VII

‎It

had been exactly a week since the incident at the Candle Procession. Ever since then, I couldn't quite wrap my head around the whole ordeal.

‎

‎That night, Emilia and Violet kept pestering me to answer their questions that I didn't have an answer for. It was a lot of pressure and confusion that was weighing on my chest.

I hated being confused; it does a lot to my head.

‎

‎ I remember the following morning, I had tried reaching out to my father. Turns out, we were only able to access our parents or guardians at the end of the term, which was very unfair, if you'd ask me.

‎

‎I tried not to think about it as the week went by, forcing myself to believe it was a completely normal thing to have happened. But deep down, I knew better.

‎

‎"She had a birthmark on her ass," a quiet voice snapped me out of it. I blinked and turned toward the voice.

‎

‎ Violet was leaning sideways over her desk, and she had her hair sticking up in its usual messy knots. She doesn't necessarily spend a lot of time taking care of her features in the morning, and I had tried helping her on some lucky mornings.

Violet had her chin resting in her hand, staring straight at me.

‎

‎ I furrowed my brows, completely thrown by her words. She looked me in the face and smirked.

"I'm talking about the girl I saw in the washroom today."

‎

‎ I continue staring at her, not knowing what else to say. Violet scared me sometimes. I don't think " scared " was the word? I think it was "creep". She creeped me out sometimes, but I always try not to let it show.

‎

‎"Uh, why were you staring at her butt?"

But ‎Violet only shrugged her shoulders and removed her chin from her hand.

She answered in a nonchalant tone

"She had a fat ass."

‎

‎That's it.

‎

‎Dr. Evelyn was standing by the high windows, one hand resting flat against the podium while the other hand stroked her chin. She had been talking for twenty minutes straight, but knowing how easily distracted I got, I knew I wouldn't remember a single sentence from what she had told the class.

The rain from earlier in the week had finally cleared out, and it left this pale, weak autumn sun that cut through the glass and lit up all the dust floating in the air.

‎

‎ I look down at my open notebook. I'd drawn a few messy lines in the corner of the page, but there wasn't a single word written on the page. I still contemplated the things I would fill my notebook with.

‎

‎I let out a soft sigh and tried to force my brain to focus, but my mind kept dragging me back to that very night in the chapel yard.

‎I'd spent days trying to convince myself it was just luck. Maybe my wick was dry, or maybe I was blocking the wind with my clothes. Maybe the other girls just had cheap matches, and I got the best one.

‎

‎There were too many maybes, and every single one of them felt like a lie.

‎

‎At the front, Dr. Vale's voice rings in the room. She was talking about early church history and funeral rites and the theological meaning of death. She had this weird habit of speaking without ever looking directly at anyone, and her eyes would be fixed somewhere near the back door.

‎She also hadn't written a single word on the blackboard behind her. It was completely blank, and I wondered if she had previously written anything on it and cleaned it, and I wasn't listening.

‎

‎I nudge Violet back. "Did you see her write anything on the board?" Violet didn't even turn her head.

"I wasn't paying attention."

‎

‎A few minutes later, the bell at the end of the hall rang out. The sharp noise startled a girl two rows ahead of us into dropping her pen, which made the whole class turn to look at her. A part of me was thankful that it wasn't me who had dropped my pen and attracted such attention.

Especially after that night.

‎

‎Instantly, the room broke into a mess. It was as if everyone had been sitting down and anticipating when the bell would go off. I couldn't blame them.

‎

‎I turned my eyes to stare at Dr. Vale, who didn't even raise her voice over the noise. She just closed her folder and muttered, "That will be all for today."

‎

‎I shoved my notebook into my bag and looked up at Violet. She looked to be in a hurry.

‎

‎"Are you going somewhere?"

‎

‎Violet looked at me. She pursed her lips, giving me an apologetic look. "I need to return a book to Emilia."

‎

‎I nodded my head, remembering that Violet had told me about a book she needed to return. She packed up her books into her bag before swinging it onto her left shoulder.

‎

‎"I'll see you in the room later, Bellamy!"

