THE MORNING LIGHT SEEPING in through the slits of the blinds was the first thing I noticed the moment I woke up. Ophelia, on the other hand, was still asleep near me. I then blearily opened my eyes and found myself in a room I didn't recognize. Where am I?
The first thing I noticed was an elegant space, filled with polished wooden furniture and soft cream-colored walls. The bed I was in was more comfortable than any I'd slept in before, with a plush mattress and silky sheets that were a far cry from the worn-out bedding back home. But the alienness of it all sent a wave of stark terror coursing through me.
Tears welled up, spilling over and soaking the pillow as the memories came flooding back. The image of Elliot, his usually jovial face contorted in fear, gasping for breath as if an invisible hand were constricting around his throat. Then the man, dressed in a suit as black as night, stood over us, an emotionless stare etched on his face as he effortlessly lifted Elliot mid-air. I remembered the sounds he made, the terror in his eyes mirroring my own. Then I sobbed harder, my body heaving with the effort. The pain was raw, like a wound that refused to heal, a reminder of the loss that I had suffered. But as I drew in a shaky breath, readying myself for another wave of tears, I suddenly realized the gravity of my situation. I was alone, in an unfamiliar place, with no idea how I'd ended up here.
Did the men in black capture me? Did Mamori save me? Did the teenagers in white clothes save me?
My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic drum echoing my growing panic. I pushed the covers aside, the cool air hitting my skin as I stepped onto the cold, hard floor. It was an imposing room, filled with unfamiliar pieces of furniture, their polished surfaces reflecting the morning light. There was an air of opulence that hung in the room, an alien contrast to the humble spaces I was used to.
I ventured out of the room, my bare feet padding against the cool marble of the corridor. Everything was unnerving in its unfamiliarity. The long hallway stretched before me, imposing portraits lining the walls, their eyes seeming to follow me as I passed. The eerie silence was punctuated only by the echo of my footsteps, each one amplifying my growing sense of dread. I was on the verge of panicking, the walls closing in on me, when I heard it. A voice familiar in its warmth. "You're awake." I looked back, and I saw the lady last night. Her voice was like a lifeline, anchoring me to reality.
As I turned to face her, the fragmented memories of the previous night began to coalesce. The men in black, in their dark suits, stood out against the moonlit night. And then, the teens in white, their clothes glowing ethereally, had powers emanating from their beings. They had saved us, or at least tried to. And in the chaos, they had taken me here, to this strange place. Was it all just a dream? What the hell happened last night?
As I approached her, I asked, "Who are you?"
The lady then turned, smiling, as my heart continued pounding. I found myself face-to-face with the woman I had seen the night earlier. She was still dressed in a black dress that seemed to absorb the little light in the room, her lipstick a bold slash of red against her pale skin. She's beautiful; there's that.
Suddenly, just as I was about to step closer to the lady, Mamori came into the room. Because of her presence, my chest slowly calmed down. But still, I shook my head as the words tumbled from my lips almost involuntarily, "Where are we?" My voice echoed through the cavernous space, bouncing off the tall stone walls, their surfaces slick with the dampness of a place untouched by sunlight.
Mamori turned to me, her dark eyes piercing through the gloom. "We're safe, Prim. We're in a place where the men in black can't track us."
I blinked at her, my mind struggling to process her cryptic words. "Who are the men in black? And who is this lady?" I asked, my voice faltering. "I...I want to go home."
A pang of sympathy crossed Mamori's face. "Going home isn't an option anymore. You might be in danger. We might be in danger."
We?
Confusion swirled in my mind, a torrent of questions threatening to spill over. But before I could voice them, a soft footfall sounded behind me.
"That aside," the lady interrupted, her voice soft yet commanding. "Now that you're finally awake, I might as well introduce myself for formality," she added, winking at Mamori.
"Anyway," she added, "I'm Alice Everly Whitlock, and I guess you've already known Mamori? "
I nodded. But still, what the hell is going on? And who the hell is this lady?
As if reading my mind, she smiled. "I know you're very confused, but let me provide you with the necessary information, dear. I am headmistress of this academy, and I want you to know that I took you in because you were in danger last night."
I recoiled, confusion lacing my voice. "Academy?"
She nodded, her eyes steady. "Yes, but not a regular one. This is a haven for gifted beings, for people born with extraordinary gifts that normal humans don't possess."
Mamori, standing by my side, broke into a smile, nodding her approval. I, on the other hand, couldn't contain the laughter that bubbled up from my chest. It was too absurd, too fantastical. Who the hell believes in fairy tales and magic?
"Gifted beings?" I echoed, my laughter filling the space. "You've got to be kidding me."
