Even Angels get hurt

Chapter 1 : Back to Les Hauts

-Miss Irene, Miss Irene!

The corridors of the French boarding for girls called "les Hauts", usually so calm, resounded that day with an unusual hubbub.

It was back to school for all of the girls, from the little ten years old entering their first year of secondary school to the 20 years old entering their second year of post-high school, as it was possible in the complex French system. It was the time for tearful farewells between the young girls and their families.

One of the nuns in charge of the boarding school, Sister Françoise, was however looking for a young girl in particular, going through the mass of other ones. She went up to the top floor where the "Foyer" was nested under the eaves of the castle. It was the floor of the eldest girls, of those young women who constituted the pride of Les Hauts. They were referred to as the "Majores", the Latin term for the "Most Ancient Ones".

In each room were sorted 4 Majores. "Miss Irene" was the first to arrive in hers, as Sister Françoise noticed while looking through the tinted glass on the door of the room. Irene was standing in the center of the room, her back straight as always. A tall woman, wearing a long blue coat, her mother, hugged her, but still she remained stiff. Then came her father's turn, and only then did she deign to cheer up. Things hadn't worked out, sighed the old nun.

Once her parents had slipped away, greeting the sister who had welcomed Irene two years ago, she gave herself two seconds in order to watch the girl. Two years ago, she had opened her arms to a teenager with long ebony hair, with eyes that looked bright but so lost, half covered up with bangs, hands full of scars. The young woman she was currently looking at had swapped her leather gauntlets for elegant gloves, hiding the marks of her hands. But the nun knew that those wounds were nothing compared to those in her heart.

Recovering her senses, she knocked on the girl's door and entered the small room. The sound of her cane clattering on the wood of the floor as she was walking towards Irene, a packet in her hands, lifted the corner of Irene's lips into a sweet smile.

-Your uniform, Miss Irene.

- Oh, thank you, my sister, replied the eighteen years old young women in a quite hard but deep voice. Was your summer as good as I wished for?

-Oh, the routine... but what about yours?

Irene's eyes clouded over.

-I'm glad to be back, she whispered. Thanks for the uniform. I'll go and welcome the little ones, she continued in a determined voice.

Sister Françoise understood the message and slipped away.

⁕ ⁕ ⁕

Irene stood up and slowly unwrapped the package, revealing a light blue mid-calf skirt, a white shirt with a high lace collar, a dark blue waistcoat, a long light blue jacket matching the skirt, with golden buttons and thin dark blue lines, and a belt without a buckle. For the Majores, it was a dark gold one. Irene's fingers, by reflex, seized the belt, passed it in front, and then tightened it in the back, ironing the reversed ends in the front, tying them under the first turn in a knot whose ends fell down. But she forced herself to undo it and to tie again the belt with a brooch at the side. She pulled her long dark locks up into a bun, readjusted her gloves, and put on her pumps. Her fingers went mechanically to her fringe, clutching her hair, as she was used to doing when she felt tensed. But she quickly let go. Now was not the time to be sentimental. It was never the time to be sentimental.

She then grabbed a suitcase full of uniforms and headed to the lower courtyard, which constituted the quarters of the youngest ones. As she was walking by, the little ones turned around, astonished at her grace. It always had that effect. Stepping onto the small podium, she clapped her hands. Gradually, silence fell, and the little ones turned to her. She forced a reassuring smile and began: