Glass Houses, Part Four
Author's notes: More dialogue here, as well as a bit of character development and several angsty Orélie monologues. Title is a line from a random song on the radio; I don't even know what it's called. I'm going for a theme with song lines, in case you hadn't guessed. Enjoy.
By the time Orélie had nearly cleared her plate, the Headmaster and Headmistress entered the room through a door labeled "Staff Dining." Moving gracefully between the Gold and Wood tables, Signora and then her husband, they took the middle of the room.
"Welcome to the beginning of what I hope will be another exciting year at Stella di Mattina," Cecelia began with an almost infectious smile. "I extend further welcome to those among us for the first time…"
"Are they going to say anything important or are they just exercising their lungs?" muttered Orélie to Galina.
"Once in a while they say something mildly interesting, but don't hold your breath. It's easier just to watch everyone else's reactions; if somebody gasps it's a safe bet that the Heads announced something." Galina poured some more blueberry soda into her glass, then poked Luis. "Pass me the lemon soda, would you?"
Luis relinquished the lemon soda with reluctance. "You do know how disgusting your concoctions are," he stated hopefully.
"I was a bartender in a past life," Galina replied with a shrug. "Is there any of that fizzy American stuff left?"
Carmela turned sharply, her bronze face tinted with verdigris. "You're making me sick!" she hissed.
"It's better than the time with the coffee and the coconut milk," Luis recollected with a morbid mien. This appeared to be the last straw for Carmela, who pressed a napkin to her face and gripped the side of her chair.
"Povera ragazza (poor girl)," Galina sympathized. "I think she ate something that disagreed with her… should've known there was something odd about those tomatoes…"
"Is this what Signora Cappelino meant by 'an exciting year'?" inquired Orélie with a roll of her amber eyes. Craning her neck, she spotted Somerset attempting to ward off Nardo at the other end of the table and grinned at her first friend.
"It gets better," Luis assured her. "Last year there was a thunderstorm and a tree fell right in front of the entrance. All of the professors had to use some kind of charm to get it out of the way."
"It's not really that bad," Galina contradicted. "At least it's not monotonous."
"Fallen trees have always been a great source of tedium relief," Orélie agreed. "Luis, would you pass the pizzelles?"
"Shh!" A sudden hiss from Galina cut through the chatter. Dark eyes wide, she switched seats to an empty chair on the other side of Carmela. "There he is!"
"There who is?" Orélie squirmed to see what enraptured Galina so, but nothing stood out from the scene.
"Some fellow she's been mooning over," explained Luis with a look of disgust. "She won't tell us who he is."
"Give her a break," retorted Carmela, apparently recovered, in Galina's defense. "She's liked him - whoever he is - since last year."
"How do you know it's even the same one?" Luis hinted darkly. "For all we know it could be a different boy each week!"
"Don't be silly," scolded Carmela, resting her chin on her fist. In mock contemplation, she raised one eyebrow. "Unless… could you be - jealous?"
"Yeah, right!" Luis scoffed and ran a hand through his hair to check the gel concentration. "No offense, but I don't go for girls who make disgusting drink mixtures."
"Good thing too," interjected Galina, who had apparently lost sight of her idol. "I'd have to reject you; I don't go for boys who spend an hour each day gelling their hair."
Luis sniffed, wiping his fingers on a napkin. "You're just resentful because it makes your hair look sloppy." The three girls burst out laughing. "Well, it's true," Luis reiterated.
"We're not questioning your veracity," Orélie soothed. "It's just that when you sniff like that, you look like one of those fastidious, ultra-conservative types."
Galina yawned widely, drawing a scowl from Signor Cappelino, which she tacitly ignored. A moment later, the Headmaster himself let loose an ample yawn, followed by his wife. "Works every time," Galina remarked softly.
"Well," Signor Cappelino raised his volume, then yawned again. "It would seem that we're all tired. Off to your dorms, then."
"Your valises should be in your rooms," Signora Cappelino added. "Again, best wishes for the year."
With a chorus of screeches, the hundred or so students in the room pushed their chairs from their tables and stood, taking last bites of dessert and sips of beverage. More than one pupil could be spotted bundling away biscotti in paper napkins for snacking later. Carmela glanced longingly at a crostada, unable to transport the ice cream, as the Glass third-years got to their feet.
