✦ Kristen Ford has always been fiercely independent-a trait that threatens her family's reputation. Her father, Evan Ford, decides to send her to Blackwood Academy, an elite school known for straightening out troubled kids. But Blackwood is no ordin...
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Alexander
I stood before the towering canvas, my eyes fixed on the tortured figure of Prometheus bound to the rocks. A cigarette dangled between my fingers , the ember glowing brightly in the dim light of the hall. Lost in the beauty of the painting, I didn't notice my father coming , until his firm hand landed on my shoulder.
"Prometheus, the rebel Titan. An Intresting choice, Alexander. What attracts you to this myth ?" His voice broke through my trance, pulling me back to reality. I turned to face him, a resistant glint in my eyes as I took a long drag from my cigarette.
"Prometheus symbolises defiance, Dad," I replied, my voice coated with bitterness. "He dared to challenge the gods, fight against thier authority and grant humanity the gift of fire."
His expression hardened, He looked worried as he stared at me, his face showing concern. "But his defiance came at a great cost, Son," he countered, his voice had a hint of frustration. "He suffered greatly for his actions, enduring unimaginable torture for his arrogance." I couldn't help but smirk, my lips curling into a satisfied smile.
"Arrogance? Or bravery?" I shot back, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "Prometheus sacrificed himself for the good of humanity, while Zeus reveled in his suffering."
I could see his brows tensing , his frustration evident as he struggled to reason with me."Zeus is the ruler of Olympus, Son," he insisted, his voice firm. "His authority is not something you can challenge, his judgment is superior. To challenge him is to push yourself in darkness."
I squared my shoulders, meeting his gaze, stopping my anger from showing."I'd rather face the wrath of Zeus than bow to his dictatorship, Dad," I answered, turning away from him. "I refuse to be chained by blind obedience to a god who is drenched in his ego."
With those words, I left my father behind, his unsettled expression lingering in my mind as I made my way through the gallery, alone with my thoughts.
We both knew that it went deeper than mere disagreement over a Greek mythology. It was my rebellion against his control, that I'll never let him impose his will on me. My disinterest in his desires was a signalled existence of my own dark desires, ones that take pleasure in the chaos of power, the allure of darkness.
As I passed through the gallery of the Blackwood Academy, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of resentment towards this place, a sentiment as old as the family legacy itself. The gallery was a testament to centuries of tradition, its walls adorned with portraits of esteemed ancestors who had walked these hallowed halls before me. But to me, it was nothing more than a suffocating reminder of the burden I carried, the weight of a name I never asked for.
The academy's architecture was so impressive, with all those fancy pillars and fancy ceilings showing stories from the olden days. But even with all that beauty, there was a darkness that matched the shadows in my own heart. It was a darkness that whispered about secrets and the allure of power, a temptation that I had succumbed to time and time again.
