False Bloodlines

Chapter 3

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𝑲𝒆𝒐𝒏

The morning unfolded with its usual monotony, a blend of drudgery and repetition. Yesterday’s events lingered like a shadow at the edge of my thoughts, mocking my attempts at normalcy. I am not one to resort to violence, only indulging in physical conflict when it serves to protect myself or those I hold dear. Yet, the push I delivered yesterday was intended merely to create distance, though it regrettably achieved both separation and unintended harm.

A pounding headache worsened my already grim disposition as I rose from my bed, determined to undertake my ritual morning bath before facing the day. However, before I could reach the bathroom, a sudden gust of wind hurled me against the wall, leaving me disoriented and bemused.

The sharp sound of a door slamming shut and locking jolted me from my stupor. I turned, only to find the bathroom door in my line of sight. Frustration surged through me. Of all the days for her to perform one of her annoying pranks, it had to be today.

I marched toward the door, pounding on it in a futile display of anger. Though I knew it wouldn’t force her out, it served to relieve some of my mounting tension.

"You tolerate disrespect far too willingly," a voice remarked, chilling and resonant, sending shivers through me.

I spun around to face the speaker, only to find Violette’s cat, Morrow, staring back at me with its unsettling garden-green eyes. I stood there, entranced by the creature’s gaze, as its eyes shifted hues, further confounding my sense of reality.

"Did you ju—"

My question was cut off by the bathroom door swinging open to reveal my sister in a flowing gown, looking distinctly irritated. "It’s free now. You needn’t have made such a fuss at the door," she said, gathering her cat and a pile of clothes as she exited.

Confused and unsettled, I decided to put it aside and focus on the day ahead. My bath was considerably abbreviated, so I hurried through it and made my way to the kitchen for a hasty breakfast. As usual, Mother had already prepared two bowls of porridge, one for me and one for Violette.

I greeted her with a kiss and took my seat at the table. She waited patiently for my sister, though I had long since abandoned the practice of waiting for her at breakfast.

"How did you sleep, Sien?" Mother inquired as she observed me.

I glanced up from my bowl, barely focused on our conversation. "Quite well, thank you."

A cold hand rested on my forehead, causing me to flinch. I looked up to see concern etched on Mother’s face. "You’re warm and rather pale. Are you unwell?"

Her concern puzzled me, as I felt fine. Before I could reassure her, Violette burst into the kitchen, briefly glancing at me before giving Mother a pointed look to hurry up. She then dashed out, leaving behind a worried mother and a perplexed brother.

"I’ll see you in the evening. Love you," I said, leaning in to kiss her cheek before hastening to follow Violette.

---

My first class of the day proved to be particularly trying. Not only did I arrive a minute late, but I was also summoned to the Dean’s office for my tardiness. The punishment was further compounded by the task of guiding a new student on a tour.

Standing at the entrance of the school, I awaited the arrival of this supposed special student. After five minutes of impatient waiting, my frustration grew, as I was missing valuable class time.

Twenty minutes later, as I made my way to the locker rooms for my weaponry class, I encountered the new student. He was already present, his ethereal blue eyes striking against the drab surroundings. As I dressed quickly, I felt his gaze on my back, a sensation both unsettling and intense.

When I turned, I was met with his strikingly beautiful features. "You left the meeting point," he said in a barely audible tone.

"What?" I responded, confused.

He moved closer, his proximity invasive. His beauty was almost otherworldly, fitting for a place like this.

"I said you left the meeting point. You’re supposed to be outside, not here—half-dressed," he remarked, scrutinizing me.

I stared at him, bewildered before irritation took over. "You shouldn’t make people wait. It reflects poorly on you and is a disservice to my time."

His reaction was one of surprise, but my patience had worn thin. As I finished dressing and prepared to leave, he called after me, his voice louder now. "You can’t leave me here. You’re my tour guide, remember!"

Ignoring him, I proceeded to the field where we practiced crafting weapons. Contrary to popular belief, we didn’t learn to use them but rather how to create basic, often ineffective weapons. This was to prevent us from forming a rebellion against the higher-ranking creatures.

Amid the usual bustle, I worked on crafting a wooden axe, a task as pointless as ever. I noticed a commotion nearby and, curious, saw the new student beside me, bewildered by his log. His proximity was unusual, and the scent he carried was distinctive.

The class ended abruptly, and as I etched a capital “K” on my log, the bell rang, signaling the transition to my next class.

"Potion Making" awaited me. I arrived early and took a seat by the window. The class gradually filled, and Ms. Lavender arrived promptly. She instructed us to review yesterday’s lesson, and I began to work.

The door creaked open, and to my astonishment, Mr. Winslow—the new student—entered, looking sheepish. My curiosity was piqued; was this a mere coincidence or something more?

"Sorry, ma’am. I got lost and my guide abandoned me," he said, casting a pointed glance at me.

Ms. Lavender, with a dismissive wave, instructed him to take a seat and join us. He chose a spot uncomfortably close, making me uneasy. "Try as you might, you can’t seem to shake me. I don’t bite," he whispered with a smirk.

Before I could respond, he opened his book and began working as if nothing had transpired.

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