devotion till violence. professor riddle

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ XIV. demons of my soul

THE GAILED MORNING SUN had fought its way bravely through the bony branches of the old weeping willow to fall through the great tracery windows into the Oratory, light revealed the old dust of defunct faith hovering in the air, and the great clock had struck seven when the body of James Paaige was found with a cry of anguish.

The once blonde-haired boy lay in a lake of blood, the red vital fluid enveloping his body like a blanket and drenching his hair with the colour of passion like an artist. His features still bore the horror of the deed; no mercy was left for him, slaughtered like a pig by its butcher.

With his bare hands, the fiend had torn its way through his chest; organs and intestines ripped out of the flesh, while blood still filled the heart it had sought, no doubt to weigh it.

James lay where no one should have gone; lured by the false promise of guile. The poor, foolish James Paaige. James Paaige, who helped the wolf out of the trap and stepped into it himself, torn to pieces by the animal he was trying to save.

The metallic odour of past life had attracted the creatures and spirits of the Academy, leading Professor Rosewood to the source of the incident in the early hours of the morning. The shocked professor's scream had echoed through the castle, waking even the sleeping, and she too had fallen prey to the beast.

Alethea had been in the old sanctuary, preparing for breakfast with Érebos after hours of studying, when she heard the scream and saw the ambivalent reactions of her fellow students.

How no one knew whether to ignore it or be afraid.

Oh someone should speak, were the words in her heart. Oh scream and cry! Oh, believe me, the world is cruel, but the Academy reflects it on its students!

An experiment, it seemed. An experiment to reveal the true feelings that lay dormant within her classmates, and with disappointment as her shadow, she had to realise that they had all become empty shells.

"Rosewood will survive," Delilah said. Tired, the sun was already on its way to disappear behind the horizon, leaving the night to dance its monstrosity. Her friend's words drew only a quiet snort from Alethea.

"Paaige is still dead," Alethea reminded her, looking at her best friend and waiting bitterly for her to say something else. Please don't be cursed with silence as well. But her eyes remained vacant, abandoned by grief for the fallen.

"Maybe the Masked ones have something to do with it, too?" she pondered aloud, and the blonde witch just continued to brush her hair, the roots of which were showing their true colour more and more. Impatiently, Alethea exchanged glances with Érebos, who had been waiting for her gaze and wrapped his tail around the legs of his seated form.

Why couldn't he speak? He would never be silent.

"As much as I want to believe there is only one enemy," Delilah turned away from the golden mirror Alethea had gifted her for her sixteenth birthday and looked at her, placing her brush next to Érebos on the desk.

"Whatever killed Paaige wasn't human, Alethea. His heart-"

"Esme's heart was ripped out as well."

"And yet it wasn't the same. They say it looked terrible. Paaige's parents won't be allowed to see their son for two days; that's how long it'll take to get him fixed up. Can you imagine that? That your son has to be patched up so you can recognise him?"

She imagined Paaige's parents, two people who had walked the earth with kindness in their hearts, and how the world now threatened to stop turning because the loss of a child was the cruelest thing on earth.