BETRAYAL is a slap to the cheek from a once gloved hand.
And Quinton sure knew how to aim a strike.
The wooden cuffs bite into my wrists and ankles, ravenously sinking their teeth into my skin, pinning me to the cracked floorboards. I've spat the sock from my mouth, but my throat has gone hoarse from screaming and besides—there's no one around to here anything.
Every Warden, Junior, and friend of someone who knows someone is up in the Lantern Room for the ceremony, completely unaware of the wolf in sheep's clothing standing among them. It's almost humorous, how poetically that old question fits: if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?
Oh, I've certainly fallen. And the shouts ripping themselves from my lungs, bouncing off the dorm's walls are anything but quiet.
And yet, I have never felt more mute.
I tug at the cuffs without any expectation of escape. It's awfully hot in here, smothered in a hoodie without the ability to turn on the AC. I tug at the cuffs once more as a droplet of sweat trickles down my chin, running along my arm.
And the cuffs slip off.
The open air is brutal against my wrist's raw skin—but it's free. My own sweat having slipped between the cuff, motivating the wood to become more mailable. To become weaker.
It's a slow process—struggling enough against the restraints to work up a sweat—but eventually, I've slipped both my hands free and am able to pry the wood from my ankles.
I need to get to the Lantern Room to stop Quinton before he before he turns off the portal to Somnium—there's no telling what effects it'll have. Fueled by my own stupidity and the pop tart I'd managed to scarf down for breakfast, I make a break for the elevator.
Of which, much like my brain as of now, is labeled: Out of Order.
There's not a spare second to complain—despite the overwhelming urge to call it a day. The... stairs are right around the corner.
The hallways are empty, stripped bare of humans and Somnians alike. There is no crinkle of a turned page in the library nor the bubbling of pots in the Tricilium. But in the center of the Lighthouse it stands tall, spiraling far out of my line of sight, tinged with a bronze railing: the staircase.
Too many steps. Too many flights stacking up on top of each other. Too much pressure weighing me down. I climb regardless until finally I've reached the highest floor. My hands fumble for the doorknob, opening it a crack to prepare myself for the other side.
The cheering of a crowd, splattered with claps and whistles as Leopold slips a cape over a girl with deep blue ringlet's shoulder. Over Unda's shoulder, I note, sucking in a breath.
With the beat of the crowd peppering her steps, she takes a seat next to a strawberry blonde with pink ombres dipped into her bun. My fingers tighten on the doorknob. Of course Kate is here. Why wouldn't she be? She is a consultant for the Lighthouse after all, thanks to her pendant, as well as Unda's girlfriend. It doesn't stop the flood of bitterness from sinking under my tongue to see her where I longed to be—having my own well earned spot at the Caping Ceremony.
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The Los Angeles Lighthouse | ✔
FantasíaMason Marks is a screw up. Every day is a struggle to cough up enough money for rent, to ignore the reek of despair flooding the streets, to stop himself from slipping further into the shadows and slums of Downtown L.A. And he is sick of it. When h...