"That was some trick," Orélie told Galina admiringly.
"Yeah," the brunette agreed. "Too bad it only works at night."
Through a gap in the crowd, Orélie spied Somerset helping a younger boy who had tripped over one of the chairs. "I'll see you later, d'accordo?" she addressed her classmates, and darted away before they could answer.
"D'accordo," Carmela replied, too late.
--
Somerset smiled as Orélie approached, and it was difficult for her to restrain a rush of gladness. Someone wanted to see her, more than merely tolerating her presence. The younger boy who had tripped over his chair scuttled toward a few other students up ahead. "So," Somerset began, picking his way over a fallen fork, "How was your foray into the life of third-years? You seemed to get along well with them."
"Were you watching?" Orélie asked in amusement. She bumped into a badly aligned chair and staggered before regaining her balance with Somerset watching in concern.
"What?" Somerset blinked as if clearing his mind. "Yes, I was watching. You were so nervous about it that I thought something might go wrong."
Orélie nodded, accepting the answer. "Just as long as you weren't hoping to be entertained by my mishaps. What year are you in, anyway?"
"Fourth," was the boy's reply as he ducked into a small corridor.
"This isn't the way we came," Orélie observed, squinting suspiciously at several other students further along the hall.
"It leads to the secret chamber where we buy and sell Dark Magic," Somerset explained. "Quit looking at me like that; did you think I was serious? It's a shortcut to the Glass area."
Orélie turned her "like that" gaze from Somerset to the floor. "Oh," she replied for lack of a better response, flushing in mortification. "Well, you know, back at Beauxbatons a few kids did, sell Dark Arts stuff I mean."
"I'm sure a few kids here do as well," acknowledged Somerset as they reached a dead end. He held up his left hand in the "I come in peace" pose and walked through the wall. Orélie gulped and imitated the position, walking hesitantly into the stone pattern. It didn't let her through, though thanks to her slow movement the impact was not painful.
Beginning to panic, she clenched her right hand and rapped sharply at the wall, hoping to attract attention from those on the other side. The wall seemed to turn to smoke, and the momentum of the rapping motion pulled Orélie through to tumble onto the violet-blue carpet of Glass Social Hall.
"Are you all right?" Somerset asked, providing a welcome distraction from the stares of other students.
"I'm fine." Orélie got to her feet as quickly as possible. "Stupid wall wouldn't let me in until I punched it."
"That's strange," mused Somerset, tapping a finger against the side of his face. "Did you--?"
"Yes," Orélie interrupted, going into the "I come in peace" stance exactly as she had in the hallway. "Didn't work."
Somerset nodded in satisfaction. "That would be the problem." He held his own left hand up, ring glinting. "My ring is on my left hand, but yours is on your right. The ring is the key, the password so to speak."
"So…" Orélie switched her position so that her right hand was displayed. "Right?"
"Right," Somerset agreed with a nod. "That'll get you through any entrance to here. Sorry I forgot to tell you about that."
"No problem." Orélie emitted a falsely cheerful laugh. "If that's the least of my problems, I'm a lucky witch."
Somerset raised a dark eyebrow. "Are you generally a person with many problems?"
"Oh, loads of them." Dismissing the phantom troubles with a breezy wave of her hand, Orélie yawned.
"You might want to get to sleep," Somerset advised. "Despite the numerous studies proving that teenagers are naturally nocturnal, the school isn't progressive enough to start later." With his right hand, he traced the 'S' on his ring.
"I'm not tired," protested Orélie. "The yawn was a red herring."
"Why do you insist on lying even when it's about something inconsequential?" Exasperated, Somerset sunk into a chair.
"Ever consider that there's a purpose for lies?" Orélie countered, curling up on the floor.
Somerset snorted softly. "Not on the subject of tiredness or lack thereof."
"That's not the point." Orélie rested her chin in her hands, closed her eyes for a moment. After collecting her thoughts, she subjected Somerset again to her amber gaze. "When you tell someone that you're scared, or sad, or distracted, or even tired, you're showing weakness. It's like wearing a great big arrow that reads 'Look! Here's my Achilles heel; come attack me!'"
"Who's going to attack you?" Somerset inquired skeptically. "This isn't the age of Voldemort."
