(no subject)

[pridegoesbefore]

[It's snowing, but only gently - enough to have the odd flake settle in Narcissa's hair and on her scarf, but not enough to obscure her vision. The wind carries most of the icy crystals away from her, anyway, swirling in barely-there flurries over the edge of the cliff and out into the nothingness and clouds beyond. It captures the edge of her cloak, causing the sturdy wool to cling momentarily, outlining her leg before whipping away to reveal leather boots and a divided skirt. Narcissa holds a broom in her left hand, a single iridescent feather tied to the handle with a scrap of ribbon.

In a moment, she's going to step from the edge.]