đAspiring writer looking for helpful feedback. thanks for reading, I really appreciate the likes and comments!! đ She/her
đAspiring writer looking for helpful feedback. thanks for reading, I really appreciate the likes and comments!! đ She/her
Finally, I have it in my possession.
I stare at it, caressing its smooth surface, my dark eyes reflecting in its crimson surface. Itâs mine, all mine⌠the Gem of Eternity.
Truth be told, I had my doubts. I wasnât sure if Iâd ever get my hands on it. I sent Norris, my goblin servant, to go speak with the Agency, see if theyâd be willing to work with me⌠and they were. But that didnât mean I fully trusted them. I had my suspicions. I thus had plenty of backup plans in place, just in case they tried to pull something.
But they never betrayed me. They helped me steal the Gem from the dragonâs lair, and all I had to do was offer them the promise that Iâd join their little clique.
Ha! As if Iâd like ever be caught dead working with the likes of them. But the Agency didnât need to know that. All they needed to know was that I signed on the dotted line. Never mind whatâs going to happen now that I actually have what I desired.
I press the Gem to my face, snuggling it against my cheek. I smile. It is cold and hard and beautiful. I still donât know how the Agency managed to steal it, but quite frankly, I havenât got the mind to care. Nothing else matters now that I have this. Iâm going to live for all of eternity!
I hear some bustling, and I whirl around, annoyed. âWhat is it, Norris?â
âS-sir,â Norris says. Heâs blubbering. I always hate how he blubbers. âSir, itâs one of the knights from the Agency!â
âWhat? Where?â I growl.
âOutside of the cave, sir! Sheâs come to collect their debt.â He shuffles on his tiny goblin feet.
âDebt? What debt?â
âWell⌠you, sir. You did promise the Agency youâd join their ranks if they helped you, did you not?â
I grab him by the collar of his ratty tunic with one hand, dragging him towards me. He squeaks.
âTell that foul knight,â I sneer in his ear, âThat I donât care what I promised the Agency. I donât care if I owe them a debt. I donât even care if they expose me as a liar to the entire kingdom! It doesnât matter, and do you know why?â
Norris gulps. âWhy?â
âBecause I have THIS!â I shove the Gem into his face, and he stumbles backwards.
I cackle loudly with glee. Then I point to the door. âNow. Go deliver my message, you pathetic excuse for a servant.â I caress the Gem in my hands again. âLittle Gemmy and I are going to have some alone time.â
Norris bows shakily, and then is gone.
âI bet it was the goblins.â
Bristol rolled her eyes. âYou bet everything was the goblins.â
âBecause goblins are nasty little creatures that donât know how to keep themselves out of trouble,â Amber said with a huff. She crossed her arms and stamped her hoof on the ground for emphasis.
Bristol looked back at up the baby blue house, teetering on the edge of a concrete industrial building. Despite knowing Amberâs cynicism was partly a result of the centuries-old centaur-goblin fued, she had to admitâ this did look like something the goblins would do. Dangerous, and yet somehow ridiculously amusing.
âTheyâre always messing around in the human realm,â Amber added, âAnd you know it.â
âI do know it,â Bristol admitted.
âShould we go up there? Maybe we could do some investigating, look for evidence to prove the goblins as the culprits.â
Bristol shook her head. âThe Authorities will be here soon enough. Besides, it could be dangerous. I wouldnât want you getting glass in your hoof like last timeâŚâ
âBut Iâm wearing horseshoes now!â
Amber turned her front and back legs, showing off her shiny new horseshoes.
Bristol laughed. âAre those fairy-made?â
âNah. I donât have that kind of money. Theyâre just from Gertrudeâs,â Amber explained. Gertrude was the blacksmith who owned a shop in the magical realm. âBut theyâve got the best protection!â
Bristol sighed. âI really donât think we should go up there. What if there are still goblins?â
âWhat, you think I couldnât take on a goblin?â Amber teased, raising an eyebrow.
