𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞 જ⁀➴

III

Cassandra 

Thornton school was established back in the late nineteenth century by the original founding families of Thornefield. The building was ancient, an architectural landmark that was once used for a gothic temple, until the founders handed it over as new residency for the prestigious British families that sent countless generations of their descendants to flourish under the finest education all their inheritance could by. The campus had been large enough to accommodate both Primary and Secondary, the students aged from years three to thirteen. The wings separated the children from ever bumping into one another, the dormitories only furthered the age segregation. Amidst the English countrysides, the school was practically a fortress with high towers and slanted rooftops.

Matthew emptied all Cassandra's belongings out from the Sedan and commanded she meet him up there. The problem had been that her time locked away at the mental institution stunted her knowledge on the school grounds. Map clutched tight in her hands, she attempted to make her way round the swarm of students and locate her dormitory in the east wing. A flock of eager students gathered around the wooden timbre of one of the archways blocking her path to Corvus house. There had been a myriad of houses to accommodate the student bed chambers: Aquila, Lupus, Leo, Lynx, Aries and Phoenix. The underlying pattern being the obvious stereotypical nature of it all being animals in the traditional language of Latin.

A group of first years made no point to move out of her way, and the thin line of patience snapped as if it had been clipped. "Unless you want me to knock your teeth down your throat, move." A small sprout of happiness flourished in her heart as the kids all scattered in separate directions in such haste, tripping on the stone walkway. Cassandra prayed they scraped their knees, as it only served them right for being nosey creeps.

"Are you aiming to scare all the kids away, or can you simply not help being such a knob?" A familiar voice belonging to a boy called out from behind her, forcing her to swivel round with raised brows. "Cassandra Grey, has it been that long?"

Face to face with Aleksandr Romanov, Cassandra casted her gaze over the appearance of the boy she had been betrothed to marry since before she could babble and crawl. Dark haired beauty, his face of sharp angled lines and harsh features sparked a surge of longing for her best friend. The pair made a pack the second they were old enough to understand the temperamental nature of their fascist families, that they would genuinely marry one other to shield the other from their parents' wrath. Because Aleksandr understood her. He knew what it was like to spend a childhood in a house like theirs and understood what it meant to juggle the pressured weight of exceeding unrealistic expectations. Each family held dominion over a key pillar of Thornefield's structure. But the Romanovs, the Romonovs enforced the town's law and order, ensuring that justice was delivered swiftly and harshly. Their word in court was final, and no one dared challenge their verdicts.

His family was just as insane as hers.

So he understood.

He understood so much, he helped. He helped her navigate through the complications, and bloodshed, and when the concept of physical touch never made her hyperventilate, Aleksandr would crawl into her bedroom at nightfall and hold her until the pair both fell asleep. But that was then.

It was different now.

"I'm lost." Cassandra announced, and Aleksandr sighed.

"No 'Hi. I've missed you' or even a hug?" He had already changed into his school uniform consisting of navy blue and white clothing. "Do you need help with that or...?"

Cassandra shrugged her shoulder, and a part of her resented how hard it was to communicate with him now without remembering that night. The last time he had spoken to her, in the hospital after surgery, something broke and shrivelled apart in her heart, never to be ever found again. Cassandra recalled that moment, recalled as it had been scorched and engraved in the crevices of her memories, recalled fighting and sobbing for the firm arms that hauled her away to the institution to grant her permission to see him for just a few minutes. But still, they had dragged her away, broken, bloodied and bruised, ripping her from his arms. That was their last interaction. Albeit she doubted based on the harsh ruthlessness that he was taught in his upbringing, he would need her around any longer to survive.