"Everyone's going to attack me," cried Orélie. "Or at least everyone with spare time and nothing to do. That's human nature. Ciel, what sort of supernatural protection keeps you so sheltered? I'd love to share your Patronus."
"I don't have one," Somerset pointed out. "Haven't learned that spell yet. And, you know, I've talked about plenty of my weaknesses, and nobody's attacked me thus far."
Orélie sighed slowly. "You're different."
"How is that?" questioned Somerset curiously.
"Just…" Orélie emitted a low growl of frustration. "I don't want to talk about it. You're right; I should go to sleep."
"Buona notte (good night)," Somerset responded in a gentler voice. "Head for Girls' Hallway Two."
Orélie unfolded her legs and stood with a final glance at the room. As per Somerset's instructions, she passed the now-lit candles in their alcoves, pushing the door to "Girls' Hallway Two" open. The hallway was papered in a cream-and-gray pattern vaguely reminiscent of stars, and polished stone tiled the floor. Small doors were, like almost every other door in the school, labeled: Orélie glimpsed "Laure," "Jeanette," "Lucia," "Carmela," "Teresa," "Galina," "Sophie," and finally "Orélie." With one hand, the girl turned her door's indigo glass knob, picking up her valises (which had been waiting by her door) with the other.
--
It's a tiny place, as I would expect - after all, there has to be enough space for every student. The furniture is nice, if a bit sparse. How many things are in here? Bed, with white scrolled headboard and periwinkle quilt; tall, shiny dresser made from some kind of wood (I guess the glass theme only extends so far); metal rack, designed to look like ivy, for cloaks and hats; and a mirror. It looks like the one from the Choosing - same shape, same glass frame. I doubt that it'll show my future though; not even worth looking.
Oh fine, I guess it couldn't hurt to check. Pretty room on quaint little street? No, just my boring old face; wide-eyed, weak Orélie, looking in the mirror like the Lady of Chalot, waiting for something to break the spell. At least that was a realistic fairy tale; tragic endings are the norm in real life. Be happy for what you get: at least she left a gorgeous tapestry behind.
Even if it isn't magic, the mirror looks nice against this strange shiny paint. Really, the whole room is nice, though I would prefer wall-to-wall carpeting to these little rugs that probably slide over the tiles and make you trip and break your leg. I'll have to keep a tally of my visits to the Infirmary. Perhaps I can break last year's record, though it'll depend on how often I'm hexed. Not to mention the number of falling trees, assuming those kids were even telling the truth. I'll have to check with Somerset.
Somerset. How do I know he's not lying? There must be something suspicious about someone who insists on sincerity. He keeps trying to learn about my weak spots. Oh, these sheets are cold. I hope Véronique doesn't freeze. Somerset, though. He talked to me voluntarily. Sure, there was a time when I would have thought he was some sort of guardian angel, like you, Véronique. But it's only the guardians made of cloth who can be trusted.
I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking. The sheets are too cold, the pillow too limp, the mattress too hard, and I could swear that mirror's watching me. I just can't stop thinking; too many memories, too many images. What am I going to do? If I stay in this room much longer I'll go insane. You stay here, Véronique; you're my protection but you're my weakness too. I'll be back soon.
--
The Glass Social Hall was dim and quiet. Only four of the candles burned, the others snuffed by a mysterious force. Ghostly in pale nightgown and loose hair, Orélie felt her way towards an armchair. She winced silently as her bare toe collided with a wooden stool, clenched her teeth together to keep from making a sound. Pausing to get her bearings, she leaned against the nearest wall. The candlelight threw her shadow, a grotesque exercise in hyperbole, upon the expanse of wallpaper. In counterpoint to the tremulous music of breath came a familiar voice.
"I couldn't sleep my first night either," the voice soothed. "It's hard."
"I'm not a wimp or anything," a second voice, quiet but energetic, replied earnestly. "It's just that I haven't been away from home much before."
"There's nothing wrong with being frightened," stated the first voice - it was Somerset, of course - in a weary tone. "Courage isn't lack of fear, you know, but overcoming it. And," he continued pensively, "I think strength is not lack of weakness, but learning to face life despite it. What do you think, Orélie?"
