Novels by Faith

(5:15 PM)Celeste Dean • (suh-lest)My palm dragged right across the textbook that laid open on the table, leaving a thick smear of wet ink over three lines of Latin I hadn't even read.I let out a low breath and pressed the heels of my hands into my burning eyes.The library had a golden cast today, and from where I sat, I could feel the scorching heat from the fireplace that wasn't even close to me. I hadn't been studying for an hour.Three tables over, sitting right in the path of the drafty window, was Rosalie Sinclair.My eyes followed her, and I watched shamelessly as her spine was pin-straight. Her dark hair was gathered with a silver comb, though a few damp pieces had escaped, curling against the side of her neck. She didn't seem to notice the heat at all, or maybe she did and just chose to ignore it. Her pen just kept scratching against her paper, steady and focused. It was bewitching. Beside her, she had a cup of sage tea sitting untouched, a thin skin forming over the co

"You do realize," Violet's voice came muffled from somewhere beneath a heavy mound of blankets, "—that this school feels like it was built by men who hated the very concept of joy." She says.Outside, the rain pressed steadily against the dormitory windows. It wasn't a violent storm, but it was enough to soak the campus grounds in a grey shroud.Clara had always loved the rain. When she was small, she used to run barefoot into the downpours back home, her dress turning grey with mud as she splashed in the ditches.Her father would watch her from the foggy glass of his study, eventually rushing out to shout at her for ruining her clothes. A small smile etched itself on her face when she remembered when she would offer a small, apology, only to do the exact same thing the next time the clouds broke.Eventually, he'd given up. He knew he couldn't fight the rain in her.Standing by the narrow window slips now, she wished she were out there. She wanted the cold droplets to sting her face a

The dining hall was louder than Clara expected. It was everywhere, more alive than she had imagined.The students' voices softly resonated against the ceilings as students filled the rows of tables in the dining hall.Clara slowed near the entrance.The room itself felt impossibly grand for something meant for breakfast. Was this even possible?The chandeliers hung overhead, suspended by long black chains disappearing into the shadows above. The candles would flicker along the center of each table despite the daylight pouring in from outside, their flames bending gently whenever the doors opened behind students.The smell nearly overwhelmed her immediately."You look terrified."Violet appeared beside her, carrying two trays effortlessly.She was dressed in a charcoal-grey skirt that brushed just below her knees, paired with an oversized cream knit sweater whose sleeves nearly swallowed her hands whenever she moved. Her ginger hair looked slightly unruly this morning, falling in loos

Clara was awakened by the sound of the church bell.The loud vibration traveled straight through the walls and into the frame of her bed, rattling her teeth. She lay perfectly still beneath her blankets, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling. The room was cold, faintly reeking of thick lavender water from the night before. Just across the room was Violet, who was already on her feet. She was half -dressed in a simple linen shift, standing before the thin mirror nailed to the wall, swearing under her breath as she fought to pin back a mass of tangled ginger hair."You're alive," Violet murmured, catching Clara's reflection. "Good. I was almost starting to get worried that you might have died."Clara pushed herself up into the cold air, drawing her blue hoodie over her knuckles. "They're really loud." She mutters, referring to the bells.Violet slammed an iron pin into her hair with an assertive click. "It's very annoying, I would say that. Give it two weeks, and you'll be hearing ghost

"The gel looks a bit too refined on your hair texture."Clara snapped her head up, her thumb still digging into the nervous lines she'd been tracing across her palm.A girl stood in the doorway, an expensive coat slung over her forearm. She had a thick mane of dyed ginger hair that looked bright enough to bleed, and her skin had that distinct, oily sheen of someone who had just survived a three-hour car ride without AC."Um-" Clara started."It looks nice, don't sweat it." She comments, walking over the chair in the room. "I'm Violet, but everyone calls me Vi. It's a love-hate relationship with my name, actually." The girl cut her off, dropping her bags onto the floor with a soft thud.Clara bit the inside of her cheek, tasting copper. Her face burned hot. How are you supposed to respond to a comment about your hair gel?"I'm, um. Clara. Clara Bellamy," she forced out. Her eyes darted around, desperately looking anywhere but at Vi's face. This was growing awkward as time passed.Vi th