Shelland Conall has always believed herself to be ordinary, and she's never had reason to suspect otherwise. Not until an enigmatic stranger seems to show up at every corner, and he's claiming to be the one that saved her life. Thing is, Shelland do...
A Quick A/N: Just as a forewarning, this is a little rough. If there are any spots that don't make sense, please let me know. I'm a tad delirious from sleeping a total of five hours for the last three days, so I'm really sorry if this is kind of a mess. Not edited extensively, per the usual. Hope you like it!
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Succulent energy still buzzes through my veins as I take the steps into the gymnasium. The song blasting from the speakers seems to latch onto my wave-length, speeding up to match the beat of my heart.
I toss my now-useless gloves into the trash bin and make my way into the middle of the dance floor. Eyes follow me, the lone girl with a wide smile, as I move to the rhythm by myself. Twenty minutes ago, I would have been paralyzed by the attention, but now, all I care to feel is this almost celestial high I never want to come down from.
For the first time since I stopped taking the Ironide, I feel free. I feel alive. At ease. Invincible, almost. Like the invisible box set in place to protect human me from the supernatural me has shattered and the two have finally merged.
The song from the DJ's booth switches but I keep my pace. Again, the beat seems to slow down or fasten to match my steps. I haven't heard the voice since I put the grimoire back on the shelf and re-cloaked it. I'm hoping this means she's agreed to give me the night I all but begged for.
I twist around, gently taking a cup full of punch from a passerby. He groans, but doesn't bother to actually confront me about it. So I continue on, just moving, swaying, and spinning.
I don't stop until a hand takes firm hold of my forearm where my burn used to be. I jolt, wincing from the phantom pain, and the sudden movement splashes bright red punch down the side of my mom's dress.
I'm pretty sure I let out a string of curses. Water fills my lash lines, slightly blurring my vision as Olivian comes into view. She pulls her hand back, confusion flashing across her face.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," she says. "I did not mean for that to happen."
She sounds genuine, but her apology doesn't fix my dress. I swallow the hard lump in my throat, focusing on the ever-present buzz in my body. I hand off the empty cup to the same kid returning to the punch area, ignoring his gripes as I peel the wet material away from my thigh. I place my hand over the spreading stain and say, "iritum facio."
Immediately, the liquid stops spreading, but instead begins to dissolve, leaving the dress as silky and bright as if the spill never happened.
Olivian takes hold of my arm. "What the hell, Shelland? Are you serious right now?"
She yanks at my arm, ripping me away from the crowded dance floor toward an empty row of chairs against the wall. Once we stop, I tug my arm from her grip, already annoyed with her for breaking up my fun.