Orélie jerked in the murkiness, mirrored by her shadow, but recovered quickly. "I think," she responded, moving carefully toward Somerset and the new voice, "That this is rather an odd time for philosophical conversations." She squinted and stretched her hand out, searching for obstacles.
"We're here," Somerset called quietly, "By the fish tank." Sure enough, the dim glow of the aquarium illuminated the blurred outlines of two figures. Orélie cautiously joined them on the floor, kneeling as her nightgown fell in folds around her knees. The second figure, she could see now, was a small pigtailed girl, no doubt a first year.
"Hello," greeted the younger girl, clutching a quilt of undistinguishable color around her shoulders.
"Orélie," Somerset began with a formal gesture, "Meet Atlantis. Atlantis, Orélie."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Orélie answered automatically with a nod of her head. "I hope the Insomniacs Club is accepting new members."
"The more, the merrier," quipped Somerset with a small smile. "The first night generally has the biggest turnout." Atlantis watched the exchange with curious eyes.
"The mirror was watching me," Orélie explained. "I just couldn't take it any more."
"You should try hanging a piece of cloth over it," Atlantis piped up shyly.
"Excellent idea," smiled Orélie in approval. "I never would've thought of it."
Somerset added, "If that fails, you can always try pretending to be asleep. That'll bore the mirror into leaving you alone for sure." The girls laughed, Atlantis's face taking on an added glow. "Anyway," Somerset finished, "I really think we ought to try getting some sleep. Meeting dismissed." With an agility born of excellent night vision, he loped off toward "Boys' Hallway Two."
"Isn't he great?" enthused Atlantis in a whisper.
"Mm-hm," Orélie agreed absently.
"Are the two of you, uh…?" Atlantis blushed and trailed off.
"No," Orélie replied quickly, "We aren't. I just met him today."
Atlantis looked relieved. "Oh, good. I mean, I know I don't have a chance - he's a fourth year! - but a girl can dream, right?"
"Right," affirmed Orélie with a smile. "Dreams aren't rationed. I think I'm going to bed now," she finished with a yawn.
"I will too," decided Atlantis. "Buona notte."
--
Why do I feel so betrayed, watching Somerset help Atlantis? I don't have a crush on him. After Pierre, I'd definitely recognize a crush - the one exquisite ray of blue light against the terrifying darkness, the pull of the moth toward the flame. But it isn't that, despite what everyone seems to assume.
It's not like he's my property. Good grief, a few minutes ago I was apprehensive of him. I'm not expecting anyone to be put on earth for the sole purpose of helping me. As I told Véronique, I don't believe in guardian angels. I'm not that stupid, not anymore.
But a girl can dream, right?
No, I can't. I can't afford dreams now, especially not stupid, weak ones about not having to fight and beg and humiliate myself for everything. Everybody has to do that stuff, that's just how it is. Just how it is.
--
Author's notes: More dialogue here, as well as a bit of character development and several angsty Orélie monologues. Title is a line from a random song on the radio; I don't even know what it's called. I'm going for a theme with song lines, in case you hadn't guessed. Enjoy.
By the time Orélie had nearly cleared her plate, the Headmaster and Headmistress entered the room through a door labeled "Staff Dining." Moving gracefully between the Gold and Wood tables, Signora and then her husband, they took the middle of the room.
"Welcome to the beginning of what I hope will be another exciting year at Stella di Mattina," Cecelia began with an almost infectious smile. "I extend further welcome to those among us for the first time…"
"Are they going to say anything important or are they just exercising their lungs?" muttered Orélie to Galina.
"Once in a while they say something mildly interesting, but don't hold your breath. It's easier just to watch everyone else's reactions; if somebody gasps it's a safe bet that the Heads announced something." Galina poured some more blueberry soda into her glass, then poked Luis. "Pass me the lemon soda, would you?"
Luis relinquished the lemon soda with reluctance. "You do know how disgusting your concoctions are," he stated hopefully.
"I was a bartender in a past life," Galina replied with a shrug. "Is there any of that fizzy American stuff left?"
Carmela turned sharply, her bronze face tinted with verdigris. "You're making me sick!" she hissed.
"It's better than the time with the coffee and the coconut milk," Luis recollected with a morbid mien. This appeared to be the last straw for Carmela, who pressed a napkin to her face and gripped the side of her chair.
