V

(5:15 PM)

Celeste Dean• (suh-lest)

My palm dragged right across the textbook that lay open on the table, leaving a thick smear of 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 this golden cast today, and from where I sat, I could feel the heat from the fireplace that wasn't even close to me.

I hadn't been studying for the past hour.

Three tables over, sitting right in the path of the 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 little cute pink comb, though a few damp pieces had escaped, curling against the side of her neck.

Her pen kept running across the paper with full concentration. It was bewitching. Beside her sat a cup of sage tea, untouched, a thin skin forming over the cold liquid. I sighed under my breath.

It was embarrassing how easily I noticed everything she did. The little ink stain on her left thumb and the way her teeth caught her lower lip whenever she was confused about what she was reading. I felt a hit of embarrassment wash over me. How could I be yearning for my gender this way?

It took me years to realize that I didn't like the opposite gender. In fact, everything repulsed me about them. I was a kid back then, innocent and curious.

I used to stare at Matilde across the dining room, telling myself I was just jealous of her hair or wanted to steal her shoes. Matilde was my childhood friend growing up back in the village. I remember that we used to be so close, almost inseparable.

But then came the afternoon we shared a blanket at a sleepover. When her arm brushed against mine, my whole skin felt hot. My heart was hammering so hard against my ribs I was terrified she'd hear it through the dark. That night, I spent three hours staring up, holding my breath every time she shifted, realizing no boy had ever made my pulse jump like that.

I was only 9.

"What a lovely evening, isn't it?" Helena's voice soon filled the space sliding onto the bench across from me.

Unlike me, Helena liked boys. But sometimes she confused me. According to her, she was sent to this place because her mother wanted her to stay away from boys. Either that was the case, or Helena was in denial of her sexuality. There were multiple times I'd caught her ogling at the sight of naked women in the magazines she managed to sneak in every term. I don't know how she never got caught.

Across from me, she had that little knowing smirk. I knew that mischievous smirk anywhere.

"What's lovely about this evening? I'm so tired, and my roommates are at it again. " I complained, my mind going back to this morning. Elizabeth and Ruth were my roommates for this year, but ever since they moved in, I've been having sleepless nights. Those two never got together, always bickering and making attempts to cut at each other's necks. They've tried involving me in their fight, urging me to pick a side, but the last time that happened, I ended up in the infirmary.

Helena lets out a mocking laugh, and I frown. Here we go again.

"Respectfully, you deserve whatever mess you're in. I just hope you don't try to be all middleman again because you know what happens." She replies, and I huff, shrugging my shoulders.

What a core memory.

I look back up from my book and watch as Helena leans in slowly across the table, her hands intertwined together on the table.

"Have you spoken to Rosalie? She's literally sitting down right there."

I stared down at the book below me, my stomach twisting into a tight knot. I knew who she was talking about. Helena knew me like an open book. It was annoying sometimes because she was a personification of my inner monologue. It was that, or I'm just very easy to read. Nevertheless, I never hid my desires for Rosalie. It always manifests in some way when she's around.

"No, I've not spoken to her. I don't think I'll ever do so." I say, dropping my pen. I let out a low groan.

Helena sheepishly steals a glance at Rosalie and looks back at me. "How do you know she's not into women? She might be. You just need to take your shy ass and talk to her."

Yes, Helena, I didn't know that at all.

But she was right. My little crush-almost close to being an obsession-started right from first year. I had been paired with her for a group project, but I remember she got sick and couldn't attend most of our group meetings. From what I knew, she was a very introverted person. I don't think she had that many friends, but who cares? Definitely me.

Helena and I whip our heads when we hear the familiar click-clack of prayer beads. Sister Agnes stepped out from the stacks, her black glasses appearing soon after. She wraps her fingers hard against our table, her piercing blue gaze abruptly finding mine.

um ok.

"Miss Dean, Miss Ward," she rasped. "The novices are already gathering downstairs. I suppose you're aware of the rehearsal?"

Yes, Sister Agnes.

God knows how much I hated this woman with every cell in my body. It was almost as if this school was designed to rage-bait me and wish evil on me.

I meet her gaze, my head nodding accordingly. The same traditions all over again. God, get me out of here, please.

I turn my head to Helena, and I see she's already looking at me. She looked disappointed, almost irritated, but I couldn't blame her. She was in charge this time around, and I was to assist her.

"Yes, Sister. We're very much aware." Helena answers quietly.