âI didnât mean it like thatâŚâ
Amber placed both her hands on Bristolâs shoulders, spinning her around so she was looking directly into Amberâs golden eyes. âBristol. Come on! When was the last time we explored something like this? And who knows. We might end up finding something that could bring those nasty little creatures to justice!â
Bristol bit her lip. âI just donât want you getting hurt.â
âYou worry too much about me. Iâll be fine,â Amber said, waving a hand. Then her expression seemed to change. âWait. Are you nervous about⌠you knowâŚâ
Bristol stared down at her shoes.
âOh,â Amber said quickly. âIâm sorry. We donât have to ifââ
âItâs okay, donât worry about it,â Bristol said. She put her hands on her hips, staring back up at the precariously placed residence. âAnd you know what? Maybe we should go. Maybe itâll be good for me.â
âYou donât have to,â Amber said. âI mean, donât get me wrong. Iâd love to prove some goblins as guilty, shove it in their stupid faces. But we donât have to. I donât want to force you into something youâre uncomfortable with.â
âNo, letâs go,â Bristol said decidedly. She blew out a breath. âItâs time I stopped letting my fear of this curse keep me from living my life.â
âThatâs the spirit!â Amber cried, brightening. She patted Bristol heartily on the shoulder.
Bristol smiled at her.
âYou can climb onto my back,â Amber said. âAnd Iâll get us up the building to the house. I can see a side ramp from here.â
She turned, kneeling slightly, and then Bristol swung her legs up and over the centaurâs furry back. Amber turned her head once, waiting for affirmation, and Bristol gave her a thumbs-up. Amber nodded, straightened herself, and then began her ascent.
Bristol felt her heart pound harder and harder the closer they came to the house. It would be strange for the curse to be present here, in the human realm, Bristol knew. But she still worried, mostly because she also knew the witch who had cast the curse was allied with a few rogue goblins.
Likely the same rogue goblins whoâd balanced this house on the edge of this concrete building in the middle of this decrepit place.
âIâll let you down here,â Amber said. Theyâd reached the top of the building. She knelt again, and Bristol dismounted her.
Amber looked concerned. âCan you feel anything?â
Bristol closed her eyes. She reached out her hands. The one good thing about this curse was that it was very magically detectable. All she had to do was feel for it.
âNo,â she muttered, eyes still shut. âJustâŚâ Bristol screwed up her nose. âGoblin magic.â
âDoes it feel bad?â
âIt⌠stinks. As if Iâm rolling around in a pile of dragon dung.â
Amber laughed, and Bristol opened her eyes to see her smile. âCome on, Brist. Letâs go explore.â
Celia pedals faster. Her bike tires grind over the gravel, and her choppy brown hair whips all in her face.
She wipes away a beat of sweat dripping down her forehead. Itâs hot, even for a summer day. Sheâs wearing her denim shortalls, a striped green shirt, and her red Converseâ not the most practical outfit for a bike ride, but she knows it looks good on her.
Celia stops just before a cottage-style house with mint green siding. She kicks out her kickstand and looks up.
There, on the second story.
A wide-open window, its elegant white curtains pulled to the side, revealing a girl lounging against the sill.
The girl is around Celiaâs age. Sheâs got long, straight blonde hair that blows gently in the wind. Sheâs wearing a pale blue floral sundress. Her bare ankles are crossed, and her hands are occupied holding a book steady in her lap.
The girl looks down at Celia. She waves.
Celiaâs breath catches in her throat, and she waves in return.
Then the girl goes back to her book.
Celia nods once, kicks up her kickstand again, and pedals away.
It isnât until sheâs at least three houses down that she lets out a dreamy sigh. The mysterious window girl isâŚ.
Painstakingly beautiful.
Celia would die just to hear what her voice sounds like. She bets that it sounds melodic and soft, like the wind chimes out in her motherâs garden.
Celia would just talk to her herself, but she canât. Sheâs got a ritual going: every day this summer, sheâs passed by the mysterious window girl, reading in that same exact spot, and every day the girl has waved to Celia. Never said a word, but always waved. And Celia has always waved back.
