the Scene: Stars and Chocolates

© Bobbie Rebultan

Was it odd he loved this place so much? He knew not many six-year olds go here for fun, but it's quiet and it smells of chocolate and his dad's coffee. ☕ Certainly the adults don't mind, if the small smiles they gave him are any indication. 

Setting the Scene: The Trolley-Lady

© Bobbie Rebultan

She stacked a fresh batch of cauldron cakes atop her trolley, releasing a fresh smell of caramel and cinnamon. She strolled down the corridor, occasionally taking a peek inside the compartments. She was careful. With years in this job, the students are happy when they see her, but she doesn't want to be intrusive. Oh she loves these kids and they are well-behaved, but teenagers are capricious!

Setting the Scene: To My Darling Bookworm

 © Bobbie Rebultan

Specks of dust floated and danced in the light drifting through the clerestory. A smell hung in the air, of mildew and spring. A peculiar blend of old and new.

A girl, barely an adult, crossed the room. Her footsteps echoed with sadness and curiosity. She held in her hand a piece of paper. On it is her mother's round cursive. "To my darling bookworm," it read. "May you find home in these pages as I have." With dark, inquisitive eyes, she gazed at the bookshelf in front of her, age-old and imposing with the amount of books it held. But it welcomed her, creaking softly as her hand pulled open its glass doors.

The girl reached up and took a dog-eared book from the shelves. It rested in her hands with a sigh, the sound of a soul finding its way home. Its spine made fragile by time, and its pages smelled of memory.

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The Book Cellar candle from Frostbeard Studio (@frostbeardmpls) featuring the first favorites to occupy my shelves. What it reminds me: discovery of long-lived treasures.

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Notice: Words and pictures are mine. If you want to borrow them, please read my Content Usage Policy here. Thank you! :)

Setting the Scene: A Woman of Literature

© Bobbie Rebultan

It stands over me, bright and beckoning. Contemporary, but a little weathered. The facade is marked by a simple FULLY BOOKED sign in large block letters. Large windows give me a peek on the wonders within.

I step inside and I am greeted with both a rush and a hush--a feeling of thrill and peace only books can bring. The multistory shelters thousands of worlds and realities. Numerous floors and endless shelves lined, stuffed, and stacked with books. My eyes and heart leap from one shelf to the next. The crew, clad in their signature red shirts, smile warmly at the wondrous gaze of their visitors.

On the center, there she sits, grand and dominating with her infamous icy gaze--relaxed while she holds her pink cat. I look up at her and wish to be what she is: a woman of literature.

I step out, grinning from ear to ear and hugging to my chest the new stories I have adopted to fill the library I keep in my room, and the one in my head. I imagine myself trailing smiles, glitter, stars, and a faint smell of books as I emerge from the bookstore. ❤ It seems to me that the heavens noticed I was lonely, so they gave me the universe and called it a bookstore.

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This week's vignette will be about my favorite bookstore, Fully Booked (Happy 10th Anniversary, BGC branch! ❤) And inspired by the wonderful smell of the Bookstore candle by Frostbeard Studio (@frostbeardmpls).

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Notice: Words and pictures are mine. If you want to borrow them, please read my Content Usage Policy here. Thank you! :)

Setting the Scene: Old Friend

© Bobbie Rebultan

Harry stared at the headmaster's chair. A year ago, a phoenix with intelligent eyes perched on it. Now, it looks bare. Around them portraits hung, their occupants peering down at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, some bored, but most are curious, wondering what brought the three students back to this office.

Setting the Scene: Luna Lovegood

© Bobbie Rebultan

She stumbled and fell down on her knees, gasping as her stockinged legs came in contact with the snow. The warming spell she cast on her toes was starting to wear out. She remained seated on the crisp snow and looked up. The world was coated in frosting. The ground reflected the skies, she thought. It felt like she was sitting inside a hollow snowball. Luna Lovegood sighed again and laid down on the snow, her disheveled blonde hair fanning out under her. Her silver eyes on her pale face blended with her surroundings. She feels like snow herself. She reached up, her gloved hands outlined against the clouds. All around her fell a flurry of flakes--frozen stars, soft and sighing against her hair.

Setting the Scene: Her Companion

© Bobbie Rebultan

It was overcast, but for a moment the midmorning sun peeked through the clouds. Its rays fell through the large windows, bathing the tables and silverware in a muted glow, giving an illusion of open air. A figure sat with her shoulders hunched and brows furrowed in concentration, her eyes intently following the words on the book resting on the marbled table in front of her. Around her, glasses clinked and indistinct chatter rose and fell across the room. Outside the window she was leaning on, people in coats, ties, and heeled shoes walked briskly, gripping paper cups in one hand and black cases in the other. A sudden burst of high-pitched laughter shot from the table across hers, but she remained unfazed, completely absorbed in the story of a nurse with Dragonscale.

Setting the Scene: The Smell of Safety

© Bobbie Rebultan

The gargoyle looked down on me with distaste. In a huff, it stepped aside and admitted me to a room brimming with wonder. The walls were lined with huge, dusty tomes and moving portraits. Numerous tables--some seeming to hover, some seeming to gently rock back and forth--were strewn everywhere. Atop them are various devices puffing, whistling, and popping.

At the center, raised by a platform, stands a large wooden desk bathed in warm light. It was in disarray, but filled with curios--silver pendulums, more devices that whirred and twirled, a bowl with contents that glitter, and moving miniatures of each of Hogwart's founders arguing with each other. Perched over one end of the table is a beautiful bird--a phoenix, with dark eyes that watched me languidly. In the middle of the table rests a large open book. Intently poring over it was Albus Dumbledore, an elaborate quill poised in his hand.

When Fawkes blinked, the headmaster looked up and peered at me with twinkling eyes. "Ah! A visitor!" He exclaimed. He reached over the bowl and offered it to me, "Lemon drops?" I was greeted with a feeling of what I can only describe as 'safety'. ❤

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To practice my writing, I will start randomly creating scenes out of photographs. I may use the subjects of my photographs repeatedly, but the write-up will always be different. See label: "write".

Disclaimer: The words and pictures are mine (if you want to borrow, please read my Content Usage Policy here). :) The world is J.K. Rowling's. I'm simply borrowing from her.

Preface: A Poised Quill

It is always so exhilarating to try something new and scary. Although, I’ve made (and deleted) blogs before, this one I’m hoping to keep and to people who know me, that is something new.

I’ve always always been so scared and insecure of my posts and blogs before. Maybe it’s because for so long, I’ve been dreaming to become a good writer and I’ve been so scared of failing at it even without having to try first. I am surrounded with so many talented writers whom I call my friends, my mentors, and my inspirations–all of them are leagues away from where I am now in terms of writing. Yes, I am just full of jealousy and bitterness like that. But now, screw it! I’ll write for myself and hopefully, to learn more and fulfill my dream of becoming a worthwhile writer someday.

As Vincent Van Gogh said,

   "I dream my painting and I paint my dream."

From now on, I’ll apply the same mantra with writing (and generally, life): I dream of writing and I write my dream. This blog will be the start of it.

So look out world! Bobbie is here with her quill poised and ready for action. ;)