"Ensure your lanterns are clean and trimmed. Do not be late."

The second her black skirts trailed down the aisle, Helena nudged my leg under the table.

"You have to be in your right senses to know that this woman reeks." Her eyes widened. "I've been telling you this, but you still refuse to see it."

~

The courtyard was a total swamp from last night. I hated when things like this happened. Under a leaking canvas tent, long tables were arranged with hundreds of raw candles and unpolished tin lanterns.

I pulled my scarf higher over my nose and leaned against one of the pillars. The candle procession mostly took place when first years arrived. It was one of those traditions the university loved to preserve, along with its ancient Latin prayers and the portraits of dead women who they think so highly of. Honestly, I didn't believe in religion.

A religion that condemned my love for Rosalie.

It happened every year; the first-years were given a candle.

Every year, the older students were made to clean the lanterns, trim the wicks, and escort them through the grounds to the chapel. Who wouldn't be tired of doing lame, boring shit like that? Sister Agnes had successfully caught me in her trap.

I vividly remember my first time doing this. I had been a nervous wreck with wet shoes and a candle I was terrified of dropping. You should have seen me in my small frame when I hadn't had my glow-up.

The second time, I had been forced to spend an hour convincing a girl named Elodie that she wasn't going to catch fire. It was a terrible day to remember because she kept following me afterward, thanking me for "saving her life".

This year, Sister Agnes had made it her mission that I assist with the tradition. Deep down, I knew that woman had a personal beef with me. Safe to say the feelings were mutual.

I looked around. Everyone was busy chatting with their friend; no one wanted to be here unless it was the first years.

I scoff.

"Who are you staring at this time around?" I looked down at Helena, who was standing beside a table, elbow-deep in a box of candles. Her sleeves had been rolled to her elbows, and there was a streak of soot across her cheek.

"I'm not staring at anyone." I roll my eyes, pushing myself off the pillar. What's her deal anyway?

"Mhm, if you say so." She hums. I know she didn't believe me, but Helen never believed me most of the time, so I wasn't surprised. Typical Helena.

I walk closer to her. My fingers grip my gown higher so it doesn't get stained by the puddle. "I'm looking at the candles. You're always after me."

She only nods her head as she continues rummaging through the box, half focused on our conversation.

I continue watching her, and I see her mouth twitch. She pauses midway and stands up right before throwing me a wink. "You don't seem to be keeping tabs on your darling Rosalie."

At the mention of Rosalie, I fight a smile from climbing my face, but that too was betrayed by the blush on my cheeks.

She made me feel like a stalker with that statement, but I didn't care.

"I wasn't looking for Rosalie. I was only looking at the students. The first years look excited." I countered, not knowing what else to say. But at least it was the truth. Not that I owed her any explanations.

She didn't say anything but completely ignored me. I reached out for a candle from the box, but Helena was quick. Quick with her slaps. Helena had slapped my hand away.

"Trimmed ones are on the other side. Don't disturb what I already began with." In contrast, Helena was a short girl with a very endowed body. I'd tease her about her height now and then. With her brown curly hair and freckled face, she was a very pretty girl if I had to admit, but I never said it to her face. I didn't want her head swelling here and there.

"And why did you slap my hand away, hm? I asked her. I moved closer to her, our bodies almost pressing close to each other. I could feel her body heat radiating. I was taller than her by a lot of inches, so she had to at least look up at me.

Helena freezes in her spot, looking slightly taken aback by our proximity.

Her cheeks colour, giving her time to register what was going on before pushing me away. Hard.

" Oh, so you think because I'm short, you're going to try and intimidate me. Nice try, but that doesn't work on me. Go work on the other candles, Celeste." She says. She offers a sweet, entirely fake smile and turns her back to me.

I turned on my feet, facing the opposite side before she could see me smile.

The courtyard was filling up fast. And by filling up fast, I meant hundreds of students were now pressing close to one another. The darkness had already started to swallow the university. First-years were huddled together under the leaking canvas tent, looking dishevelled.

I had to roll my eyes when a girl started quietly crying into her sleeve while another was trying to light a damp wick with a wet match.

Bunch of losers.

"Don't," Helena said, stepping up behind me. I almost had a panic attack.

I flip my rosary on my chest and shoot her a glare, but that doesn't have an effect on her.

"Oh please, don't give me that look." She clicks her tongue together. "Are you done with the candles? We're about to start, and make sure you don't stray off too much."