The girlâs not always reading the same thing. In fact, Celia is sure itâs a different book every time. She can tell by the covers.
Celiaâs also sure the mysterious window girl has a favorite sitting position. Legs out, ankles crossed. Sometimes she has her knees tucked up to her chin, sometimes has them fanned out like a butterflyâs wings. But she always looks the most relaxed when Celia sees her like she did today.
The girl also has a favorite outfit: a plum purple skirt and a loose white T-shirt. Celia knows this because she sees her wearing it the most often. She likes to twirl her slim fingers in the extra shirt fabric, bunching it up like a little rabbitâs tail.
But Celia would never dare talk to the mysterious window girl. No. Never. This is the longest any girl has ever wanted to interact with Celiaâ to look at her, evenâ and she doesnât want to ruin it.
For now, sheâs content with the waving. And the admiring.
Celia continues peddling down the road. She should hurry up, she thinks. Her brother is going to be home soon, and her mother will want them both to help her with planting the new tomato and cucumber seeds she bought at the store today.
Celia then decides to check the time. She squeezes the brakes on her bike, reaches into the pocket of her shortalls to grab her phone, andâ
Celiaâs brow furrrows. It isnât there.
She glances down at her feet. She doesnât see anything. She twists her head to stare back down the gravel road. Nothing.
It mustâve fallen out of her pocket at some point during her ride.
Celia turns her bike in the direction of where she came. This isnât good. She canât have lost her phone. Oh noâ what if itâs broken? Her mother is going to kill her.
She pedals forward, retracing her route, her eyes trained firmly on the ground.
âŚSo firmly on the ground, in fact, that she doesnât notice the girl stepping out of the mint-green cottage house.
âHey, did you drop this?â
Celiaâs bike comes skidding to a halt, and she nearly flies off the handlebars. Her breath is coming in gasps. She turns her head. âWho said thââ
Celia stops. Mysterious window girl is staring back at her. Sheâs holding Celiaâs lemon-yellow phone.
Celia makes a noise in her throat that sounds like something between a hiccup and a squawk. âIââ
âYou can have it back,â the girl says warmly, holding out the phone. She smiles, and the sight is enough to make Celiaâs heart soar. âBut um⌠I was also wondering⌠if youâd like to come inside?â
I never should have gone to see that goddamn Oracle.
âKnow your truest fate!â the signs outside the shop had advertised in swirling, inky letters. âFind your purpose! Destiny awaits!â
âDestiny my ass,â I muttered as I rounded the corner of Bridget and Strauss. I hadnât even wanted to see the Oracle, really, but it was because of my sister Luna that I had.
Luna was all about stuff like that. Oracles, prophecies, fate, destiny. I never believed in any of it. But after sheâd noticed Iâd been feeling a little lost latelyâ I was two years out of college, alone, bored, and working a dead-end day job at the local Shake Shackâ sheâd pestered me until I agreed to go.
It was a mistake. The only thing that happened was the Oracle had charged me at least double my paycheck, waved her hands around like the shawl-draped insanity case she was, and then slid a Magic 8 ball at me across the table.
âLook to this for guidance, child,â sheâd said in a crackly voice, one that reminded me of the Wicked Witch of the West. âAnd you shall find your true purpose.â
Iâd offered her a flat smile, thrown my money in her weird skull-shaped jar, and walked out, snarling at the Magic 8 ball in my hands. It looked like something I could buy at the nearest Dollar General.
God damn Oracles.
I should call Luna right now, I thought angrily as my leather shoes slapped down in the puddles on the sidewalk. Tell her how much that crazy old croon did for me. Another fruitless expense added to the list, right after my overpriced rent and my insurmountable pile of student loans.
I was still wallowing in my own waste of a life when the rain started. I groaned, trying to walk faster. My apartment was still three blocks away. I could take an Uber, but I had neither the money to pay for it nor the patience to wait for it.