"Povera ragazza (poor girl)," Galina sympathized. "I think she ate something that disagreed with her… should've known there was something odd about those tomatoes…"
"Is this what Signora Cappelino meant by 'an exciting year'?" inquired Orélie with a roll of her amber eyes. Craning her neck, she spotted Somerset attempting to ward off Nardo at the other end of the table and grinned at her first friend.
"It gets better," Luis assured her. "Last year there was a thunderstorm and a tree fell right in front of the entrance. All of the professors had to use some kind of charm to get it out of the way."
"It's not really that bad," Galina contradicted. "At least it's not monotonous."
"Fallen trees have always been a great source of tedium relief," Orélie agreed. "Luis, would you pass the pizzelles?"
"Shh!" A sudden hiss from Galina cut through the chatter. Dark eyes wide, she switched seats to an empty chair on the other side of Carmela. "There he is!"
"There who is?" Orélie squirmed to see what enraptured Galina so, but nothing stood out from the scene.
"Some fellow she's been mooning over," explained Luis with a look of disgust. "She won't tell us who he is."
"Give her a break," retorted Carmela, apparently recovered, in Galina's defense. "She's liked him - whoever he is - since last year."
"How do you know it's even the same one?" Luis hinted darkly. "For all we know it could be a different boy each week!"
"Don't be silly," scolded Carmela, resting her chin on her fist. In mock contemplation, she raised one eyebrow. "Unless… could you be - jealous?"
"Yeah, right!" Luis scoffed and ran a hand through his hair to check the gel concentration. "No offense, but I don't go for girls who make disgusting drink mixtures."
"Good thing too," interjected Galina, who had apparently lost sight of her idol. "I'd have to reject you; I don't go for boys who spend an hour each day gelling their hair."
Luis sniffed, wiping his fingers on a napkin. "You're just resentful because it makes your hair look sloppy." The three girls burst out laughing. "Well, it's true," Luis reiterated.
"We're not questioning your veracity," Orélie soothed. "It's just that when you sniff like that, you look like one of those fastidious, ultra-conservative types."
Galina yawned widely, drawing a scowl from Signor Cappelino, which she tacitly ignored. A moment later, the Headmaster himself let loose an ample yawn, followed by his wife. "Works every time," Galina remarked softly.
"Well," Signor Cappelino raised his volume, then yawned again. "It would seem that we're all tired. Off to your dorms, then."
"Your valises should be in your rooms," Signora Cappelino added. "Again, best wishes for the year."
With a chorus of screeches, the hundred or so students in the room pushed their chairs from their tables and stood, taking last bites of dessert and sips of beverage. More than one pupil could be spotted bundling away biscotti in paper napkins for snacking later. Carmela glanced longingly at a crostada, unable to transport the ice cream, as the Glass third-years got to their feet.
"That was some trick," Orélie told Galina admiringly.
"Yeah," the brunette agreed. "Too bad it only works at night."
Through a gap in the crowd, Orélie spied Somerset helping a younger boy who had tripped over one of the chairs. "I'll see you later, d'accordo?" she addressed her classmates, and darted away before they could answer.
"D'accordo," Carmela replied, too late.
--
Somerset smiled as Orélie approached, and it was difficult for her to restrain a rush of gladness. Someone wanted to see her, more than merely tolerating her presence. The younger boy who had tripped over his chair scuttled toward a few other students up ahead. "So," Somerset began, picking his way over a fallen fork, "How was your foray into the life of third-years? You seemed to get along well with them."
"Were you watching?" Orélie asked in amusement. She bumped into a badly aligned chair and staggered before regaining her balance with Somerset watching in concern.
"What?" Somerset blinked as if clearing his mind. "Yes, I was watching. You were so nervous about it that I thought something might go wrong."
Orélie nodded, accepting the answer. "Just as long as you weren't hoping to be entertained by my mishaps. What year are you in, anyway?"
"Fourth," was the boy's reply as he ducked into a small corridor.
"This isn't the way we came," Orélie observed, squinting suspiciously at several other students further along the hall.
"It leads to the secret chamber where we buy and sell Dark Magic," Somerset explained. "Quit looking at me like that; did you think I was serious? It's a shortcut to the Glass area."
