The Blind Side of Ingenio [completed]

Part IV

Amahle and Figaro, locked in place by shock, stared at the quite simply astonishing sight that was laid out before them:

The dozen teachers that were in charge of the students at the IoI stood, deep in conversation, around a long oval table, the flickering candles dispersed around the room projecting dancing shadows onto the tarnished wallpaper. However, Figaro couldn't help but feel that there was something inexplicably wrong. He scoured the room once again, searching for the element that threw off the balance of the entire scene.

At the back of the room stood a tall window, its composing panes of glass welded together by a spider web of black iron. The whole of it was partially concealed by heavy velvet curtains that danced with each gust of wind. Moving on, he noted the macabre paintings that hung from the walls, all of which consisted of dark gloomy tones, representing various elements from a withering bouquet of white chrysanthemums to the hauntingly beautiful portrait of a young girl boasting high cheekbones and sorrowful eyes. He looked back to the candles sprinkled about the room. Most were burnt down to stubs, the bluish wax dripping dangerously close to the wooden countertops below; they'd been there a while. Finally, he reached the shadows. At first glance, they were normal. Their elongated shapes were perhaps a bit frightening at first, but nothing truly uncommon. That is, if you excluded their translucent nature. Looking closely, you could see the faint indication of a flame right at their center. No. It couldn't be: the candles stood behind the teachers, their auburn light shouldn't have been seen anywhere apart from the halo that outlined their silhouettes. Nevertheless, there was no denying it; somehow, they could be seen through the shadows.

However, his scrutinizing was brought to an end by a pressing tap on his shoulder. The conversation that previously absorbed the full attention of the group before them had ceased, and a dozen pairs of eyes were locked on the now stunted figures of the two students.

That's when he noticed it. The thing that sent shivers down his spine whenever he unfocused his eyes; the thing that flashed behind his eyelids so vividly, yet not clearly enough so that he could understand what it was whenever he closed his eyes; the thing that hindered his every breath, even more than the flicker of the candles that shone through the depths of shadows: the teachers were glowing. It was true that the human body was capable of bioluminescence, but its light was so faint it simply couldn't be perceived by the human eye. More than that, they were somehow translucent, the stripes adorning the walls peeking through the teacher's very bodies.

A chilling cackle exploded from the throat of the nearest instructor, a tall woman of stern features and fair skin. Her hair, curled to form precise golden ringlets, was propped up atop her heart-shaped hair as a mimic of the past century's beehive style. She wore a turquoise dress of a luxurious velvet that cinched in at her waist, neck, and hands with golden rope that shone in the candlelight. Much like the other teachers, a blue hue washed along every inch of her. When she opened her mouth to speak, a dozen voices came out in a beautiful yet disturbing chant.

"Ah, it seems as though

You have found

Those who built your knowledge

Up from this ground.

However, there is more,

As the blood that soars through your veins

Is not the same as ours,

As the thoughts that make you feel alive

Are not the same as ours.

Cogito ergo sum,

We think not

Us, inventions of a higher power,

We live to teach,

Until we don't,

And then we stand amongst the stars.

But remember much

You shall not,

As to the wind

your recollections shall fly."