I kept walking. The rain kept coming. Soon it had escalated into a full-on downpour, drenching my trench coat and making my socks squishy. I could barely see, it was coming down so hard, sheets of water blocking my view of the street signs.
âShit,â I muttered. I realized Iâd made a wrong turn somewhere. I didnât recognize the storefronts in this area, nor did I see any pedestrians or cars on the road. I pulled out my phone, about to try Google, when a big red window popped up: NO SERVICE.
Okay, I really was out of options now. Lost and alone on a Friday afternoon in the middle of a freaking thunderstorm.
âCome ON,â I hissed at my cell phone as I held it up higher, trying to catch a signal. âCome onâŚâ Still nothing. Only now, the screen was dark, because water had seeped into the cracks in the phone, shorting it out.
I growled and shoved the device back into the pocket of my trench coat. Thatâs when my fingers grazed something sleek and round tucked in there too: the Magic 8 Ball.
Well. I supposed I had nothing to lose at this point.
I pulled out the ball.
I breathed out into the humid, smoggy air, closing my eyes. I did not, under any circumstances, believe in any of this crap about fate or prophecies or any other made-up shit like that. But I was wet. And cold. And desperately, hopelessly out of luck.
âJust tell me how to get out of this,â I mumbled into the black plastic, and then I shook the Magic 8 ball hard with both hands. After a moment, I turned it over, staring into the tiny triangular window of glass:
LOOK UP.
âHuh?â
I did. And there, barreling towards me though the storm at about fifty miles per hour with both headlights gleaming bright, was a city bus.
âAH!â
I jumped out of the way just in time. The bus screeched to a halt beside me, tires splashing murky water up and drenching me even more than I already was. I sloshed towards the doors, growling, ready to march right up the stairs and demand the bus company better educate their drivers on speeding and pedestrian awareness, but I never got a chance.
Because there, sitting in the driverâs seat, was that goddamn Oracle.
âOh, hello, child!â She waved, shawls swinging. âReady to go find your true purpose?â
They called her a white rose.
She was the most beautiful princess the kingdom had ever seen. She had hazel eyes that shined like stars, wavy dark hair, and a heart of gold. And it was said that her smile was like a magic spell, enchanting to all those who had the privilege of seeing it.
The princess herself was a miracle. The queen had been declared infertile from a young age, and was overjoyed when she learned that the gods had blessed her and the king with a child. She did everything she could to keep herself healthy during the pregnancy, eating fresh fruits and vegetables that the servants grew in the gardens and taking short walks when she could. When that got to be too much, she sat in her bed and sang to the child. She read to it from her favorite storybooks. She let the king sit by her and rub her stomach, cooing softly, when she was feeling well enough to sit up.
And when things took an even harder turn, she fought against all odds to keep the baby alive. No one was sure if either of them would make it through the labor. These were the days when the king paced rapidly down the castle corridors, muttering under his breath, while servants ran back and forth to the queen's room with bowls of hot water and medicines.
The situation became hopeless. The queen was due in three days' time, and still, she grew sicker. The castle doctor assured the king that the baby was in good health, and that once it was born, the queen would be well again-- but even he looked grim. The queen constantly slept, and only woke up to take her medicine and a few bites of a meal. The king remained by her bedside always, dark circles under his eyes as he stroked his wife's hand and whispered comforting words to her and his unborn child.
The fateful day finally came. The doctor readied the hot water and the towels, and the servants cleared out from the room. But just before the queen's body was ready to push, there was a knock on the castle doors.
It was a servant who answered it. A strange, mysterious man was standing on the castle doorstep; his back was hunched, his face was shadowed by the hood of his long robes, and he had the largest, blackest eyes the servant had ever seen. He was also carrying a staff, silvery-white magic at its tip.
The servant knew immediately that the strange man had come to see the queen, and quickly led him up to the birthing room. The man burst inside and threw off his hood. He pointed the staff at the queen's stomach, silvery-white magic swirling all around them as he repeated a spell: "Before this life draws to a close / Save her child / A lovely white rose!"
