SUNLIGHT ENTERED through the chinks in the heavy white curtains of my room. The air smelled of lavender, and the old books wafting through the air were an odd yet comforting blend. I sat on my bed, a whirlpool of thoughts swirling in my mind as I continued trying to connect the dots. I was still attempting to comprehend the weird happenings piling up from day one. It was as if yesterday I were just another girl in Perthlochry, living the mundane life of a human. Moments later, I found myself in the midst of a fantasy. A question lingered, snaking its way into my thoughts: how on earth did an ordinary girl like me fit into this whole situation?
I pressed my forehead against the cool windowpane, my reflection wavering in the glass. My eyebrows furrowed as I recalled Augustus, Leo, and Mamori. How could she not think about how not only do they look so similar, but they also share the same surname? She seemed oblivious to these peculiarities, and I couldn't help but feel confused even more. Yes, they do have some differences, but the similarities are very strange. And that's even more confusing.
Shaking my head, I retreated from the window, the cold glass leaving a temporary imprint on my skin. Also, knowing the last rule of the academy, was the key to all these mysteries hidden behind that door? Was the key to all of my questions hidden inside that room? And why is Noelle so hostile toward me? Have I done something—anything?
As if sensing my turmoil, Ophelia leapt onto my bed. Her emerald eyes, always so full of mystery, met mine, offering silent solace. I found comfort in the rhythmic purring that filled the room as I stroked her glossy fur. Every stroke, every purr, was a moment of tranquility amidst everything.
I then laid back on the bed. The ceiling, adorned with white carvings, seemed to twinkle in agreement with my thoughts. Every object in Miss Alice's home held a story—a whisper, if I remember. I just could not shake the feeling that Mamori knew more than she let on, especially with Leo and Augustus. She had this way about her, though. It's like she saw the invisible strings that tied their fate together. We've shared secrets, laughter, and moments of vulnerability. Yet the growing suspicion that she's withholding something stings my trust.
Because of that, I left my musings as I moved towards the bathroom, the cool marble tiles sending a shudder up through my bare feet. Steam began to cloud the room as I let the warm water cascade over me, washing away the dust of confusion but not the thoughts that lingered. I emerged from the bath, feeling lighter yet laden with questions. Next, I rummaged through my closet. I reached for the white dress hanging on the rosewood armoire, its fabric embracing me as I slipped it on. I gently picked up Ophelia and descended the grand staircase.
"Good morning!" Miss Alice greeted me. I barely even noticed her. Her jet black hair glowed like a halo in the light, and her dark eyes sparkled with warmth.
Augustus stood by her side as well. His long, dark-brown hair, which waved like the ocean, shimmered as he smiled. Augustus and Leo's similarities were undeniable, and Mamori's feigned ignorance was becoming harder to overlook.
I greeted them both and moved towards the dining area, acting as if nothing bothered me as the symphony of smells wafted from the kitchen. The long, mahogany table was already bustling with the rest of the gifted orphans. Their laughter and chatter filled the room, and I couldn't help but look at them from a safe distance. Sebastian moved with an elegance that was almost dance-like, serving the children their breakfast. The clinking of cutlery against china plates, the soft hum of conversation, and the aroma of freshly baked bread created a weird sense of comfort.
As I took my place at the table, Ophelia curling up at my feet, I watched, my gaze softening, as Miss Alice methodically sliced through her loaf of bread as if she were conducting a silent task of her own. Her eyes flickered from one orphan to the next. A smile graced her face, and it felt strange. Or was I just being dramatic? I mean, whatever.
Augustus, on the other hand, was hunched over his plate, his long hair falling over his clear eyes as he focused on eating his meal. His spoon clinked against the porcelain bowl as he scooped up another mouthful of stew. My eyes then strayed, as they often did, to the far corner of the dining hall. There, behind a large oak door, lay the forbidden room—a place none of us orphans were allowed to venture into. You know, the one Mamori mentioned to me. Its timber frame was old, and the brass handle had a dull gleam. Its very existence was like an unsolved riddle, a locked chest of secrets that gnawed at my curiosity.
I caught myself tracing the intricate carvings on the door from afar, my fingertips tingling with the imagined feeling of the cool, worn wood under them. The door was always closed, and the more it remained closed, the more my mind spun tales about what lay behind it.
What's inside that freaking room? Did it hide a library? I don't think so. I mean, we do have a library downstairs. Most of all, why is it forbidden?
My heart fluttered as I imagined myself finding something in there—an answer, perhaps, to the question that had bothered me. Suddenly, a soft clink of utensils snapped me out of my reverie, bringing me back to the dining hall. The clinking of silverware against ceramic plates filled the dining room, and I shook my head. I slowly raised my gaze and looked at them, my gaze flitting from face to face. And out of nowhere, Miss Alice delicately dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a lace-trimmed napkin, a question hanging in the air between us.