"Yes, mommy." I taunt.

I turn my attention back to the crowd, and my eyes settle amongst the first years under the tent. A girl dressed in a soft-looking sweater stood slightly apart from the rest of the first years.

She had jet-black hair that seemed to blend with the darkness. She stood exchanging small conversations with another girl who had the brightest ginger hair I'd ever seen.

"Who's that?" I asked, glancing down at Helena. She looks at me.

"Who?" She etches her brows.

Helena glanced over, but the second her eyes landed on the girl, her goofy expression vanished completely.

"I don't know." She says. Helena was so bad at lying that it was almost pitiful.

"Lying doesn't look so good on you," I said. "You know everyone on this campus ground. Including every staff member."

She grunted, picking at her nails. "I know you. Unfortunately."

I stare at her for a brief second, my eyes noting the blush that was settling on her cheeks.

"Helena." I push further, grabbing her by her wrist. She looks down at my fingers on her wrist and sighs.

"She's a first-year. Her name is Clara Bellamy."

Helena looked genuinely uncomfortable, which was rare enough to make my stomach prickle with unease.

But before I could push her on it, Sister Agnes struck the chapel bell.

Clang, clang!

The irritating tone rolled over the courtyard, instantly silencing every conversation.

"Positions," the nun called out.

And just like that, the casual chatter died. I watched as Helena straightened up, her face transitioning into one of seriousness. I could never take Helena seriously; she was just too goofy for that kind of job.

The first-years were shoved into rows, handed their lanterns, and flanked by the older level. I fell into line near the back, my feet carrying me along with the other students. I couldn't see Rosalie from here, and I told myself that was for the best. It's not like that would change anything. That girl barely knew of my existence.

Sister Agnes started the prayer; her boring voice filled the courtyard. The same voice that tortured me for two years.

"From darkness, we enter the light."

Yeah right.

One by one, I watched as the wicks caught fire. A hundred tiny flames flickered to life, and the courtyard was illuminated. The procession started to move in silent steps, everybody moving accordingly.

My eyes stayed focused on Helena's short frame inches away from me as we moved, and I tried not to get in contact with anyone. I hated physical touch, especially from random people.

For a few minutes, everything seemed to go according to routine. It was almost perfect, if only Sister Agnes wasn't the one leading today. I wondered why she was the one to lead every year.

And then—

I smelled it. It was the smell of thick smoke.

I suddenly frowned, lifting my lantern a bit higher.

The candle at the front had gone out. Suddenly, another student's candle. One more, two more and five others.

What's happening?

I thought it was just a sudden gust of wind. You know, the usual chilly evening until every single flame in the courtyard died at once.

I stare at my burnt-out lantern, confused and a little weary. The whole courtyard was pitch black.

I feel my heart start to race, and my eyes dance hysterically. This was something out of the ordinary. Some creepy shit was going on.

Total darkness swallowed us whole. I gripped my scarf with one hand, the other clutching the lantern. The students by the time had started to whisper, probably as confused as well. I mean, who wouldn't? Was God angry at us?

I almost jumped out of my skin when someone let out a horrifying shriek at the front. The air suddenly felt cold and I could feel goosebumps forming on my neck and arms. A lantern hit the stones with a sharp noise.

"Stay where you are! We don't know what's going on, but we're doing our best to figure it out." Sister Agnes's voice barked through the dark. There was a tone in her high-pitched voice; I didn't just know what it was

Fear?

My heart hammered against my ribs as I stood frozen to the ground. I couldn't see anything, and if it's something I hated the most, it was darkness. I was afraid of the dark. I hated the dark when I was a toddler, and I still do.

I feel a pair of hands shot out through the dark and gripped my wrist like a vice. "Don't move," she hissed.

Helena.

I nod, but who was I kidding? We were standing in darkness. But my eyes still fought to adjust in the darkness.

Slowly, my eyes adjusted to the twilight; that was when it dawned on me. Something was terribly wrong.

The first-years were hyperventilating, some clutching their friends, but some of the older students weren't looking at Sister Agnes. I managed to trace the outline of faces in the crowd, all while squinting my eyes. My eyes followed their gaze, and that's when I noticed that some of the students were staring specifically somewhere else.

Helena's grip tightened around mine, and I look down at her. I squeezed her wrist a little bit in reassurance.

I turned my head back to the crowd, and my breath hitches.

At the center of the crowd stood Clara Bellamy.