But as I looked into Alice's eyes and then Mamori's, the laughter died on my lips. They weren't laughing. They were serious. Suddenly, this cold, damp place felt even more alien than before. And I felt more lost than ever.
The words 'men in black,' 'danger,' 'gifted beings,' all swirled around in my head, a discordant symphony playing a tune that I didn't understand. I was in a place where everything felt unreal, where the world as I knew it had been turned upside down. But the reality of the situation was starting to sink in, and with it came a chilling realization. I wasn't going home—not now, maybe not ever. And that was the most extraordinary and terrifying thing of all.
I shook my head, attempting to clear the fog of confusion. "Mamori, this is not making any sense," I said, my voice tinged with frustration. The room around me felt as though it were spinning; the world I thought I'd known was becoming unrecognizable.
"Everything she's saying... it's like some weird joke. Like you're trying to prank me," I continued, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. My heart pounded in my chest, the steady thump-thump echoing in my ears. I hoped Mamori was going to burst laughing and say, "Yep! Got ya! "But no. She was serious. Dead serious.
Mamori's almond eyes filled with an inexplicable sadness as she looked at me. "I know it's hard to believe, Prim," she said, her voice soft, her words floating around me like dandelion seeds caught in a breeze. "But you will realize soon that everything around you is real."
My gaze shifted to Miss Alice, her black dress immaculate, her posture regal, and her face placid. "Who were those men who showed up last night?" I asked, my voice shaky.
Miss Alice's eyes turned distant for a moment, as if she were traversing the depths of her memories. "Nobody knows much about them," she finally said, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "They're from a secret organization named CYGNUS. They capture gifted beings to experiment on."
I laughed then at a hollow, disbelieving sound that bounced off the high ceilings. It seemed too fantastical and absurd to be true. It was as if I'd been thrust into the pages of a comic book, my reality dissolving into ink and imagination. I did try to believe them, but no. This is just too absurd.
"This can't be real. I must be dreaming," I muttered to myself. The words tasted bitter on my tongue, but I clung to them, desperate for an explanation that made sense.
Mamori's voice broke through my thoughts, her words sharp and rigid. "This isn't a dream, Prim. You need to believe us."
But I couldn't. I wouldn't. I turned on my heel and started to leave, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. But just as I turned, I heard a deep voice in a British accent calling Miss Alice. I initially dismissed it, but the shadow cast underneath my foot made me look back. And there, I saw a terrifying sight that made me scream: a butler, his head an uncanny replica of an owl. His appearance was jarring, and my breath hitched in my throat. He moved with an eerie grace as he approached Miss Alice, bowing low as he murmured, "Your meal is ready, Miss Alice."
My eyes widened at the sight. My heart skipped a beat, and my knees felt weak, threatening to buckle under the weight of my disbelief. I looked at Mamori, hoping to find some semblance of normality, but her solemn face only confirmed the reality I was desperately trying to deny.
A wave of panic washed over me, my chest tightening as the edges of my vision blurred. My world was shifting, the foundation cracking beneath me. The room seemed to close in; the walls were leaning so close that I could almost feel their cold touch. My reality, as I knew it, was shattering, and I was left standing in the middle of the chaos, feeling more alone than ever.
"W-What is he?" I asked, panicking.
"That's Sebastian, our butler," Miss Alice said. The owl-headed butler turned his head at me, and the moment he nodded, I could feel my heart leap out of my chest.
The world around me spun into a vortex, blurring the edges of reality. My heart pounded against the walls of my chest like a wild animal seeking escape. The butler, with a head that was decidedly an owl's, stared at me with eyes that held the wisdom of centuries. My name, uttered in Mamori's melodious voice, echoed in my ears, but I couldn't respond.
"Nice to meet you," he said. He extended his hand as a gesture of meeting, but I was too afraid of him. Before I knew it, my feet had already made the choice for me. I ran.
"Prim!" Mamori called.
I never listened. I bolted and never looked back. The massive home, a palatial structure of stone and marble, receded in my wake. My pulse hammered in my ears, drowning out the sounds of the grand piano that had just moments ago filled the opulent halls with its harmonious dirge. Stumbling out into the open, I found myself in a field dotted with topiary plants. They were carved into a variety of whimsical shapes—rabbits, horses, and dragons—each meticulously crafted, their green leaves glistening under the morning sunlight.
Beyond the topiary garden, there was a grand spectacle of blooms—a riotous explosion of colors that left me breathless. Roses of every imaginable hue, butter-yellow daisies, and lavender hydrangeas adorned the landscape with a vibrancy that seemed almost surreal. The air was heavy with their fragrance, a sweet scent that momentarily pushed back the wave of panic surging within me.
