"You drew stars around my scars, but now I'm bleeding..."
Gaia Ashmore has lived under the radar of her strict mother all her life. Every aspect of her life - from her fashion sense to her career - is controlled by her mother. And even when Gaia mov...
"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose, Yule-tide carols being sung by a choir, Folks dressed up like Eskimos." — The Christmas Song, Nat King Cole
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Winter arrived in full-swing at Oxford. As expected.
The streets were littered with snow everywhere when I stepped out of the apartment, every corner I passed commemorating a new layer as if it was already Christmas - not that it was very far. But no amount of snowfall could stop me from getting out of the house; I was a man on a mission. A very important mission.
Since Christmas was only a week away, there was life and buzz around; decorations hung on lamp poles, twinkling lights illuminating the cobblestone streets. The trees were adorned with twinkling fairy lights, casting a warm and festive glow over the historic architecture as snowy flurries cascaded down from the sky and blanketed over them. The scent of fresh pine and roasted chestnuts filled the winter air, mingling with the chatter and laughter of carolers and merrymakers. I walked past them before any of them stopped me to sing or swept me into a lengthy conversation.
I sighed, watching the holiday cheer and festive mood around me in boredom. Storefronts were decorated with glittering window displays, the bright colours and jolly scenes adding to the atmosphere of celebration. The snow-covered rooftops and ice-covered cobblestones added a touch of winter wonderland charm to the streets.
Oxford was a sight for sore eyes. But not mine.
I continued my stroll around the streets, approaching the set of dormitories. It wasn't like I hated Christmas or anything, it was just that it was around this time of the year that I had been accused of something that changed the trajectory of my life, so it made celebrating it less joyful.
Whilst people around me sipped on hot chocolates seven years ago, thirteen year old me was biting his nails, locked in a room because he was deemed a danger to others. There was a glassless window very high up the wall, through which the little boy could see the stars and snowfall. But he didn't enjoy any of the scenery - instead, he sat on the ground, biting his nails out of fear that he'd get killed or be sent to prison. Having a traumatic Christmas in pure agony didn't exactly make me appreciate anything about the season after that.
But I wasn't a scrooge; I didn't blame the season for it.
I walked into the building, throwing the security guard a subtle nod of acknowledgement and he didn't bother stopping me to inquire about my business. I made my way to the elevators, and then the third floor, lifting the door mat to use the spare key to unlock the door before finally entering.