‎"Stop calling me that," I called after her, but she was already ducking out and into the hallway, her ginger hair disappearing into the sea of students.

‎

‎I stood by my desk for a moment, watching the last few students file out until the classroom completely emptied.

‎

‎I didn't leave right away. A part of me was just tired, and another part really didn't feel like squeezing through the loud corridors on my own. I just wanted to be on my own for now.

‎

‎I leaned against my desk, wrapping my arms around myself.  My fingers were cold, and when I looked down, I realized I still had ink smudges on my thumb from earlier.

‎

‎I was getting tired of this ink.

‎

‎But even before I could give it a thought, my mind started drifting again.

‎

‎I missed my Dad back at home. I missed his food and the pancakes he would make for me every morning. And whenever I was scared, he would come and talk to me or try to do one of those motivational speeches. He still saw me as that little girl from that day, but I was grown now. 

I was a little introverted because I didn't have many friends while growing up. I remember trying to make friends back in high school, but that was a traumatic experience for me. 

‎I took a breath, deciding in that moment that thinking of the past and my father wasn't going to resolve the longing in my chest. I was still stuck in St. Aurelia, and I wasn't seeing him until the end of the term.

‎

‎I turned to grab my bag before leaving, but then I stopped dead in my tracks.

‎

‎Inches away from me stood the blackboard behind Dr. Vale's podium. I blinked my eyes, my mouth hanging open in disbelief. Just before me was a single line of text written in wet ink.

‎

‎I stared at it, my heart taking a hard, violent slam against my ribs. My hands started shaking slightly as I leaned away from my desk.

‎

‎"Hello?" I called out, my voice coming out small and tight. I didn't know what prompted me to speak out, but I was sure I was losing my mind. I was the only student in the room.

‎

‎Nothing answered. The hallway outside was dead quiet.

‎

‎Yep, definitely losing it!

‎

‎I stepped closer to the front of the room, my eyes fixed on the board. The letters weren't written in chalk. It was thick, black ink, neat and deliberate, like someone had taken a large brush to the wood.

‎

‎It was Latin.

‎

‎Non omnis moriar.

‎

‎I stopped a few feet away, repeating the words in my head. My dad had forced me to translate enough old church texts back home for me to recognize the roots, but seeing it here, written in fresh ink on a blank board, made a sudden cold chill crawl right up my spine.

‎

‎But this one, I couldn't decipher.

‎

‎I swallowed hard, my throat drying up in an instant. I felt my heart beating fast in my chest. I knew this was bad.

‎

‎As I stared at it, a tiny bead of liquid gathered at the bottom of the last letter. It held there for a second before slowly sliding down the board, leaving a wet, dark line in its wake, exactly like a drop of blood.

‎

‎I stumbled back a step, my heel catching against the edge of a desk.

‎

‎The light in the room suddenly felt different. The weak sunshine that peeked through the windows seemed grey and washed out now, throwing long, weird shadows across the empty rows of chairs.

‎

‎A sharp creak echoed from the back of the room-just the sound of old floorboards settling, but in the silence, it sounded like a footstep.

‎

‎I spun around so fast my satchel whipped against my hip. "Who's there?"

‎

‎Nothing.

‎

‎My pulse was hammering against my ears now, loud and erratic. I grabbed my bag, pulling the leather strap tight over my shoulder, and backed toward the door without taking my eyes off the blackboard.

‎It was a coincidence. It had to be. Maybe a senior walked in while I was looking away. Maybe Dr. Vale wrote it right before she left and I just missed it because I was spacing out.

‎

‎I reached behind me, my cold fingers finally wrapping around the door handle. I yanked the heavy door open and practically threw myself out into the corridor, shutting it hard behind me.

‎

‎I stood there in the hallway, catching my breath while my chest heaved. Just down the hall, I saw some students talking amongst themselves, but the cold feeling in my stomach didn't leave.

‎

‎Behind the door, the fresh ink was still wet on the board. And deep down, no matter how hard I tried to deny it, I knew I hadn't missed anyone writing it.