There was a blinding light, and the baby came all at once, the queen screaming while the king held her close and sobbed, the doctor at the foot of the bed bringing their new child into the world. When the light faded, all was solemn. The queen was dead. The king had fainted. The doctor was frozen in shock. The man had disappeared. And the only noise was the crying coming from the tiny baby, the miracle child. The white rose.
At first, the king did not believe he could raise his daughter all on his own. The queen had been the one who had really prepared for the baby, decorating the nursery and reading up on motherhood. She even had talked to the servants and collected all the proper baby supplies, including frilly bassinettes and plenty of silk-lined birthing cloths. The king wasn't even sure how to use many of these items. Luckily for him, the child's nurse helped him, and together they cared for the little girl as she began to grow.
Neither of them noticed the signs. Neither of them thought much of it when the child's window opened on its own in the middle of the night. Or when they thought they saw her dollies move out of the corners of their eyes. Or when her hair somehow got braided, even when neither of them had braided it for her. They only saw her beauty, her innocence, her purity, her magical smile. Their little white rose.
Neither of them saw it coming. The day everything changed.
Memory breathes And its breath feels like a fire Roaring to life in my soul.
Memory whispers And its voice tickles softly Like a summer breeze on the back of my neck.
Memory struggles And it screams, demands to be heard Rattling the bars of its cage.
Memory smiles And it melts my sorrowed heart As I swoon into its waiting arms.
Memory creeps And its footsteps are silent Tiptoeing across the back of my mind.
Memory lies
And its promises are messages in bottles
Lost to the great oceans of time.
Still, I hang onto its words Praying, begging And then I realize I canât seem to let memory go.
Zanny pulled up her spaceship to the landing pad.
It was modestâ as an N3 model, it only had 770 Explikiwatts of power, and was about the size of a 21st century SUV â but it was a pretty lavender color. And it could fit three people, which was enough for her.
âHey, Z,â said the groundman when she rolled down her window. âAlways a pleasure. I take it youâre off to work this morninâ?â
âYep,â Zanny said. âItâs a constant nine to five these days, isnât it?â
The groundman chuckled. âYouâre tellinâ me! Weâve got loads of ships pullinâ in, âspecially since that new model came out. The X56. Oh look! Here comes one now.â
Zanny glanced behind her and scowled. A freshly polished, pink, 1080 Explikiwatt X56 was pulling in next to her on the pad. Probably about three times the size of her own ship.
The window of the X56 rolled down. A girl about Zannyâs age poked her head out. She had platinum blonde hair (always silky smooth) and was wearing a pair of sparkly sunglasses. âHey, Zanicka, darling!â
âHi, Quinn,â Zanny replied flatly.
âIâve just got this new X56 model!â She called, patting the dash of the ship. Zanny rolled her eyes. Quinn always had to have the newest everything.
âItâs lightning fast. It probably goes double the speed of that old thing!â she laughed, gesturing to Zannyâs ship.
âWanna bet?â Zanny asked.
Quinn lowered her sunglasses. âWhat?â
Zanny gave her a sly smile. âYou say my ship isnât half as fast as yours is. But itâs more trustworthy. Iâve had it for years, I would know.â
The groundman looked between them. âOoh, a race? We havenât had a race here in years! Itâd be so exciting. You could race âround Planet Highnet!â
Zanny checked her wristwatch. She still had some time before work. âAlright, Quinn,â she said, revving up her shipâs engine. âLetâs do this.â
Quinn laughed. âYou think youâre old N3 can beat an X56? Fine! Itâs your funeral!â She waved a hand, then revved her own engine in response.
The groundman held up his neon flags. âOn my count!â
Zanny and Quinn gripped their steering wheels, eyes forward.
âOne.. two⌠THREE!â
The ships launched into the sky. Zanny made a beeline for Planet Highnet, a mere speck in the distance. It would be close, but if she was managing her time right, she could make the entire loop in under three minutes.
