original shorts.

lendsbane.

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If there were any students left in attendance at Lendsbane, no one ever saw them. No one, that is, except Avrendi.

She never saw them, exactly. Rather, she saw glimpses of them. They were there, to be sure, but only in the flicker of a candle through a window, or the soft scritch-scritch of pens on paper that could be heard if one lay on the roof on a clear, quiet night and listened closely with their ear pressed to the shingles.

No one knew, exactly, what the school was for. Rumor had it that it had been disbanded long ago, something involving a poem and a bloody pair of scissors, but if Avrendi knew anything, it was that rumor seldom proved accurate. This, Avrendi decided, was not one of those rare cases. It had taken her long enough, a fraying string of thought pieced together from conversations in the backs of bars and the cold, judgemental whispers of office workers in the upper part of town, but Avrendi now knew without a doubt: there were indeed students at Lendsbane.
           
What they did in there, Avrendi had no idea.
           
Which brought her to the present night. She crouched on the windowsill, listening to the scritch-scritch of pens on paper. Debating. The window was unlocked -- she knew that much. It was too easy. Almost as though they were inviting her in.
           
She lifted the window with a shrug. If they were expecting her, best not keep them waiting.

Her feet touched the wooden floor without a sound, and she slid the window closed behind her, eyes darting about the room, taking in the scene. It was by far the most lavish room she'd ever been in, and that was including all the times she'd been to dinner in the homes of the one percent, being paid in food and wine and a little cash to talk about economics and real estate. Their homes were all bare white, so clean it was blinding, interspersed with ridiculous pops of color that looked like they'd come from a second-grade classroom. Frankly, Avrendi had never understood the style -- had thought that interior design was something she just couldn't appreciate. But looking around, she felt a sense that this was what a house was supposed to look like. Tapestries hung on the walls, draping the room in dark jewel tones and images of forests and fairies. It felt warm and personal – like someone lived here. Someone who didn't sterilize their entire house as though it were a hospital.

The most prominent feature in the room were the bookcases. They were lined up in rows, all dark wood and carvings of all sorts of flowers and beasts, each reaching only as high as her shoulder but thickly packed with strangely beautiful volumes. The books were bound in all colors, embossed in gold and silver, with strange and intriguing titles. The Tale of the Heike, read one. The Divine Comedy, read another. There were other titles in languages Avrendi didn't understand, as well – in precise, architectural letters and flowing scripts full of loops and swirls. She wondered what on earth books with such titles could be about. The only books she'd ever read – or seen, for that matter – were the books in her school library, on mathematics and science and medicine. What sort of science was a divine comedy?

Footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the room, and Avrendi hurriedly shoved the book back where it had been and pressed her back against the bookcase, holding her breath as she heard the doorknob turn. Shoes clicked aimlessly on the polished floor, as if their owner was looking for something but wasn't quite sure where to find it – and wasn't in any particular rush to do so, either, which Avrendi thought odd. In a regular library, there was no need to go looking for things yourself – you typed a request into one of the computers at the door and a robot would find it for you.

But, clearly, this was not a regular library.

The footsteps grew closer. Closer. A shiver ran down Avrendi's spine, and she began to second-guess her previous boldness. She didn't think she would be hurt if she was caught here – but she didn't know that, either. Her lungs began to ache from holding her breath, anxiously demanding oxygen.

With a gasp, Avrendi let out the breath she'd been holding. She immediately clamped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. The very air in the room stilled.

"Who's there?" said a voice. It was quiet, appropriate for a library, and didn't seem to bare any particular threat, but something about it sent chills skittering down Avrendi's spine. It felt powerful. It held power.

Slowly, Avrendi stood up. She turned around, pushing her hood back as she did so. Whoever this was, she would look them in their eyes.

Their crystalline, electric purple eyes.

Avrendi's own eyes widened. Never in her life had she seen someone with eyes the same color as hers. It was shunned, unspoken of, and Avrendi's parents had ridiculed her for it. She had taken to wearing contacts at a young age, changing her eyes to a dark brown.

But she wasn't wearing them now.

The person in front of her gave a bemused smile. "Good evening."

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