Could you imagine being Voldemort’s brother if you weren’t at all interested in his genocide, and have to spend all of your time proving to everyone else that you don’t support what he’s doing?
Even worse, imagine being his identical twin. So you not only have to prove that you’re not like him, but also that you’re literally not him.
I’m just picturing this kind of lame, not super interesting guy. His name is something pedestrian, similar to Tom. Something like Bob. Bob Riddle. He was probably a Hufflepuff. He’s got some low-level job, like as a Welcome Wizard at St. Mungo’s. His love life is non-existent, because the only people who want to date someone who looks exactly like Voldemort are the kind of people who marry convicted serial killers.
But Bob’s unexciting life is constantly made exciting by people throwing stuff at him, cursing at him, literally cursing him, and/or arresting him on a daily basis.
The Daily Prophet constantly speculates about whether or not he actually does support Voldemort, and the Quibbler says he doesn’t exist at all, that Bob is actually just Voldemort trying to earn minimum wage so as to sponsor his genocide. Media headlines dub him “Lord Voldeborb.” So Bob has a series of memoirs published to prove how dissimilar he is to his brother.
And eventually having all these books written about him convinces him that he can write. So he writes an autobiography about how boring his life is.
you are translating cicero. you have not yet made it through a full sentence even though you have been reading for nearly two hours. every time you think you have made progress, cicero throws in another rhetorical device to extend the passage. you find yourself lost in hyperbaton. you still have not found the verb. you do not think you ever will.
you learn yet another usage of the ablative absolute and dutifully add it to the list of usages you already know. you have started to forget what the other cases are, but you are not sure they matter anymore. all is ablative. all is absolute.
you have begun to pick up the speech patterns of this strange ancient language when you talk in your own. it is said that you use more passives and impersonal verbs. with these things having been spoken, you no longer sound like the person you once were. if this happens much longer, your friends and family will have forgotten the you who once spoke to them. your grades in translation have improved, though, so you do not mind too terribly.
a bitter war emerges between two factions of those who study alongside you. they argue ceaselessly, shouting phrases such as ‘caecilius est in horto’ and ‘raeda est in fossa’ at each other. one side calls the other sextus molestus, thus destroying any possibility for peace while the rest of you look on in horror.
every free thought in your mind gravitates towards the idea that carthage must be destroyed. you are not certain why. you have never been to carthage and, as far as you know, carthage was destroyed millennia ago and needs no further destruction. that does not stop the thoughts, though. you begin to write that carthage must be destroyed at the end of your essays, to say that carthage must be destroyed at the end of every conversation. soon afterwards, you find that the only food that appeals to you anymore is cabbage. your classmates look upon you with sadness. cato has your soul, now.
We can talk about that goddamn shitty movie Maleficent till the cows come home, go on and on about how stupid it is to make such a simply evil but awesome villain the martyr for no goddamn reason.
But you know what I want?
I want a spinoff of the Beauty and the Beast about the one who cursed Adam (the beast,) the Enchantress.
Because this bitch
This fucking bitch, is possibly as evil, maybe even more evil and sadistic than Maleficent.
The Enchantress cursed the prince because he failed a test, he was unkind to her because she presented herself as an ugly old hag. She turned him into a werewolf minotaur hybrid (fucking cool I’ll give her that,) because he was rude to her and didn’t want her rose.
So she cursed him, along with every single one of his servants. What did his servants have to do with any of this? Why are they being punished?
Not only that, but this stood out to me when I watched the movie again. When the spell is broken, all of the monstrous statues and art pieces transform into graceful, beautiful ones, I’m assuming that’s what they looked like before.
So this enchantress not only cursed him and his servants (oh and his fucking DOG DID I MENTION THAT) she took away every beautiful thing he had, replacing them with things like goblins, dragons, ghouls and other monsters, just to remind him what he was and what she had done to him, and he would have to look at them every single day.
I’m going to rightfully assume she provided the magic mirror as well, all of the magic in the movie stems from her, the mirror most likely came from her. His only window to the outside world is a handheld mirror, so he can fucking look at himself.
But you know what the kicker is?
If we take these two lines into consideration
“The rose, which was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his 21st year” ~Narrator
“Ten years we’ve been rusting…” ~ Lumiere
We can reasonably deduce that the Enchantress cursed the prince when he was eleven years old.
I want this filthy green bitch publicly exposed.
Not only did she curse an 11 year old, she cursed an 11 year old PRINCE in the middle of a dark night who refused a stranger shelter because, get this, I’m 20 and if some weird old lady showed up at my door in the middle of he night and was like Yo Can I Sleep Here i would probably just close and lock my door because!!!!
Who is she!!!! I don’t know her!!!! What if she tried to kill me or stole everything!!
This boy is a prince living in a palace of luxury and he was probably given the “don’t talk to strangers” talk by his (dead??) royal parents!! Or at least Mrs. Potts!! He was probably like this lady’s gonna steal our silverware and candle sticks in the middle of the night and all she’s giving me is a rose that was probably picked from our own garden?? Bye lady.
Do you see the white star, Quentyn? That is Nymeria’s star,
burning bright, and that milky band behind her, those are ten thousand
ships. She burned as bright as any man, and so shall I. You will not rob
me of my birthright!
If it has passed from the high and the beautiful to darkness and ruin, that was of old the fate of Arda Marred; and if any change shall come and the Marring be amended, Manwë and Varda may know; but they have not revealed it, and it is not declared in the dooms of Mandos.
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