Meanwhile, Quinn shook her head from her own driverâs seat. There was no way Zanicka, in her clunky old ship in that preposterous color, was ever going to beat an X56. Even if Zanicka did get ahead, Quinn could easily catch up.
So she took her time. She even did a few fancy dives in the air, just for her own fun. âWoohoo!â she shouted.
But Zanny had already made it to Planet Highnet. She turned her wheel, and the vehicle tilted smoothly and safely. âThatâs right, my girl,â Zanny muttered, patting her faithful ship. âNow just get us back to the landing pad.â
Quinn paused her diving and looked out. She watched as Zanickaâs N3 zoomed back towards their starting place.
âWhat?! She canât have gone around already!â Quinn cried. She yanked on her wheel and sped towards Planet Highnet.
Zanicka glanced over her shoulder. She saw Quinnâs bright pink ship arriving at Highnet and winced. It would be close, but she still had a chanceâŚ
âYou see emâ cominâ in?â asked another groundsperson to the groundman.
The groundman nodded. âYep. And look⌠itâs Z! Sheâs cominâ in hot!â He whipped out his neon flags, waving them wildly. âGo, Z, go!â
He hadnât wanted to say anything, but he secretly hoped Z would win over that other girl. He really did hate the damn X56âs.
âSheâs cominâ in!â The groundman shouted. âSheâs gonna win!â
Quinn growled and gripped her steering wheel harder. She was getting closer. She going to win, she HAD to winâŚ
Zanny spotted the landing pad and extended her shipâs legs. She was nearly thereâŚ
âAnd the winner is⌠Z!â The groundsman screamed, just as Zannyâs ship pulled in a millisecond before Quinnâs.
Zanny jumped out of her ship, laughing and high-fiving the groundman. âI did it! I did it! Woohoo!â
âWhatever,â Quinn pouted as she rolled down her window. She tossed her sunglasses aside.
The groundman smiled sagely. âI think there is an important lesson to be learned here⌠always read your Aesopâs fables!â
What is decaying?
You tell me When I look at the pieces of a broken country Singing their anthem sarcastically Waving their flag like a mockery Flinging their history books from the shelf A populace that seems to hate itself.
The key to healing is communication But the mediaâs preaching self-deprivation So instead of wielding the tools of fixation The nation succumbs to persistent damnation.
The word on the street is always theyâre âleavingâ
But if running is default, whatâs left for achieving?
All is hopeless, if thatâs what youâre perceiving
You lose fifty percent if youâre not believing.
Donât give up, go down on action
You have speak up if you want to gain traction
Fight for your rights, if you want interaction
Pointing out wrongs is a pointless reaction.
So, take a stand! Spread the love, lend a hand Turn dystopia into the promised land A movement of change doesnât always start grand All it takes is one act, destined to expand.
Together, we can reverse the decaying.
âThere is a ghost among us,â the headmistress announced a few days ago. It was the first day of school, and this was the first thing she said. âBe on the lookout. Watch for the chills. The sounds. Remember, the dead can only hide among the living so long as we let them.â
The rumors started to fly almost immediately. Expected, when one suddenly tells about a thousand teenagers that one of their own isnât actually one of their own.
Case in point: Iâm asking my best friend, Iona (who has kept herself glued to my side since that first day of school) as we walk through the corridors, âWho do you suspect?â
Iona scoffs. âNo one. This is all ridiculous. How did the school even detect a ghost in the first place?â
I shrug. âCharms, I guess.â
She rolls her bright hazel eyes. âWake up, Laurie. The answer is, they didnât.â
âBut why would they lie to us?â
âSimple.â She stops at the edge of the hallway in front of her locker. She snaps her fingers, and the door pops open; she begins digging inside for one of her textbooks. âItâs a distraction.â
âFromâŚ?â
She pauses. âIsnât is obvious? You!â
âOh.â I look down awkwardly. âRight.â
Another thing. All children who are accepted into Mirror Academy, the school for those with magical abilities, receive a letter before they arrive. The letter tells them theyâve been accepted, and explains all their magical powers, what they can and canât do, that they must fight always for good, et cetera.