In the distance, children and teens graced an open field. They were clad in white, their clothes so ethereal that they seemed almost to blend into the background. Their laughter, as light as the wind, drifted towards me, an incongruity in this bewildering world. Above them, dominating the skyline, was a massive dome that shimmered with an iridescent sheen. It was like a soap bubble, fragile yet tenacious, encasing the so-called academy and the gardens, protecting the inside from the world outside. Or was it trapping it inside?
As I slowly tried to comprehend things, my knees buckled, the strength seeping out of them like sand through my fingers. I had taken too much in too soon, and my senses were rebelling. Mamori was by my side in an instant, her hands warm and comforting on my shoulders. "Everything you see is real," she said, her voice a soothing balm against my frayed nerves. "The people living here are gifted beings."
"Y-You mean—"
"Yup, even the butler," she replied.
Before I could process her words, Miss Alice was beside me as well, her presence an ethereal echo of the grandeur that surrounded us. "Gifted beings are real," she stated, her voice carrying the conviction of truth. "And, Primrose, we believe you might be one too. This would explain why the men in black were after you."
I shook my head in a desperate attempt to reject this new reality. "What? No," I protested, my voice trembling with fear and confusion. Yet, as I looked around at the children in the field, at the owl-headed butler, at the shimmering dome, I couldn't deny the evidence before me.
"I'm not a gifted being. Everything I see right now isn't real. Everything that I see isn't happening," I said to myself.
"I must be dreaming." I closed my eyes.
"Calm down, Prim," Mamori said.
"How can I?!" I retorted, my heart almost escaping from my chest. "I just saw a butler with the head of an owl. How on earth can I calm down?!"
Miss Alice laughed softly, her lips curving in a comforting smile. "I can understand why you're so worried and upset, dear. But if you can come inside, I will tell you everything you need to know," she said.
I looked at Mamori, and she stared at me intently in the eyes, as if assuring me that everything around us is real and that it was okay for me to feel this way. She took my hand, and they both led me into the massive hallway, my head spinning like an endless vortex of unanswered questions.
***
The world was spinning, or perhaps it was my head. I was still trying to comprehend everything that was happening around me. My heart was pounding in my chest, like a soldier's drum, as the realization of it all set in. The ordinary life I once knew was now a distant memory, replaced by a reality far stranger than any storybook tale I had ever read.
Miss Alice's words echoed in my mind. She had built this grand home, a sanctuary hidden within the fabric of the ordinary world, as a haven for gifted beings. Therslomau Isle, as she said. The concept was surreal, like a strange dream from which I could not wake. The orphanage, a grand old Victorian mansion, stood resolute and imposing, its stone walls whispering secrets of a world I was just beginning to understand.
Miss Alice, with her stern gaze and soft-spoken words, was more than she seemed. And the butler... I shuddered as I thought of him. A man with the head of an owl, his yellow eyes piercing and knowing. The image of him had terrified me at first, but the understanding gaze in his eyes told me he was not there to harm me. Instead, he patrolled the orphanage alongside Miss Alice, their vigilance a necessary shield against the men in black who hunted us.
I looked down at myself, at the white dress given to me by Maggie Hadleigh-Abott, a matron whom Miss Alice had introduced me to earlier. It was simple yet elegant; the fabric was soft against my skin. It was a stark contrast to the worn-out clothes I had arrived in. The matron Maggie, with her kind eyes and gentle touch, had offered it to me with a smile, a comforting presence amidst the chaos.
A mirror in the corner of the room caught my reflection. I hardly recognized the girl staring back at me. My hair, usually a wild mess of brown strands, was neatly braided and placed on my shoulder, thanks to the nimble fingers of another matron. She had introduced herself as Esther Greene, the stepmother Mamori had spoken about. But the name was a ruse; her real name was Martha Fernsby. More deception, more secrets. Why was nothing straightforward in this new world?
"You look so pretty, dear," Martha complimented as she continued combing me. I didn't respond, though.
As the revelations came from left and right, I felt overwhelmed, like a small boat caught in a stormy sea. The world I had known was gone, and in its place was a world filled with gifted beings, secret identities, and constant threats. It even took Miss Alice and Mamori a long time to make me calm down and process things. It is as if a line has been drawn between the existence of what's real and what is fiction. Never have I ever imagined that the line between humans and people I only saw in movies is both wide and incredibly thin.
