Chapter 3: The Poison of the Lily

Élianor

I run, blinded by tears. The laughter from the cafeteria follows me, mingling with the frantic beating of my heart and the sound of my heavy steps on the sidewalk. I don't know where I'm going. Far. Just far from these grimacing faces, from this institutionalized cruelty. I finally rush into the small public park on the edge of the city, a deserted place at this hour of class. I huddle on a bench at the back, hidden by a thicket of laurel. My body shakes with silent sobs, gasps that tear at my chest. Shame is an acid that eats away at everything inside.

— Élianor?

The voice is soft, masculine. I lift my head, frightened, expecting a new mockery. But it’s not a harasser. It’s Raphaël.

Raphaël de Saint-Clair. The boy whose mere presence in a hallway makes every heart race, including mine, secretly, with the painful certainty of its impossibility. He stands there, his chestnut hair tousled by the wind, his striking green eyes fixed on me with a concern that seems sincere. He is even more handsome up close, a beauty that hurts.

— I… I saw you leave. What they did… it was monstrous.

His voice is velvet, a caress on my raw wounds. He sits next to me, without touching me, respecting the aura of distress that surrounds me. His scent, subtle and woody, reaches me.

— I don’t know what to say, he whispers, shaking his head. Liora and the others… they cross the line. You don’t deserve this.

No one had ever told me that. No one. The tears flow even more freely, but this time, it’s different. It’s a mix of pain and a crazy, naive hope that dares to peek out.

— Why… why are you here? I stammer, my voice hoarse.

— Because it’s unfair, he simply replies. Because I can’t stand cowardice.

He hands me a pristine white tissue. A gesture of infinite delicacy in my world of brutality. I take it with a trembling hand, wiping my wet cheeks.

— They’re all idiots, Élianor. They don’t see.

— They don’t see what? I say with a bitter laugh. They see perfectly well.

He turns to me, his intense gaze piercing.

— They don’t see that you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. A silver-gray, like a winter sky. They are full of things, you know. Of sadness, yes, but also of a strength. A strength that just wants to bloom.

His words pierce me. It’s the most beautiful compliment I’ve ever received. The only one. A breath of fresh air in my dungeon. I look at him, unable to look away, hypnotized. Is it a dream? A trap? But his gaze is so honest, so sweet.

— Shouldn’t you be with them? With the popular kids?

— The "populars"? he says with a slight disdainful pout. They bore me. Their world is small, cramped. You… I feel that your world, inside, is immense.

He places his hand on mine, on the bench. His skin is warm. The warmth spreads along my arm, flooding my cold chest. It’s the first time a boy, a human being, has touched me with such tenderness in years. I melt. All the distrust, all the shell of shame cracks under the sun of his attention.

— You are so much more than what they say, Élianor. So much more than this body you hate. There’s a queen in you. Just wait for someone to give her permission to reign.

He speaks, and his words are a balm, an enchantment. He sees me. He, Raphaël, the prince of this school, sees me. And he doesn’t see a monster. He sees a queen.

We stay there for a long time, sometimes silent, sometimes talking about other things. He talks to me about painting, about books that no one else reads, about his desire to leave this suffocating city. He asks for my opinion. He listens to my answer. It’s intoxicating. It’s dangerous.

When the bell rings in the distance, signaling the end of classes, he reluctantly stands up.

— We have to go. But… I want to see you again. Alone. Tonight. At the old mill by the river. Will you come?

His gaze is a promise. A prayer.

My frantic heart screams "yes." My instinct, barely audible, whispers "be careful." But how can you resist a lighthouse when you’ve navigated in darkness all your life?

— I… I’ll try, I murmur.

He smiles, a smile that could melt the poles.

— Perfect. See you tonight, then.

He walks away, and I remain on the bench, the crumpled tissue in my hand, his scent in the air, his words echoing in my head. "A queen in you." The shame from earlier is still there, but it’s covered by a golden, shiny, deceptive layer. Raphaël. He chose me, me. Against all.

I stand up, my legs trembling, but for the first time today, I lift my head. Hope is a bittersweet poison. And I am ready to indulge, not knowing that tomorrow, the hangover will be unimaginably violent. The fall was just the prelude. The real betrayal, the most heartbreaking, is just beginning.