The Scrapped

Chapter 2

{Chapter 2 - The Scrapped}

Twelve hours, one flight, a train ride, and two taxicabs later, I was on the small island where Bastion Academy was built. It was a large, wide, rocky piece of land in one of the inland lochs. The road winding up to the gigantic stone manor was unpaved, and the cab's wheels crunched, bumped, and jolted over gravel.

I removed my headphones and stowed them away in my bag, staring up in awe through the glass of the window.

The school was far bigger than I'd imagined. Gray, weatherworn stone built up the high walls, and the long front side was full of large glass windows, reflecting the early morning sunlight. It was like a small castle, with a sprawling marble veranda in the front, four towers--one on each corner--, and a huge, colorful garden on the other side of the drive, which bloomed even in this harsh weather.

The "castle" was built on a hillside, so a deep green slope rose up behind it, covered in tall trees. I thought I could make out the sight of some stone steps going uphill between said trees, but I couldn't be certain.

The driver finally pulled to a stop in front of a large fountain in the courtyard. Stone cherub faces stared unmovingly down at me. It was slightly unnerving, but I had only a brief moment to think so before a curvacious, dark-haired woman with dramatic makeup ascended the veranda and approached me.

"You must be Scapegrace," she said with an exaggerated smile. "I'm Miss Vônri." Extending a slender hand to me, she gave another chilling grin.

I politely shook hands with her. "It's nice to meet you." She was one of the names printed on the front of the Student Handbook, I realized. Eris Vônri, Head of Admissions. This woman was the lunatic who looked at my grades and thought, "Gifted!", then sent me a letter of acceptance. What "academy for brilliance" would allow me anywhere close to it? The whole situation was extremely odd.

"Charmed, of course," Eris responded sweetly. Abruptly, she turned to the driver, who placed my suitcase and dufflebag down on the stairs. "Thank you for your escorting service, the fare will be added to your paycheck, per usual." With a tip of his hat, he got back into his shiny black cab and drove off.

Before he left, however, he glanced back at me. The expression on his face was almost...sympathetic?

"I'll have someone bring your things up for you. For now, I'll show you to your dormatory, where you can freshen up. Right this way." Eris clapped her hands together and turned on her heel, briskly walking up to the large, oak front doors. It was almost difficult to keep up with her.

The entrance hall was breath-taking--two grand staircases made of polished granite branched off of the same balcony above us, the railing lined with gleaming bronze. In between the staircases was an open space that led down another hallway. I was awestruck by the sight of perfectly carved phoenix statues, shining marble floors, and the vaulted ceiling, which was painted with a scene of clouds and dancing angels that would put the Cistene Chapel to shame.

The Bastion Crest hung proudly above the stairs, a snake and a spider entertwined, the words "We Are the Scrapped" positioned around the image.

Eris hardly gave me time to absorb it all, though; she was power-walking to the stairs, then prancing up them in her fire-engine red Stiletos. I did my best not to run up them after her, afraid I'd slip and fall. I did /not/ want to know what granite felt like when you bounce down twenty-six sharp-edged steps of it.

Once we went up two more flights of stairs and down a few more winding corridors, we finally stopped outside a door with the number 1812 gilded on it. Eris knocked on it promptly, three times.