The Overlooked

Chapter 3: Fools

The curtains let in far too much light for Frin's taste, and she was beginning to agree with Edgar Allen Poe's sentiment, "Sleep, those little slices of death, how I loathe them". For if she hadn't slept, her eyes would not have been crusted with the remnants of slumber and her joints would not have been groaning like machinery in need of oil. 

Of course, she could blame her discomfort on awaking rather than the sleep itself, but it is usually in one's best interest to agree with poets that toss death around so often. 

It was 6:30 precisely when Frin was plucked from her sleep by the persistent hands of Efa. The blonde looked rather like an angel to the drowsy eye, fresh-faced and rimmed with golden morning light. 

"I'd hoped you had forgotten your punctual tendencies over the Summer," groaned a half-asleep Cora. Her hair (that had somehow doubled in volume overnight) hung in front of her face in tenacious spirals, while her nightgown hung haphazardly off of one shoulder. Frin expected she looked the same. 

Efa smiled without a hint of remorse, "I could've woken you earlier, this is me being gracious."

Nobody had energy enough to argue with her. Instead, Frin shuffled towards the window and pulled the lacy curtain aside to peer at the newly-lit grounds. Their dorm overlooked the West courtyard, which was surrounded by large wall. It was so overgrown with creeping vines, that its aged cobbles were barely visible.

Past the wall, Frin could see a stretch of Welsh countryside; the blurry outlines of wavering trees atop an expanse of green. Everything was covered in the misty remnants of light rain, like a gauzy veil of vapor.

She sighed contentedly, watching as a flock of woodpigeons swarmed the sky, "And so it begins."

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"Almost there," Cora said encouragingly, making yet another nonsensical turn.

Frin was vainly trying to memorize the route they had taken while her limbs seemingly grew heavier. "I lost faith in that statement five half-dressed statues ago." 

Lanton was remarkably difficult to navigate for a school that had hundreds of years to improve upon itself. Some hallways turned at such an awkward angle, that you'd find yourself completing an entire circle and ending up right where you started. Frin was certainly glad to have Cora as her willing chaperone, whom had allegedly "gotten lost enough to know better".

"You ought not to stray," Efa had warned during breakfast, whilst flipping through what Frin assumed to be the school newspaper, "If you go deep enough into this place, there's a good chance you won't be found 'til tomorrow morning."

Slightly shaken, Frin made a point to stick to Cora's side while they traversed the labyrinth passages of Lanton. 

 "And here we are," Cora came to an abrupt stop, smiling proudly.

They were stood before an open doorway; large in an ethereal manner and unmistakably holding something of noble substance within. Frin wandered passed the threshold, mindlessly abandoning Cora in her awed state. 

She had trespassed upon an entirely different world, one in which the very air commanded silence. Trespassing, not because she felt unwelcome, but rather because she felt unworthy to be breaking the library's hallowed serenity. 

In overwhelming magnitude, Frin was surrounded by bookshelves. They spanned her vision in seeming endlessness, groaning with the burden of countless volumes. She was sure that she hadn't seen that many books in her entire life, let alone in one room. 

The shelf nearest to her was packed with thick, burgundy encyclopedias, each spine embossed with a letter of the alphabet in gold foil. Further onward, there were geography books with exotic maps printed onto the covers and hefty tomes with equally as hefty titles. Frin ran a slow hand along their backbones, basking in the woodsy smell of aged paper.