Then, I took a deep breath, my reflection in the mirror mimicking my movements. But as I stared at my reflection, the neatly braided hair, and the white dress, I realized something. A shiver ran down my spine as I stepped out of the dimly lit sanctuary of the room I'm in. The cold stone corridor outside seemed to stretch on forever, a seemingly endless path of the unknown. There, standing at the edge of my personal universe, was Mamori. Her expression was serene, her eyes filled with a knowing anticipation, as if she held the secrets of the cosmos within her.
"Ready?" Her voice echoed down the hallway, a soft lullaby against the harsh silence. I didn't trust myself to speak; the tumultuous mix of anxiety and dread left me voiceless. Instead, I nodded, a meek affirmation of my readiness to venture out of my comfort zone. As if I have a choice.
With a nod of her own, Mamori turned, her short black hair swishing above her shoulders as she led the way. The walls of the massive orphanage seemed to close in on me; the grandeur of the place suddenly overwhelmed me. The photographs that peppered the walls caught my attention. They were more than just pictures; they were frozen fragments of time, memories caught in a timeless dance.
Among them, Miss Alice's photograph stood out. Her eyes twinkled with warmth and wisdom, a sharp contrast to the graying hair that framed her face. Her arms were wrapped around a group of children—the gifted orphans. Their eyes mirrored the same spark that Miss Alice's had, a sign of the rare bond they shared. The memory of Miss Alice instructing Mamori to introduce me to these gifted beings came rushing back, causing my heart to flutter in my chest.
"Prim," Mamori's voice pulled me back from my thoughts, "how are you feeling?" Her gaze was attentive, her concern genuine. Yet, I found myself at a loss for words; the whirlwind of emotions within me was too complex to put into words. I simply shrugged, my silence speaking volumes.
The cool breeze kissed my face as we stepped outside into the field. The sight that unfolded was nothing short of magical. The gifted orphans were scattered across the field, their laughter ringing through the air. A group of them were engaged in what seemed like a game of tag, their nimble bodies darting around with a grace that was both mesmerizing and slightly intimidating.
Off to the side, a young boy with bowl-cut hair was reading, a look of intense concentration etched onto his face. A little further away, a girl was weaving flowers into crowns, her fingers moving in a blur as daisies seemed to bend to her will, twirling themselves into intricate patterns.
The entire scene was bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. It was a scene from a fantasy tale, a glimpse into a world where the extraordinary was ordinary and the impossible was reality. And I was like, sure. I wasn't dreaming.
As I stood there, taking in the sight before me, I felt a strange sense of peace wash over me. It was as if I were at ease, in a place where I could be myself without judgment or fear. I realized then that although I was silent, my heart was speaking in ways it never had before.
Mamori and I stood in the verdant expanse of the field, the grass beneath our dollshoes whispering secrets to the wind. The sun hung low, casting long, dramatic shadows that danced and twirled with the rustling leaves. From this distance, the constant rhythmic thud of wood being split was like a metronome, a steady heartbeat underlying the melody of the day.
There, amidst a pile of logs, I spotted a figure of raw teenage strength. His ginger hair glowed like a fiery halo under the afternoon sun, his muscles visibly straining as he swung an axe with an unexpected grace. I recognized him as the guy who incinerated some of the men in black last night.
"Who is he?" I asked Mamori.
"That's William Hartdeger III," Mamori murmured, her eyes shadowed with a hint of admiration. "Billy, in short. The eldest of the gifted orphans."
Just as Mamori's words faded into the wind, another figure emerged from the background. An ethereal beauty with skin as white as the purest milk, her sapphire eyes are a clear difference to her complexion. She moved around Billy with a fluidity that was almost cat-like, her presence a paradox of fragility and strength. "Suzie," Mamori introduced, her tone softer, almost protective. "She's about 17."
As the tableau of Suzie and Billy unfolded in front of us, Mamori gently took my hand and led me towards the playground. Its colorful structures stood out starkly against the lush greenery of our surroundings, a testament to the paradox that was our world: ordinary and extraordinary people living side by side.
In this landscape of vibrant colors and shadows, yet another picture came into focus. A tiny girl, no older than nine, was surrounded by a throng of woodland creatures. They chattered and fussed around her in a whirl of feathers and fur. The child, in a billowy dress that was white, looked like a fairy tale princess come to life. "Matilda Von Garner," Mamori said, a smile playing on her lips. "We call her Molly. She's the youngest. And don't worry, those creatures standing in front of her are her friends."
I gulped.
Just beside Molly, a boy around 10 years old sat and was engrossed in a book. His bowl-cut hair was the color of brownish black in the sunlight. Every now and then, he would pause in his reading to meticulously spray his hands with alcohol. "Wallace," Mamori introduced. "A bit of a germophobe, but don't let that fool you. He's got a mind sharper than a rapier. Also, he's the second youngest here."
