ANATOMY OF A GIRL

part two

A long time ago, not long after the incident, Sapphire Gracen decided she was more than what magic made her. More than what the school made her, Belreistkov being an over-priced boarding school for teenagers with the blood of witches in their veins. Dimia, or "Half-Witches" by the few humans that knew how much more there was to the world.

She decided she was more than what was in her blood.

Half-Witches or not, Belreistkov was just like any other prissy, boarding school for the privileged - more or less. The students liked to party, albeit more than average teens should, but that wasn't the problem. In Sapphire's fairly biased opinion, their problem was that they'd find any excuse to throw a party, and the parties they threw, more likely than not, would end badly. Passed-out-with-alcohol-poisoning-call-a-healer badly. On a good day. They rarely experienced good days.

The last party before school started again was in full-swing when Sapphire walked in. Already, with weary eyes and the tainted smell of cheap alcohol burning her nose and throat like acid, she was planning her escape. The strobe lights flashed blue, and the blood that rushed to her temples felt like mercury. The bass hit the speakers like thunder and the floor thumped beneath her feet.

She could tell there had already been abilities misused — as alcohol slid down throats with less burn — by the look of the room around her. A window with a spiral crack (she was sure that was what her ear drum looked like with the bass hitting her from every angle), the plants that grew in dark corners, and light clouds spread across the ceiling in grey-silver paint like vapour. Sapphire thought the clouds looked like the heavens were opening their golden gates. But she knew better. It was a human thought, and she was not human.

The paintings were courtesy of Lukas Bentley, party host and art student whose thoughts became paintings, who was also in the middle of an intense game of beer pong, from what Sapphire could see.

The Mark on the inside of her wrist throbbed, and when she looked down, she could see the light glow of the eye and the lace that curled around it like a jewelled crown. With the curling ink Marks on the inside of their wrists, she wondered how - when her kind went to Heramortalis - human didn't know that her kind, Dimia, were different. The Marks showed the presence of magic in their veins. But maybe, humans only saw what their minds allowed. Maybe they were all like that. Or maybe she needed to stop thinking so much.

Ayden ran the tips of his fingers along the inside of her arm, and she basked in the electricity that ran along her skin. His magic scared most people, but in the six years she'd known him, it had only ever thrilled her. Ayden's dark eyes skimmed over the people around the room. A few girls turned and looked his way — a fact Sapphire didn't miss. She didn't miss much. The magic within her made sure of that.

Flair and Arlo walked ahead of the rest of the group, hands clasped and fingers entwined, sharing hushed words. Sapphire remembered the day they met, and the day everything changed. It'd been a year ago — Flair, Leo, Sapphire and Ayden were already a close-knit group by then, having been together at Belreistkov for three years. Arlo had just joined the school with newly discovered magic — a tall, pale boy with platinum hair and a permanent gleam in his eyes. He and Flair had bumped shoulders and Flair, not having learned to control her abilities yet, sparked a flame that began at her fingertips and ran up her arm, making contact with Arlo's arm and burning the flesh all along his arm. A day later, after visiting the hospital wing, he began calling her Hot Stuff, and their relationship was like wildfire from there. He joined their group and soon after, him and Flair were dating. They'd been inseparable since then. Sapphire would like to say she wasn't jealous, but she was. Flair and Arlo had it so easy, and Sapphire had a tendency to choose the wrong guys.