God of Illusions and Secrets

Sons and Daughters

Lessons at the Pine Hill Academy were never boring. Oh my, how I used to love that place. It was a very prestigious school, open only for students who could afford the school fees. It was big, dark and spooky, just like the things I used to like. I can still remember the big library, so full of old books and silence, the long hallway where the students waited for the classes to begin, the giant windows which overlooked the green gardens and the statues of mythological creatures. 

I remember the dorms, on the highest part of the Academy. You had to climb a lot of old gray stone stairs, and only after a hundred steps, you could've reached the female and male dorms: they were full of ancient paintings which represented ethereal women in long dresses, animals, or, my favorites, landscapes. There were lakes, woods, vales, mountains, oceans, so full of nature, so full of life. 

The life I couldn't hold on to.

My room was in front of the small lake of Pine Hill, a lake that used to ice during the cold winters. I had a big window, and from it I could've seen anything: students running in the snow, the thick rain falling on the ground, the sun warming up the gardens.

But enough about my sad memories and let's start the story of how I died. This tale starts in December, a week before Christmas Break. 

That day there was History as our first lesson of the day, and already sat at their seats there was the most popular group of all Pine Hill Academy. They were rich, they were smart, they were sly. A group of ancient greek gods, beautiful, full of illusions, full of secrets.

Chester Sweeney was the leader: his mother was the principal of the Academy, while his father was very a powerful politician. Chester was the nightmare every girl wanted to have at night, in their dark rooms. Tall, with wavy brown hair and icy blue eyes, the prince charming ready to wake you up from an endless sleep with a kiss, if only he wasn't the one who casted the curse. A master in manipulation, a genius in every class, he was one of the Favorites. He was The Devil of the deck. He was Moros, God of the doom. He was a mistery, he was everything and nothing at the same time.

Shelley Pruitt, little miss perfect, a kind hearted girl too much focused on her grades than on her life. Her parents were both famous plastic surgeons, and her only goal in life was reaching what her father and mother reached: success. Shelley was The Empress of the deck and Aphrodite, born from the sea foam. She was beautiful, with her long golden hair, her ebanon eyes, a lioness ready to attack. But the most beautiful part of her body was her brain. I've never met someone smarter then her. She loved to read complicated books, mostly russian literature. Shelley was a girl who was written by Dostoevskij or Tolstoj, a woman that sees herself in a heavy and long mink fur, with dark red lipstick and high heel boots.

Joseph Stafford, heir to the Stafford Development. A conflictual boy and a wonderful painter. He loved to paint everything that he could see, from a small and insignificant flower to the insides of his room. From the outside, Joseph seemed a caring and gentle boy, but deep down on the inside, he was cold and mean, but loyal to his friends, especially to Chester, his best friend since childhood. His father would've never allowed him to follow his dreams and Joseph would've supported his every choice. After all, all that mattered was the money the Stafford family had in its bank account. Half a billion, some say. And Joseph was greedy for money. He was The Hanged Man of the deck, he was Plutus, god of wealth.

Nola Grady, the queen's gambit, a rose whose tongue was so thorny that it could've hurted you. Her hair was fire burning, her eyes were woods enlightened by the sun, her skin was the purest snow. Nola, oh sweet Nola. She was adopted, her real parents died in a car accident when she was too little to remember. Her adoptive father was an important british lawyer. Nola had only one true passion in her life: chess. She wanted to become a famous chess player at the levels of Aleksandr Alechin. Nola didn't like to show her emotions very often, but she wasn't silent, she liked to talk a lot, to make snarky comments about her inferior classmates. In fact, our sweet girl thought to be better than anyone else around her. She was ferocius, she was superior, she was couragious. Nola was The Strenght of the deck, she was Artemis, goddess of the wild.

Julian Hopkins, the musician, the lonely boy. Julian was the only normal person in the group of the Favorites. He was calm, funny, not competitive. A boy with a heart made of gold. He came from a hard childhood and from a difficult family: his parents were both rich thank to their old money families and they used to do nothing all day. Julian's father was an alcoholic, his mother was absent most of the time. His dream was to become a great musician. He played piano, he was a prodigy. I remember Julian's long and sharp face, his little blue eyes and his light brown hair. But I don't remember quite well his smile. I mean his true smile, not the fake one he used to use in front of his friends. Poor boy, he had such a terrible life. He was The Hermit, introspective and alone, he was Apollo, god of music.

There she is, the last soul.

Madge Edwards, the strange girl that looked like a character came out from a Stephen King's book. Shy and sly at the same time. Madge, daughter of the owner of a chain of banks, liked to read, to stand outside during cold rains, to read tarots, to watch crows flying away from naked trees. She was tall, thin, maybe too thin. She had long blonde hair that always fell on her pale face, her eyes were tired. I've never seen someone with eyes more tired than hers. She was just seventeen and she was already jaded from everything. Oh, I bet she would've prefered to be one of the birds she loved to look at outside the window of her room. She smiled a lot, she laughed a lot, she wrote a lot. Her diary is still on her bed where she left it. Madge, Madge, it rhymes with edge. The same edge of the balcony of her room, from which she would've liked to jump off and put an end to her miserable life. She's The Death, the Nameless Arcana, she's Melinoe, chthonic goddess, bringer of madness.

And they were all there, sat at their seats.

Nola with Julian. 

Shelley with Joseph. 

Chester with Madge, of course.

The History class wasn't big, but it wasn't necessary to have big classrooms. We weren't very much in the Academy. The Favorites sat at the back of the classroom, all together like always. Madge was next to the window, looking at the rain drops slowly falling down the glass. Her green eyes fixated on them like they were the only important thing at the moment. Chester, in the meanwhile, was playing with her soft straight hair with his index. 

She hated him more than everything.

He was looking at her with a smile on his face, one of his manipulating smiles that made him look like an angel. But angels were scary creatures in the Bible. Madge turns around to look at him, her hand under her chin "Stop it, Chester," she said with a neutral tone of voice. The Devil gave her a mocking gaze, tilting his head slightly "Stop what?" he asked, his tone was playful. The girl looked at their friends, checking if the others were listening to their conversation, then, leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms "We can't keep doing this...I can't..." she whispered, her voice was broken, her eyes were empty. Chester stroked her cheek "What if I refuse to stop? Who's gonna stop me? You?" his tone was mocking once again, his lips still curled in that predatory smile. He lowers his hand to her arm, at first stroked it gently, then he suddenly grabbed it, tightening the grip.

A bruise would form within a few hours. His fingers were digging into her skin, his nails digging into her flesh.

Madge's face was a mask of fear. "You're hurting me," she said, but her words didn't stop him, they never did. His grip was forceful, full of rage, full of desperation. Madge could've not said if what he felt for her was love or if it was just an obsession. But it didn't matter, that was pure insanity. 

Chester kept smiling, he didn't even realize that someone was watching them.

"You won't say anything to anyone, am I right?" he asked, his voice was an aggressive whisper, she could feel his hot breath against her skin. But Madge was weak and she craved love more than anything. She wouldn't have said a word about the situation they were into. Not a single word would've came out of her pretty little mouth. Not a breath.

"Good girl," Chester whispered again to her. His lips were close to her ear. He lightly kissed her cheek and started to pay attention to the lesson, acting like nothing ever happened.

And that, my dear lector, is the beginning of the end.

For all of them.