An Elegy For The Soul

Chapter Five

May The Best Man Win

"That sweater is atrocious," Lucan said as he strode into their common room.

There, he found River seated on the maroon settee, his fingers tracing the intricate design carved into the frame. Wooden swirls guided his touch along a dizzying journey.

The afternoon sun streamed in, casting little rainbows across the shelves filled with their jarred apothecary samples: various mushrooms immersed in goo, skeletal remains of vermin, and several varieties of molted snake skins.

River glanced down at his sweater. "It's brown."

Painfully unimaginative and offensive at best, the sweater begged for incineration. Not to mention, it hung two sizes too large off his frame. Appearance held power, a concept River seemed to overlook, which was an ongoing source of tension in their friendship. Lucan abhorred wasted potential.

He, on the other hand, sported an all-black ensemble. Not the most imaginative choice, but he wore it with purpose. It did not wear him.

"Exactly. Have you ever considered what your life would be like if you embraced a bit of boldness?"

River rose from the settee, snatched his coat from its perch, and strode out of their quarters. "No," his voice trailed as the door slammed shut, cutting off their conversation.

Lucan huffed at the closed door before following after River.

Their footsteps echoed in the dim corridor, somehow magnifying the silence of River's cold shoulder. A few students lingered outside their rooms, doors ajar, engaged in quiet conversations while expressing certainty about their future endeavors. Some cast curious glances their way, a familiar sight as he and River passed through the cluster of underachievers.

They made their way to Aven's building that was linked to theirs by Burnell Academy's underground tunnel system—a dreary and damp structure that provided shelter from the harsh spring weather.

Dimly lit by oil lamps that gradually gave way to electric bulbs, the tunnels bore witness to the academy's incomplete modernization efforts. Hindered by unforeseen expenses, Burnell remained trapped in a state of partial progress, offering a glimpse of the past to anyone who dared to look over their shoulder.

River's knuckles rapped against the door. Footfalls drew near and Aven greeted them with a warm smile as she opened it, her white hair cascading in a loose braid over one shoulder.

Delicate wisps framed her cheeks, blending seamlessly with the cream hue of her billowy blouse. Her ensemble was completed by black leather boots peeking out from beneath a long, belted skirt. Aven understood appearances. She wielded that power masterfully.

"Please, do come in," she invited them with the wave of her lace-gloved hand.

At the far end of the room, Veronique sat perched on the window bench, her knees drawn up and a book resting in her lap. Light softly framed her silhouette, casting a halo around her, as she gracefully stretched her arms above her head, perfectly embodying the romantic portrait of a French ballerina.

"Veronique, look at you." Lucan greeted her with arms outstretched. "Gorgeous as ever. Tell me, how have you been faring without me this semester? Is it unbearable? Do be honest."

Her long silk gown cascaded around her as she moved with slow, seductive grace toward him, hips swaying. She leaned in to kiss Lucan on the cheek, the charms woven into her thin braids brushing against his face and tickling his skin. "Somehow, I manage to carry on."