"Have you finished your chores, children?" she asked, her voice a blend of sternness and warmth.
A chorus of affirmations echoed back to her. Aria nodded first. Then Eli flashed a thumbs-up, his grin wide enough to rival the Cheshire Cat. Lennox, Billy, and Suzie chimed in next, their voices blending into harmonized yeses.
"Thank you," Miss Alice said, her ruby-red lips curving into a smile.
Yet, amidst the chorus of voices, I stayed silent, my attention drifting to Miss Alice. She sat at the head of the long, mahogany table. The soft glow of the antique chandelier above her painted her in an ethereal light, highlighting the black strands in her hair and the soft gaze of wisdom etching her face. She ate her meal with an elegance that seemed out of place in our ragtag group, each bite a testament to years of carefully honed refinement.
Minutes later as the dinner drew to a close, the noise of clattering dishes and playful banter filled the room. Yet, within the sounds, I continued staring at the rest of the orphans. The hands of the ornate clock above the fireplace seemed to slow, each tick echoing through the near-empty dining hall. I waited, my heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of time, and while I was staring, I couldn't help but think about something. And I know it might put me in trouble. But I'm just curious. I have to know something.
***
I couldn't sleep. I tried to. I did. And because I was still awake and bothered by my thoughts, I decided to head downstairs and drink a glass of water.
I moved with the same caution as a mouse, my every breath hushed as I navigated towards my destination. Tucked away near the dining area, adjacent to a narrow, cobblestone alley, the door had always intrigued me. But I dismissed it. I went to get a glass and filled it with cold, tap water. After I had quenched my thirst, I happen to stare at the door for the second time. It was something in the otherwise pristine manor, and it really pulled me like a moth. I was like, sure, and then approached it with a hushed step, my fingertips brushing over the cold, iron lock that kept its secrets hidden.
In the quiet of the night, a soft sound reached my ears—a familiar purr. I turned to find Ophelia, her green eyes glinting in the moonlight. With a quiet "shush," I scooped her into my arms, her soft fur a comforting presence. I couldn't afford her meow echoing through the silent corridors, alerting Maggie and Martha, let alone Sebastian. Otherwise, I'd get caught for still wandering around in the dead of night.
With Ophelia tucked safely in the crook of my arm, my focus returned to the forbidding door. The lock was an obstacle I had not considered. What on earth was I thinking, really? It would take more than coming here to penetrate the door's locks.
I racked my brain for a solution, my gaze shifting to the surroundings. I rummaged around silently, but to no avail. Seconds turned to minutes and still, nothing. But just as I was about to leave, I noticed something in the dim light, the ivy that climbed the adjacent wall, its leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Half-hidden amidst the greenery, hung something. I wondered if it was intentionally placed or merely forgotten. Hoping it was it, I reached out, the metallic cold of the key sending a shiver down my spine.
As I held the key in front of the lock, I realized this was more than just an attempt to quench my curiosity. My heart thrummed like a hummingbird's wings as I stood before the forbidden door, the cool brass doorknob sending a shiver up my spine. With a gulp, I inserted the key, steeled myself, and pried open the door. It creaked melodramatically, the rusty hinges crying out in protest. The scent of dust and long-forgotten things wafted out, carrying with it an aura of mystery and secrets. Still, there were a few more locks. I looked around to see no keys lying around.
I aggressively bit the bottom of my lip, thinking about what to do. And for some reason, Ophelia looked at me, and as I stared at her glare, I noticed I was wearing a hairpin. She was stating at it. I removed it, bent it, and made it penetrate the locks. And it worked.
What on earth am I doing? I mentally asked myself. The door slowly creaked as if it hadn't been opened for decades. Gulping, I looked around to check if anyone was staring. And when I was sure nobody was around, I let out a sigh.
I stepped inside after a few seconds of contemplation, my shoes echoing softly on the wooden floorboards. The room was dark; I give it that—the only light was a feeble moonbeam trickling in through a grimy window. I gently put Ophelia down, feeling her soft fur slip through my fingers. "Stay close," I whispered as she padded over to a corner, her tail flitting with interest.
The room was sparser than I had hoped. I had expected something—anything. But all that greeted my eyes was a collection of antique furniture, junk, and more furniture. A chaise longue stood solemnly against a wall, its red velvet upholstery faded to a dull maroon. A heavy oak desk sat in one corner, its surface scarred with scratches and ink stains. A grandiose chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystal pendants coated in the grime of countless years.
I feel disappointed, a deflating balloon in my chest. Was this the forbidden room? Why on earth was this forbidden?
"Screw it, Ophelia. We're just wasting our time," I told my cat, as if she would even respond.
