St. Văduva's School for Prestigious Girls

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕰𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖊𝖊𝖓

The assembly let down soon after, and Temperance shuffled to the dining room to fetch a cup of coffee before she was to hold herself up in her room all weekend. She leaned against the wall nearest the machine, sipping at her cup of coffee. Some shuffled into the room, chatting happily and grabbing food and drinks of their own. Temperance watched each person carefully, noting any peculiar motions or facial expressions, but she found it in every single person. There were bubbly, happy faces everywhere as if a woman had not just died in the laundry room in the early morning hours. It bothered her and she found herself shunning them, eyes scowling at her coffee.

Before it became too crowded, Temperance grabbed hold of a grapefruit and cutlery, placed her mug in the tub of used dishes, and headed back to her dorm. Mind full and belly empty.

She had a slew of things on her plate for the weekend — figure out how to get her clothes when there was an active crime scene, work on homework, and do some serious people-watching. Someone killed Ji-Yeong, and she was adamant it was not her. How could she? Snapping one's spine took a lot of strength, even if they used a shelving unit to help them along. She had become weaker in the months following her diagnosis, but no one would listen to that logic. She was found with blood all over her and a barrette of the victim clenched in her hand, not to mention, she had a public altercation with Ji-Yeong just hours before. That was all that a cop would listen to.

She furrowed her brow as the realization hit her. Where were the cops? Glancing out the window near the front door at the bottom of the stairs and toward the parking lot, there were no bright flashing lights to be seen, just a dreary overcast day as the tangle of trees surrounding the property swayed in the breeze. Something rubbed her the wrong way. What kind of school allows for a student to be injured and not call authorities or parents? The place should be crawling with feds, especially if Ji-Yeong was not from this country. Something was up, and it made the hairs on the back of Temperance's neck raise.

She ignored the anxious feeling in her belly, continuing past the library and down the hall. Upon getting to her door and Block, she saw a pile of folded, dry clothes on her doorstep. She stopped just short of the fabrics, eyes widened. She peered around, but no one made themselves known. One glance was enough to tell her that these were the clothes that she had left overnight in the washer. Who would have dried and folded them for her?

Puzzled, she used her keycard to unlock the door and held it open as she bent down to pick up the garments. They were still warm, much to her surprise. She brought them to her nose and was wrapped in the scent of honeysuckle and lavender. Whoever did this even used dryer sheets. She locked the door behind her, bringing the pile over to the bed. She stood before it, hands on her hips as she thought through this. She had not bonded with anyone during this week, so who would have helped her out? Maybe Zhanna? JJ? Certainly not Kanani.

Never mind who finished them, she still had to debate whether or not to put them back in her bag or to put them in the dresser where they belonged. She bit her inner lip. On the one hand, it would seem suspicious to have her clothes still packed... on the other hand, she was dying. There was no need to get cozy. The past few days she had been feeling decent, but she remembered how her grandmother, days before her eventual passing, had a sudden surge of energy and felt extraordinarily better. It was heartwrenching to see her sister gain hope that the elder would bounce back, only for her to finally pass in her sleep hours later.

Temperance decided in the betterment of self-preservation to put the clothes away. She slid the drawer open and lifted the first garment, a note hidden in between the first and second folding.

Perplexed, she placed the clothing in the drawer and turned to the note. The parchment was slightly yellowed but soft and smooth like quality material. Elegant calligraphy scrawled across the surface, written in such a gorgeous, familiar script:

𝓣𝓮𝓶𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮, 𝓘 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓲𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝔂𝓬𝓵𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓵𝓮𝓯𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓪𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓻 — 𝓱𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭. 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓪𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓻𝔂 𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓶 𝓲𝓼 𝓬𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵 𝓯𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓮. 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓶 𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓼, 𝓜𝓲𝓻𝓬𝓮𝓪.

She touched the words, tracing the curves and edges. It was beautiful. Her own handwriting was fine, but something about this was hauntingly lovely. She found herself smiling as she thought of that tower of a man, in all of his gorgeous edges and sharp gaze, putting her clothes in the dryer. He seemed so straight-edge, the kind of guy who had a routine that could not be fucked up whatsoever or it would ruin his day. But he was kind — a lot more than she could say about several of the men who had come into her life over the years.

Delicately, she placed the note on top of the dresser and continued loading the drawers up with clean clothes. Then she set to work.