As Mamori's words settled around us, I took in the picture they painted—a tapestry of individuals, each unique, each gifted in their own way, and all of them stitched together by the common thread of life at this orphanage. My heart swelled at the sight, a mix of awe and anticipation coursing through my veins.
The air was pierced by the calming hum of chirping birds, with the sun painting a golden hue on everything it touched, as Mamori and I remained entranced by Wallace's silent dedication to his book and Molly's animated chatter with her woodland companions. Amid this tranquil tableau, the intermittent whir of mechanical wheels etched itself into the soundtrack of the day. Then, a figure emerged from the maze of wildflowers, her wheelchair carving a path through the vibrant green. A chill ran down my spine as I took in her frailty. Thin to the point of fragility, the girl was a character study in contrast. Her legs, entwined by thin, black vines, were a tableau of nature reclaiming its own, while her upper body was encased in a soft, ethereal cloud of white silk that fluttered subtly with each breeze.
Cascading down her back, her hair was a torrent of black, a waterfall of midnight against the white backdrop of her silk dress. It is very long. Her complexion, a shade of alabaster laced with a hint of pale yellow, was weird. Her yellowish skin was peculiar, but you can barely notice the tint unless you really look at it so deeply. It wasn't like Suzie's creamy porcelain skin or Billy's ruddy complexion. It was something else, something barely perceptible, that hinted at something I couldn't decipher.
"Are you the newcomer?" the girl asked me with a voice as soft as the summer wind. Mamori, her face turning a shade of joy, nodded in response.
"She is," Mamori said.
Then, her dark eyes found mine. An odd sensation washed over me as she looked at me—an unsettling mix of fear and fascination. "You're pretty," she said, her voice carrying a note of resignation as if echoing a fact universally acknowledged. I merely blinked in response, not quite sure how to process her blunt compliment.
"Where's Aria, Noelle, Bryce, and Eli?" Mamori asked.
"Aria's in the garden, Noelle's probably in her room, and Bryce, I don't know where he is. And Eli, if I'm not mistaken, he's locked himself in the basement. You know."
"Yeah!" Mamori chuckled. "Augustus is also out to buy groceries, right?"
"Yup," the girl answered.
Who those people are, I have no idea.
As the girl looked at Mamori and me, she smiled and waved at us, navigating her wheelchair away from us. Mamori leaned in to whisper, "That's Lennox." The name, even whispered, had a resonance that hung in the air. I observed Lennox, her silhouette framed against the setting sun, her wheelchair leaving a trail in the grass, and asked, "Why is she in a wheelchair?"
Mamori paused, her eyes reflecting a mixture of sympathy and admiration. "She had paralysis in her legs when she was five; she can't walk," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. I watched Lennox, her frail figure contrasting sharply with the vast expanse of the wildflower field. "But that gave her a gift," Mamori added, her voice tinged with a note of awe. "She can manipulate gravity."
Gravity. The word hung in the air, heavy with implications. I looked at Lennox again, her silhouette now a mere speck in the vast expanse, her wheelchair a testament to her physical frailty and her unique power. I felt a strange mixture of awe and fear. Here was a girl, imprisoned by her own body, yet holding dominion over a force that even the greatest minds could barely comprehend.
"Miss Alice is our headmistress. She's in control of the entire home. Sebastian, Maggie, and Martha are workers here; Sebastian is the only gifted among the three of them. Maggie and Martha are normal human beings, but they became matrons here after their respective gifted children were captured by the men in black," Mamori said. "They swore to themselves to help the remaining gifted beings after their sons deaths."
That's so sad, I said to myself.
"But apart from them," Mamori continued, "we also have our mentor here who teaches us how to amplify and control our gifts. He teaches us how to hone our skills, although he's currently out in the city to buy groceries. He will be back very soon," Mamori said.
As the sun continued casting its light, laying out long shadows and bathing the world in a warm, amber glow, Mamori took my hand as she dragged me underneath a massive oak tree near the house. "Anyway, before anything else, I have to show you something," she said.
At first, I wasn't sure what it was. From a distance, all I could see was this bump of dirt and a headstone, its grayish front implying that it was newly placed. Mamori turned to me and smiled, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyelids.
"Before I introduce you to the other orphans, I want you to come here first," she said.
I knelt upon the sight of the grave. His smile entered my mind, and all I could do was to feel this pain inside my chest. How they carried him here, I have no idea. But one thing's for sure, what happened yesterday really did happen.
Elliot Hayes, I read the headstone's name.
And slowly, my heart ached.