"Trust me, you shouldn't want anyone like me on your back."
"Maybe I don't want anyone like you on my back," His eyes darkened as he stepped closer, confining me tighter into barely any space as my back pressed against the wall.
"Maybe I want you. U...
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CHAPTER 1
THE AIR WAS INFUSED with the scent of burning lilacs. Warm, sweet, and that charcoal hint tracing the edges like a peppered kiss of a doomed lover. I could almost picture it, a lilac on fire— its tiny petals curling and writhing in on themselves in agony. I could picture it, but the colors didn't come. They never came. My mind was a canvas that I could only sketch on, and it would forever remain unpainted.
I hurried along the lilac scented corridor, my heels tapping on the carpet atop the wooden flooring, soft thuds that seemed to relax me despite my hurry. My hold on the leather bound An Advanced Guide to Potion Making book in my hands tightened, and I pressed it closer to my chest. It was the reason I was late for class, yet I would never admit it out loud. Placing a blame on an inanimate object would perhaps be the most cowardly thing one could do, and I couldn't see myself doing it just yet.
Classroom 6B came into view, tucked away at the end of the long corridor. There were no other classes on the sixth floor of the Academy castle, and so Professor Pierre's Potion classes in 6B were looked upon with much mixed feelings and equal concern. Apparently, students felt detached from the school during their potions classes, a sentiment that Madame Maxime, the headmistress, dismissed often times with gingerly sips of her afternoon tea.
I approached the classroom, and paused to collect myself. Aside from being a little out of breath, and my thoughts a slight mess, I was alright. I ran my free hand over my sky blue uniform skirts. I hadn't creased it at all, yet my self consciousness wouldn't bid me enter anywhere unless I double check.
"Miss Dominique Lavigne," The expected call of disapproval reverberated in my ears once I appeared at the entrance, like an echo in an abandoned castle.
"You are five minutes late," Professor Pierre spoke. His voice was loud, dominating, daunting.
I met his narrowed eyes, and was thankful to not find in them the same reprimand that he reserved for some of this other difficult students.
"Je m'excuse, professeur," I answered, my body radiating with heat of the intensity of everyone else's stares.
The classroom was packed, littered with faces I knew and faces I did not, all of them faithful to Professor Pierre's infamous three minute to get to class rule.
"Do you have a reason to justify your lack of punctuality today?"
I nodded, well aware that this question was always a trick one. Nothing really justified being late to Potions class, unless you were dying and had to resort to satanic rituals to barter your soul back in trade with someone else's. Even that, I supposed would still not be justification enough in Professor Pierre's eyes.
"I was studying Professor, and I lost track of time."
"And what were you studying?"
"Angel's Trumpet Draught," I answered instantly, a creeping satisfaction crawling over me as Professor Pierre raised his blonde brow in intrigue.
