Ruby Fridays

Chapter 4: The Offer

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N O W P L A Y I N G

» [ Playground - Bea Miller ] «

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"What brings you to the lost and found, dear?

Won't you pull up a seat?

Everybody got a price 'round here to play

Make me an offer, what will it be?

Oh-oh, what will it be?

Welcome to the playground, follow me

Tell me your nightmares and fantasies

Sink into the wasteland underneath

Stay for the night, I'll sell you a dream,"

───── ❝ R U B Y F R I D A Y ' S P O V ❞ ────

I was panting heavily as I reached the Headmistress' office, barely able to keep up with the vast space of the whole vicinity. As soon as I took a fair glance of the sign that told me I was in for my right destination, I begrudgingly opened the doors, only to be greeted by an ominous feeling that I could not explain. The space I was standing shrouded in a deathly silence, and the only thing that could be heard was the sound of my own panted breaths.

As I entered her office, I could feel the eerie feeling starting to fill the room. It was like it was trying to trap me and to hold me captive in the darkest dungeons ─ obviously a feeling that is far from being safe and sound in the bounds of this place.

The office itself is quite large, with a high ceiling, giving it a feeling of intimidation. The windows are all boarded up, as if to keep out any and all light, and the only illumination comes from a single, frail light bulb that hangs from the ceiling. It casts an eerie glow over everything, making the room feel even more oppressive.

But what is even more puzzling was the fact that I couldn't quite shake the feeling that I was being watched. It was like someone was observing me from the deepest, darkest corners of the room ─ like they were waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

It was then that I realized that the feeling wasn't just coming from the dark, dreary atmosphere of the room. It was coming from the Headmistress herself. Like a viper, I saw her sitting in the very most center of the studio, her back facing me as her long, blonde hair hanged down her on her bare back like a cloak.

I could hear a sound of paint brush clicking against a canvas, but I tried to whisk it away as I nervously step into the floors, trying not to make any sound. I approached her slowly, waiting for her to turn around, but she never did. It was as if she was doing something important, to the extent of being unconcerned and unbothered with my presence. It was as if she was channeling all that dark energy into her work, and it was all confusing to watch.