Just as I was about to call it a night, my gaze fell upon a small box tucked neatly beneath the table. It was a simple thing, made of worn-out mahogany. At first, I ignored it, honestly. But something about it was interesting, so I picked it up cautiously, the thin layer of dust tickling my nose.
Odd, I thought.
Holding my breath, I lifted the lid. Inside, an assortment of photographs greeted my eyes. There was also a blank paper that smelled like citrus for some reason. The black-and-white images were a trip down memory lane, snapshots of a time long past. There were pictures of children playing in fields, their faces bursting with pure, unadulterated joy. However, their eyes, and sometimes their entire faces, were blurry. There were photographs of grand soirees, women in elaborate gowns and men in sharp tuxedos, their eyes blurry, but somehow, they gleamed with happiness and champagne. Great.
As I sifted through the photographs, my fingers brushing lovingly over the faded images, a sense of sadness washed over me. These were moments of happiness frozen in time, forever preserved in the confines of this little box. And I could only guess who these people were. But somewhere in these photographs, somewhere in this room, I knew there were clues. Clues to the questions that plagued me. And I would find them, one way or another.
As I scanned the photos, my fingers, smudged with dust, trembled as they sifted through each vintage photo. One photo suddenly struck me as familiar. An eerie sense of déjà vu washed over me, as though I'd seen it in a dream. It was a house—a massive Victorian mansion—looming with an air of mystery and antiquity. The spires, the gobbles, the porch, the roof—I'm sure of it. I suddenly stopped, and for a moment I looked at Ophelia, who was staring at me intently with her emerald green eyes.
It was the same house I'd seen in my dreams, standing there, oddly. Except here, in this photo, it wasn't shrouded in the inky embrace of nighttime. Flanked by towering trees, the house was enveloped by a sea of lush greenery. Of course, in the photo, they were rendered in shades of gray; the once vibrant leaves are now just charcoal smudges against a pearl-white canvas. But in my mind, I could paint them with colors, imagining the emerald hues and the rustle of leaves whispering secrets to the wind.
I traced the outline of the house with my fingertip, feeling a strange connection to the house, and for a moment my eyebrows knitted.
Why is this here? I asked myself.
I turned my attention to the next photo, the edge of curiosity sharpening within me. It was a portrait of a young woman, her eyes blurry, and a smile that spoke volumes of a spirited youth. I recognized her immediately—it was Miss Alice, though much younger than the version I knew. The defined features of her face had yet to etch their story on her face, and her jet black hair, neatly tucked in a bun, was the same in the photo. I was taken aback; the image of her in the photo is so juxtaposing.
The box held one more surprise for me. As I sifted through the remaining photos, one caught my eye. It was a photo of twins, their identical faces grinning back at me. Probably around 8 or 9. Their youthful features were unmistakable, and I seriously recognized who they were. A chill ran down my spine, an icy finger tracing a path along my back. My heart pounded in my chest, a wild drum echoing in the silence of the room. I couldn't ignore the wave of worry crashing over me. There was a connection—a puzzle waiting to be solved. The house from my dreams, Miss Alice, everything is interconnected in a web of mystery. The photos were silent, their secrets hidden behind the glassy stares of their subjects. What did I get myself into?
The last few photos in the worn cardboard box lay in my hands, their edges crumpled with age. I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest like a wild rabbit. I wasn't sure I could bear to look at them. My fingers trembled as I shakily turned over the topmost photo. And there, I gasped.
The long hair, the stubs of shaven mustache framing his lips, his black blazer, the face staring back at me... He's the man who always appeared in my dreams!
No, I must be overthinking. Or was I overthinking?
I continued staring at the photo. The backdrop was still the massive Victorian house, its spires reaching high into the sky, surrounded by a garden overrun with wild roses. But there, lined up in front of the house, were Miss Alice, the twins, a woman I didn't recognize, a child with a hood that obscured her face, children in white clothing, and him. The man that constantly appears in my dreams.
"You are our salvation."
Memories surfaced in my mind. He was always there in my dream. I mean, why is he here? What's his connection to Miss Alice? To the gifted orphans? To me?
The questions swelled inside me, like a tidal wave threatening to drown me. I could feel the tendrils of suspicion creeping up and clutching at my heart. And then, breaking my train of thought, a footstep echoed through the silent house. It was distant at first, a ghostly sound, but with each passing second, it grew louder and closer. Panic, like a live wire, coursed through me. The photos slipped from my fingers, cascading onto the wooden floor like fallen leaves.
I turned towards the window, the moonlight streaming in, casting eerie shadows across the room. The worn latch was cold under my trembling fingers. I pried it open, the window creaking in protest. The night outside was quiet, the world holding its breath. The footsteps were closer now, and a steady rhythm filled the room. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out all other sounds. I could taste fear, bitter and cold, on my tongue. The world seemed to blur around the edges; the only reality was the window before me and the approaching danger behind it.
