𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 | lady lesso

twenty one

The morning arrives quickly and I'm woken by the movement of my sister around the main area of the tower. Yes, the headmasters tower. I get up and stumble out in my pajamas, shooting her a glare of utmost displeasure.

"Morning!"

"I need tea." I groan, collapsing on the sofa. Dust plumes off it when I sit. This place needs a really good cleaning. Zylia, also still in her pajamas, sets down a steaming cup of tea and ruffles my hair. I barely manage a grimace to indicate my thanks.

"So I was thinking, we could turn downstairs into our office. Have two desks and what not. Then up here remains the same?" She spews the words out with such speed I almost miss them. This matter could be easily resolved later but it's as if she feels the need to voice every racing thought in her mind before she can forget it.

"Sounds good, needs a deep clean and redecorating though." I remind, the both of us evidently referring to the damned tower. The thing looks as though it hasn't been touched since the last time I entered it, and even then it wasn't exceptionally striking in any way.

She nods her head and writes it down, eyes tired but clearly excitable. I drink my tea and get changed, meeting little miss violet at the door. "Mrs Locke, if you will." I hold it open for her to step out. She laughs and rolls her eyes, descending onto the bridge.

I'm dragged to the hall by my wrist, which unfortunately all the staff are forced into eating together at, by such an excited woman that I'm sure she's draining my magic. Or maybe just my energy.

I grab (yet again) a bowl of fruit from the table and sit down with the enthusiasm of a sleeping camel: in the one seat I'd hoped to avoid. Next to Lesso. This situation is starting to feel oddly familiar. I shoot her a glance and she turns away, shaking her head.

"Is there a problem Lady Lesso?" I ask quiet enough to not disturb the others but loud enough for her to hear me. I pop a strawberry into my mouth and watch as her eyes glance at my lips. She reaches blindly for her tea and brings it to her lips. I watch the steam piling from the cup and manage to keep my eyes from her mouth with every ounce of self restraint I own.

"Not particularly." She replies, not meeting my eyes as she bites into her toast. "How have you been?" She says after a moment of inner conflict, the feelings she doesn't say perfectly captured in her eyes.

"Didn't take you as one for small talk." I muse and her eyes meet mine dancing with amusement. They are the same startling ocean blue as they were the last time I saw them, judging and mean. She catches me so off guard I almost choke on my tea: almost.

"Then let's skip it. How was your boarding school?" She brings up the sore subject with no hesitation as if it has no significance to her. I admire her bravery and ignorance but don't appreciate the cold shoulder it provides. I pretend to contemplate my answer, chewing the small blue fruit in my mouth to accentuate.

"It was different." I start, eyes meeting hers. I notice a few others perk up at the mention of my time after the incident. "Or well unique to say the least." Clarissa leans over her food, pale dress dangerously close to ask a question.

"Was it similar to here?"

"Oh no, it was very much kill or be killed." I grin. Her face goes pale as she presumably relays the last time an event describable as such occurred in this very room itself. I try not to laugh at the aghast expressions displayed on each of the staff's faces: Zylia's the only exception. Her's instead shows remorse for the consequences of that day, a grimace on her lips and her eyes diverted to the floor.

Clarissa speaks up, voice as unsteady as her shaking hand. "Surely they has some measurement in place to...restrict this from happening?" She say, the amber liquid in her teacup sloshing around noisily. Who would have thought she'd downgrade from giving tinnitus to having Parkinson's.

"No." I keep my face serious, drinking my tea enthusiastically, "In fact they encouraged our unpredictable fits of violence and rage." I continue. Professor Anemone places down her fork, a fake horror on her face but a undeniable curiosity in her eyes.

"So, you were allowed to kill other women? No wonder you survived it, you had practice." I freeze, the events of that day like a stab to the gut. Like taking a knife and recutting the wound - a scar not fully healed.

"I-" I clear my throat, "I suppose so."

"And you somehow got away unscathed? You must have had so little enemies to do so?" She pushes. Her large brown eyes are calm and wise. She knows exactly what she's doing, testing the open wounds I left on the people in this school. Testing mine.

"No. I did not." And it was true - I hadn't. That school was hell, and not in a good way. The girls would sneak into each other's dorms either to fuck eachother, to kill or to do both. And I had been the victim to many of their blades, survival instinct the only reason I'd made it home. Lesso's blue eyes hover on my face in my peripheral vision.

"Care to show us?" Bile starts to rise up my throat as I struggle to keep the fruit down. My breathing becomes unsteady. The long thin scars that now cover my body aren't something I like to bring up in conversation, and so alarms sound in my head. I reach for the familiarity of my magic, it's darkness flooding my senses. I see Lady Lesso tense beside me.

Anemone opens her mouth to ask another question. "I think that's enough prying, Emma." Zylia speaks softly but firmly, eyes glowing a gentle amethyst. A few purple butterflies land on the professor's dark hair, causing her to reach to hold it in her hand. Instead it returns to its shape as a tiara. 

My breathing returns to normal and the tingling feeling dissipates from my senses. At this point, I may as well be a fucking tragedy. "If you'll excuse me." I stand, leaving the remainder of my food uneaten and my drink, stagnant and cold.

I can't deal with this right now. And to be honest, I never want to think of my time in either schools ever again.