But then thereâs me.
Iâm not actually a magical child. At least, the headmistress doesnât think so. She doesnât really know what I am. I donât have any of the normal magic. Mine is⌠different. While all the other students can do things like cleaning spells and summon objects and make flowers grow and talk to animals, I canâ read minds. Move shadows. Control monsters. That sort of thing. Apparently I have a soul more dark and powerful than anyone the headmistress has ever known.
So you can imagine how everyone reacted to the school accepting someone like me.
Iona nods. âThis is a good thing, donât worry. People will be so caught up in all this ghost nonsense, they wonât have time to think about a thing you can do.â She snaps her fingers again, and the locker doors slam closed.
We continue walking through the corridors. We pass a group of girls who whisper vehemently at each other when they see us, cupping their hands to one anotherâs ears.
I furrow my brow. âWhat do you think theyâreââ
Iona shoves a hand over my mouth. âShh. Donât worry about it! Remember what I told you. Thisâll all be over soon.â
We round another corner. More people are whispering.
âSo,â I ask Iona as a boy stares at us wide-eyed, âWhat would be the danger of having a ghost in the school anyway?â
âIt doesnât matter. There isnât one.â
âI know. But hypothetically.â
She sighs. âWell, hypothetically, ghosts know how to haunt people. Some say they can kill you. Some say they desire nothing but to suck out your soulâŚbut really, letâs face it.â She throws an arm around my shoulder, and her skin feels cold. âThese are all rumors spread by the headmistress. Rumors meant to protect you.â
I nod. Iona is right. The headmistress only wants the best for me.
We stop again, at my locker this time. I have to snap my fingers a few times for the locker door to work. As Iâm rummaging around inside, I hear a strange noise.
I perk up. âWhat was that?â
âWhat was what?â
I glance around. âThat weird hissing noise.â
Iona shakes her head. âI didnât hear anything. My, all this pressure must be getting to you. First finding out about your magic, then coming to Mirror on only a few daysâ notice, then all these people being terrible to you⌠do you need to lie down? I could take you back to the dormitory.â
âUm, thatâs okayââ
âThen letâs go.â She takes my arm and starts pulling me down the corridor again. Gods, why are her fingers so freezing?
More murmuring erupts as we pass though the next few clusters of students. Though itâs not me they seem to be looking atâŚ
âIgnore them,â Iona says quickly, jerking me past the murmurers. âWeâre going to be late for class. Come on.â
Dear Emilia,
You should know I closed your bedroom door I don't go in there anymore. Lockets and trinkets all gathering dust A chime on the window beginning to rust.
I clicked off your radio, bright tunes turned to static Boxed all our memories up in the attic. I donated the dresses that you used to wear Tossed all the pins that you put in your hair.
I shredded your love notes, since I can't bear to read them Abandoned your plants since I don't know how to weed them Got rid of your books, and magazines too I changed all the sheets that still smelled like you.
Emilia, I wish I knew how to handle this better I'd give up the world for you to read this letter The grief in my heart's a festering grime God, I wish we hadn't run out of time.
I wish that car hadn't come so fast I wish that I'd known we wouldn't last My life and soul, now torn asunder As I watch you buried six feet under.
And I'm sorry that I never got to say Everything I should've before you went away I'm kneeling at your gravestone with a wilting rose, Choking on regret and blowing my nose.
Still, I'm here, begging for your forgiveness As in a sick twist of unfinished business Your killer is out there, unscathed and alive How is it fair that one gets to survive?
This hole you've left is achingly empty But something must fill it, hideous plenty. Thus, born from the ashes of the unjust dead A horrible anger pokes its ugly head.
It starts as a spark, but is soon consuming me whole A woken fire that scorches my innocent soul. But if all I have left is that I can avenge, Dearest Emilia, I'll get my revenge.