As the echo of footfall grew insistently closer, I felt a shiver of urgency creep up my spine. I glanced at the photos on the floor—a faded sepia snapshot of a time long gone—and ran. My heart pounded in my chest as I gingerly replaced the lid on the worn wooden box, taking great care to ensure every scratch and dust mole was exactly as I found them. My fingers trembled as I slipped the photos into the pocket of my pajamas including the blank paper that smelled like faint citrus, the edges brushing against the soft fabric. The fading light from the window made the knickknacks and trinkets within it seem like silent spectators to my clandestine act.
"Ophelia," I hissed under my breath, beckoning to the sleek black cat lounging languidly on the corner. She looked at me with her piercing green eyes, as if questioning my sanity, before leaping gracefully into my arms. Her purring vibrated against my chest, a comforting rhythm in the midst of my growing unease.
We then moved as one towards the window. The moon painted the sky in black and the dust of twinkling stars, offering a picturesque backdrop to an otherwise tense situation. I could hear the creak of the front door opening just as I stepped out onto the windowsill, the wind lifting strands of my hair, making them dance to its whimsical tune. I held my breath, hearing Sebastian's soft hoot echo through the narrow corridor, the sound brushing against my heartstrings. I imagined him standing there, so close yet so far, his brows furrowed in confusion. The door closed with a finality that echoed in the pit of my stomach, leaving me with an unsettling sense of trepidation.
I moved stealthily along the edge of the building, the rough texture of the brick wall pressing against my palm. Ophelia clung to me, her claws pricking through my clothes as I entered through a different window, sliding into the familiar chaos of my room, a sanctuary amidst the storm of uncertainty brewing within me.
Ophelia leapt from my arms, landing effortlessly on the patchwork quilt that adorned my bed. Her purring filled the room, a soothing sound against the backdrop of my racing thoughts. I looked at her, grateful for her silent companionship, and once again questioned my sanity. Had I really discovered these photos? The images seemed to burn through the fabric of my pocket, their existence a weighty reminder of the mystery unfolding within Miss Alice's home.
I knelt on the floor, reaching under my bed to hide the photos. The cool floorboards against my knees, the dust bunnies in forgotten corners, the familiar scent of my room—all these little details grounded me in reality as my mind continued to reel. I tucked the photos securely under the bed; their presence was now a secret shared between the wooden planks and me. An ominous cloud of worry settled over me, the room suddenly seeming smaller, my world shifting on its axis. What the heck is going on in this house?
The answer to that, it seemed, was yet to unfold. For now, I was left with a puzzle, the pieces of which were as mysterious as they were troubling.
***
The dawn of the new day found me teetering precariously between trust and trepidation. The world around me felt surreal, as if it were a canvas painted with impossible truths and unfathomable mysteries. The gifted beings—can I really trust any of them? Can I trust Bryce? Could I trust Mamori? Or even Augustus?
Miss Alice?
The photographs I'd found in a dusty corner of the forbidden room had shaken me to the core. There, standing next to the man who haunted my dreams, was Miss Alice. Her younger self, perhaps, but the resemblance was striking—the same eyes, the same hair, the same enigmatic smile. The questions swirled in my mind like a tempest, threatening to upend my sanity.
I found myself drawn to the solace of the ancient oak tree that stood tall near the academy. Its gnarled roots clawed into the earth, a steadfast presence that had seen the world change and yet remained unchanged itself. Under its sprawling branches, a small stone marker bore the name 'Elliot Hayes'. My fingers traced the engraved letters, a silent communion with a spirit I had once held dear. The tears welled up, a natural spring of raw emotion that could no longer be contained. They trickled down my cheeks, each droplet a witness to my confusion, my fear, and my heartache.
In my moment of vulnerability, a familiar purr resonated in the still morning air. Ophelia. As if sensing my turmoil, she nestled against my side, her purrs a soothing lullaby in the midst of my internal chaos.
"I don't know what to believe anymore, Elliot," I whispered to the silent grave, my voice barely a murmur against the crisp morning air. The words echoed in the silence, hanging heavy like the mist that clung to the ground.
My sobs then tore through the quietude, raw and unfiltered. They were the sounds of a soul at war with itself, a heart trying to navigate the labyrinth of uncertainty.
Through the veil of my tears, I glanced at the first rays of the sun piercing through the dense foliage of the oak tree. It bathed Elliot's grave in a warm glow, a silent reassurance from the universe. It did not promise an easy journey, but it whispered of hope, resilience, and perhaps, in time, clarity.
I allowed myself to feel—to question, to fear, to grieve. For it was in this moment of raw vulnerability that I felt most human, most real, amidst a world that was spiraling into the realms of the unbelievable.
It got me thinking: I need to know more.