A Snuffed Out Candle Burns Again

Her power thundered through her bones, as she pushed it out, giving it form. She cloaked herself in a dress of black mist, and shielded her allies behind her. She knew where the students and teachers would go in the event of a break in, it was a shame they believed themself safe.

She made her way down the halls, and found herself in the library, the room of spells, mysteries, and most importantly lies. The heads of the school had made the room to be both a library and a safe room in the event of an attack. They built the stone walls and dark oak shelves, making the room with permanent physical illusions.

The illusioned room was kept running by the illusionists attending the school; they were forced to spend days at a time in the Library to reinforce the magic. Making sure it was strong enough to protect the school’s residents if needed.

To the naked eye, the library seemed old and untouched. Dust could be found on the shelves, and the smell of death filled the air. The illusions were strong, but she was the high ranking Dreamer. All illusions bowed to her.

She sought revenge for every day she was starved, for every scar on her back, every broken bone in her hands, and she would take it now.

“I know you are here,” Hecate sang at the false walls and the people behind them. “I can feel your fear, can hear your heartbeat, can sense your faltering magic.”

She formed an invisible wind and sent it striking through the library. Shelves fell, books scattered, and glass broke. She made her way to the center of the room, positioned under the grand chandelier her illusionist peers had been forced to slave away on for days at a time.

She opened her arms, spread them wide, and sent another surge of power through the halls. She remembered every friend, every child that was like her, and how they were killed and tortured in these walls. She had memorized every face that came to her cell before being taken away, never to be seen again. She had vowed to remember them as no one else would.

This Academy was plagued with the tortured souls of the children whose only crime was having the mind to question their superiors, and she would give them a way to rest today. She would make them all pay.

From the ground up, she gave life and a body to the memories of her past. She gave the ghosts of her peers a new form, one that would make the Head Master’s remember and regret what they did to them.

The young elemental, forced to drown herself, the illusionist who’s life had been taken for being too “weak”. The telepath who could not listen to thoughts, and the shifter who could not shift.

She would make them all pay, and she would make them remember what they did to her and her friends. She turned, facing the largest bookshelf in the room, the shelf she knew all the Heads of the Academy would be, and smiled.

She dropped her silk cloak of black mist, and let them see just who was taking their school apart. She waved her arms, and all illusions in the library collapsed.

She saw the professors surrounded by guards, and the students shoved next to them for “protection”. The rage that boiled inside her for years now seemed to be overflowing, and this time she would not stop it from running rampant.

All around her, illusions began to take form. They took the shapes of her dead peeres, the shapes of childhood nightmares, and every horrific creature she had the energy to create.

She felt her creations, the way her magic pulsed through them like blood in veins. She brought her gaze to the villains in front of her, those who take advantage from the shadows, those who abuse the vulnerable and call it a privilege, and let her creations free.

There would be blood today, but it would not be her own.

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