Orélie turned her "like that" gaze from Somerset to the floor. "Oh," she replied for lack of a better response, flushing in mortification. "Well, you know, back at Beauxbatons a few kids did, sell Dark Arts stuff I mean."
"I'm sure a few kids here do as well," acknowledged Somerset as they reached a dead end. He held up his left hand in the "I come in peace" pose and walked through the wall. Orélie gulped and imitated the position, walking hesitantly into the stone pattern. It didn't let her through, though thanks to her slow movement the impact was not painful.
Beginning to panic, she clenched her right hand and rapped sharply at the wall, hoping to attract attention from those on the other side. The wall seemed to turn to smoke, and the momentum of the rapping motion pulled Orélie through to tumble onto the violet-blue carpet of Glass Social Hall.
"Are you all right?" Somerset asked, providing a welcome distraction from the stares of other students.
"I'm fine." Orélie got to her feet as quickly as possible. "Stupid wall wouldn't let me in until I punched it."
"That's strange," mused Somerset, tapping a finger against the side of his face. "Did you--?"
"Yes," Orélie interrupted, going into the "I come in peace" stance exactly as she had in the hallway. "Didn't work."
Somerset nodded in satisfaction. "That would be the problem." He held his own left hand up, ring glinting. "My ring is on my left hand, but yours is on your right. The ring is the key, the password so to speak."
"So…" Orélie switched her position so that her right hand was displayed. "Right?"
"Right," Somerset agreed with a nod. "That'll get you through any entrance to here. Sorry I forgot to tell you about that."
"No problem." Orélie emitted a falsely cheerful laugh. "If that's the least of my problems, I'm a lucky witch."
Somerset raised a dark eyebrow. "Are you generally a person with many problems?"
"Oh, loads of them." Dismissing the phantom troubles with a breezy wave of her hand, Orélie yawned.
"You might want to get to sleep," Somerset advised. "Despite the numerous studies proving that teenagers are naturally nocturnal, the school isn't progressive enough to start later." With his right hand, he traced the 'S' on his ring.
"I'm not tired," protested Orélie. "The yawn was a red herring."
"Why do you insist on lying even when it's about something inconsequential?" Exasperated, Somerset sunk into a chair.
"Ever consider that there's a purpose for lies?" Orélie countered, curling up on the floor.
Somerset snorted softly. "Not on the subject of tiredness or lack thereof."
"That's not the point." Orélie rested her chin in her hands, closed her eyes for a moment. After collecting her thoughts, she subjected Somerset again to her amber gaze. "When you tell someone that you're scared, or sad, or distracted, or even tired, you're showing weakness. It's like wearing a great big arrow that reads 'Look! Here's my Achilles heel; come attack me!'"
"Who's going to attack you?" Somerset inquired skeptically. "This isn't the age of Voldemort."
"Everyone's going to attack me," cried Orélie. "Or at least everyone with spare time and nothing to do. That's human nature. Ciel, what sort of supernatural protection keeps you so sheltered? I'd love to share your Patronus."
"I don't have one," Somerset pointed out. "Haven't learned that spell yet. And, you know, I've talked about plenty of my weaknesses, and nobody's attacked me thus far."
Orélie sighed slowly. "You're different."
"How is that?" questioned Somerset curiously.
"Just…" Orélie emitted a low growl of frustration. "I don't want to talk about it. You're right; I should go to sleep."
"Buona notte (good night)," Somerset responded in a gentler voice. "Head for Girls' Hallway Two."
Orélie unfolded her legs and stood with a final glance at the room. As per Somerset's instructions, she passed the now-lit candles in their alcoves, pushing the door to "Girls' Hallway Two" open. The hallway was papered in a cream-and-gray pattern vaguely reminiscent of stars, and polished stone tiled the floor. Small doors were, like almost every other door in the school, labeled: Orélie glimpsed "Laure," "Jeanette," "Lucia," "Carmela," "Teresa," "Galina," "Sophie," and finally "Orélie." With one hand, the girl turned her door's indigo glass knob, picking up her valises (which had been waiting by her door) with the other.
