"It's the same one," Bellatrix murmured, her palm smoothing over the plush velvet of the seat. The grand, black carriage, the steady, unshaking ride, the Bellatore crest emblazoned on the door—it was all just as she remembered from the day she’d left the orphanage.
"See?" she declared. "I didn't throw up this time. I'm good at riding in carriages now."
"The poor tree you sacrificed might disagree," Leandro remarked dryly.
"It just got some
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