The High Priestess and I

I plant violets every time someone leaves me

Clara was standing on the roof of the Academy of Unseen Arts late at night, smoking, just as she'd done almost every night for the past few weeks. It had become one of her favourite places, hidden and quiet. She came here to think—about her new job as a teacher, her life choices, and everything, really.

Despite everyone being entirely welcoming and friendly towards her, she couldn't help but feel displaced because she was fully aware of how bad she was at teaching; she'd never done well with children or teenagers, for that matter. Clara got along just fine with her colleagues, even with the Directrix, who didn't seem to like anyone at all. But sometimes she smiled at Clara, discretely and mysteriously.

However, things had gone from bad to worse when the one person Clara had cared about had left two weeks ago. No goodbye, just a note saying, "I'm content with how it is right now. I've come to the realisation that I've been writing these letters and doing the visits only for you. At some point, I started only playing the role of what you saw in me. But that's not who I am."

The cool breeze brushed over Clara's cheeks, leaving them a light shade of red as she took another long drag on her cigarette. She stepped closer to the edge of the roof, looking down and picturing her shattered body on the ground. Today would be the day. She'd been thinking about it frequently but had wanted to sort some things out first. Maybe she'd even been a little scared.

It wasn't only because of her. She was just the tip of the iceberg that was a troubled life of people disappointing and leaving Clara, countless painful happenings, and loneliness. A silent tear ran down her face, sending a shiver through her body. The pain she'd caused was what had pushed Clara over the edge. She couldn't take it anymore, couldn't bear feeling numb, alone, and unloved for one more day. There would be no collateral damage anyway, as there was nobody who was particularly attached to her—no family, no friends. She'd be surprised if anyone even took note of her disappearance.

Clara slowly slid the toe of her shoe over the edge to gather some courage, but she flinched at the sound of heeled steps behind her. Turning around, she quickly brushed the tear away, and her panicked, wide eyes met the Directrix'.

"Headmistress Spellman! What are you doing up here?" She tried to sound upbeat.

Directrix Spellman raised one of her perfect eyebrows at her. "I could ask you the same, Clara. And at this time of night!"

"I—um... came here to smoke," Clara stuttered, wrapping her free arm around her own waist.

"Well, then you won't mind me joining you, will you?" She conjured herself a cigarette as well and came closer, dragging on it and blowing a cloud of smoke in the air.

Clara did so too, trying to find a way to get rid of Ms Spellman, or she'd lose her nerve right in front of her. Directrix Spellman eyed Clara closely, but she remained silent as she wasn't much of a talker. Clara wondered why she was still all dressed up but admired her elegant curves anyway.

"I've noticed you coming here a lot recently," Ms Spellman pointed out; how ever the heaven she knew about that. "Any specific reason?"

"Oh, you know, just the quietness and view..." Clara answered casually while fidgeting with her clothes.

"I see." She seemed to accept her answer but gave another searching look. Her defining scent reached Clara's nose; roses and whisky played with her senses as she wondered why Ms Spellman paid her this much attention.

Both of them enjoyed a few drags on their cigarettes in silence, staring into the dark night with the moon mostly hidden.

The Directrix broke the silence unexpectedly: "You know, Clara, I recognise the look on your face. The one you've been carrying for quite some time." All the while, she kept staring into the darkness that lay ahead of them.