o n e
"Homines quod volunt credunt." - Julius Caesar
DEATH IS NOT SO KIND
———
William Brown was staring at the face of death, and he had come to learn over the past year at the Academy of Oakwood for Boys that death came in the form of English class—stacks of classic literature to read and analyze, alongside countless papers Professor Thompson expected to be neatly handwritten and a few inches too many for his liking. People like William Brown did not have the will to muster up a poorly written essay on Shakespeare in his free time, which was the exact reason he was empty handed as his professor came around to collect the students' essays.
"Mr. Brown," he said, stopping at the front of Williams's wooden desk, expectant as his pale, wrinkled hand reached out for his paper. "Your essay?"
William shrugged. "Didn't do it, sir."
"A word," his professor said with a frown. "After class, Mr. Brown."
William didn't bother responding, and, instead, leaned against the back of his chair, his long legs crossing at the ankle as he leaned his elbow against the arm bar, threading his fingers through his raven black hair.
He yawned, stretching his legs further and sinking into his chair. It was time for a nap as he could honestly give two shits about English class. It was, according to him, merely an inconvenience to his already boring and dull days spent in this God forsaken place.
The Oakwood Academy for Boys was a very elegant, charming castle-esque building, with endless halls and winding labyrinth like corridors. Torches hung on the walls, oil lamps too, which offered a golden glow when the sun came down and its rays no longer filtered through the door length windows in almost every hall.
William stared out the window, watching the damned blackbird on the stone windowsill chirp every other second. How could he possibly fall asleep listening to the bird's annoying, incessant chirps? He was more than capable of drowning out Professor Thompson's voice; it was a skill he had accomplished over the past year. But the blackbird?
William settled for glaring at the damned thing, staring into its charcoal beaded eyes until it would hopefully fly far, far away. It didn't.
Instead, William found himself glancing at Lucien Harding, a golden blond haired prick who was already staring at William, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a taut line as if he were offended William had been looking in his direction in the first place.
William felt the edges of his lips curve upwards as he arched a single dark brow at him in return.
Lucien, being Lucien, looked away with a frustrated frown on his pale, marble like face. The first day William had met him-the morning he had arrived at this hell hole of a school-he'd almost immediately thought he looked like something from the Renaissance era. Though that was when his vision of the boy wasn't tainted, when he could imagine himself being friends, maybe even something more.
William didn't look away, and rather, studied the golden boy's appearance-the sharp edge of his jaw, his honeyed colored hazel eyes, and the barely noticeable freckles adorned on the bridge of his nose. William thought he could be a prince, though that was definitely not something he'd mention to the boy.
He, in fact, despised him now.
William watched as his hand stuck into the air, his face the perfect picture of a model student. And he was, most positively, a model student. Every teacher loved him, and no one else seemed to see past Lucien's perfected bullshit smile besides William.
YOU ARE READING
He Bleeds Flame ✔️
Romance(bxb) After a year of surviving an all boys boarding school, William Brown thought he had finally navigated the ups and downs that the rich, private school had to offer. He'd even managed to make a few friends, as well as a rightful enemy. Lucien Ha...
