Invisible string~ Matthew Fairchild {1}

Twenty one

A/N: this chapter is kind of confusing, as it includes both days past scenes and poems. That being said, it explains a lot about Amelia's past. Message me if you have any questions, I'd be happy to answer them!

Amelia stood in front of her parents and siblings, a stack of papers in her hands. Her family looked at her expectantly, but she couldn't bring herself to make eye contact with any of them.

In her hands was every poem of hers that she still had. Even the ones she'd withheld from Thomas out of embarrassment.
This was it. This was the day Amelia was done hiding, done trying to forget what happened at the academy.

"Why haven't you gone home yet?"

"It's not a woman's place to fight."

Amelia shook the thought from her head, focusing instead on her family. They all eyed her with a mixture of confusion and concern, save Thomas, who knew nearly everything Amelia was trying to say.

Thomas stood by her side, holding her hand in silent reassurance. "You got this, Mila."

She let out a shaky breath. "As you all know," she began, "my time at the Academy was... less than great. I left after a year."

Gideon furrowed his eyebrows. "Nobody here blames you for missing your friends, mija."

"That's—that's not why I left. The bullying only got worse after James, Matthew and Kit were expelled. And then, someone found a poem of mine." She paused for a moment, wiping away a tear that managed to escape.

"You know how Uncle Will and Aunt Tessa are always saying that written work is a reflection of the writer's soul? Well, that turned out to be very true. The person who found my poem threatened to show it to everyone in the Academy if I didn't leave. I didn't leave the Academy in solidarity with Thomas. I left because I was a coward who didn't want people to know my insecurities."

•••

Days past: February 1900

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?"

Amelia looked up to see the person she loathed more than anything. She didn't grace him with an answer, as she knew firsthand she would only aggravate him.

Samuel Montclaire had made it his personal mission to get her to leave the Academy. His excuse was that women were simply not supposed to fight, and they were better off preparing to have a family.

Samuel rushed forward, blocking Amelia's path. "Let me ask you a question. Why haven't you left?"

At that, she looked him in the eye and said, "why should you get opportunities I don't?"

He grinned, and it made her skin crawl. "Because I know something."

"Is this in any way relevant to my learning?"

"Well, we wouldn't want this opportunity to go to waste. And it surely would be wasted on a woman who spends her time writing poems instead of training."

"Are you hurt because the woman in question doesn't write poems about how she longs for your love?"

"Hardly." He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket, handing it to Amelia. "Have a look."

She cautiously took it, unable to contain her shock when it was a poem of hers she hadn't yet burned. "You've no proof this is mine. It doesn't even have a name written."

"No," Samuel admitted. "It doesn't. But I found it on the floor next to a letter, signed by you. The handwriting is identical. Now, do you want to reconsider leaving the Academy, or do I need to show everyone what you do in your spare time?"