--
It's a tiny place, as I would expect - after all, there has to be enough space for every student. The furniture is nice, if a bit sparse. How many things are in here? Bed, with white scrolled headboard and periwinkle quilt; tall, shiny dresser made from some kind of wood (I guess the glass theme only extends so far); metal rack, designed to look like ivy, for cloaks and hats; and a mirror. It looks like the one from the Choosing - same shape, same glass frame. I doubt that it'll show my future though; not even worth looking.
Oh fine, I guess it couldn't hurt to check. Pretty room on quaint little street? No, just my boring old face; wide-eyed, weak Orélie, looking in the mirror like the Lady of Chalot, waiting for something to break the spell. At least that was a realistic fairy tale; tragic endings are the norm in real life. Be happy for what you get: at least she left a gorgeous tapestry behind.
Even if it isn't magic, the mirror looks nice against this strange shiny paint. Really, the whole room is nice, though I would prefer wall-to-wall carpeting to these little rugs that probably slide over the tiles and make you trip and break your leg. I'll have to keep a tally of my visits to the Infirmary. Perhaps I can break last year's record, though it'll depend on how often I'm hexed. Not to mention the number of falling trees, assuming those kids were even telling the truth. I'll have to check with Somerset.
Somerset. How do I know he's not lying? There must be something suspicious about someone who insists on sincerity. He keeps trying to learn about my weak spots. Oh, these sheets are cold. I hope Véronique doesn't freeze. Somerset, though. He talked to me voluntarily. Sure, there was a time when I would have thought he was some sort of guardian angel, like you, Véronique. But it's only the guardians made of cloth who can be trusted.
I can't sleep. I can't stop thinking. The sheets are too cold, the pillow too limp, the mattress too hard, and I could swear that mirror's watching me. I just can't stop thinking; too many memories, too many images. What am I going to do? If I stay in this room much longer I'll go insane. You stay here, Véronique; you're my protection but you're my weakness too. I'll be back soon.
--
The Glass Social Hall was dim and quiet. Only four of the candles burned, the others snuffed by a mysterious force. Ghostly in pale nightgown and loose hair, Orélie felt her way towards an armchair. She winced silently as her bare toe collided with a wooden stool, clenched her teeth together to keep from making a sound. Pausing to get her bearings, she leaned against the nearest wall. The candlelight threw her shadow, a grotesque exercise in hyperbole, upon the expanse of wallpaper. In counterpoint to the tremulous music of breath came a familiar voice.
"I couldn't sleep my first night either," the voice soothed. "It's hard."
"I'm not a wimp or anything," a second voice, quiet but energetic, replied earnestly. "It's just that I haven't been away from home much before."
"There's nothing wrong with being frightened," stated the first voice - it was Somerset, of course - in a weary tone. "Courage isn't lack of fear, you know, but overcoming it. And," he continued pensively, "I think strength is not lack of weakness, but learning to face life despite it. What do you think, Orélie?"
Orélie jerked in the murkiness, mirrored by her shadow, but recovered quickly. "I think," she responded, moving carefully toward Somerset and the new voice, "That this is rather an odd time for philosophical conversations." She squinted and stretched her hand out, searching for obstacles.
"We're here," Somerset called quietly, "By the fish tank." Sure enough, the dim glow of the aquarium illuminated the blurred outlines of two figures. Orélie cautiously joined them on the floor, kneeling as her nightgown fell in folds around her knees. The second figure, she could see now, was a small pigtailed girl, no doubt a first year.
"Hello," greeted the younger girl, clutching a quilt of undistinguishable color around her shoulders.
"Orélie," Somerset began with a formal gesture, "Meet Atlantis. Atlantis, Orélie."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance," Orélie answered automatically with a nod of her head. "I hope the Insomniacs Club is accepting new members."
"The more, the merrier," quipped Somerset with a small smile. "The first night generally has the biggest turnout." Atlantis watched the exchange with curious eyes.
"The mirror was watching me," Orélie explained. "I just couldn't take it any more."
"You should try hanging a piece of cloth over it," Atlantis piped up shyly.
"Excellent idea," smiled Orélie in approval. "I never would've thought of it."
Somerset added, "If that fails, you can always try pretending to be asleep. That'll bore the mirror into leaving you alone for sure." The girls laughed, Atlantis's face taking on an added glow. "Anyway," Somerset finished, "I really think we ought to try getting some sleep. Meeting dismissed." With an agility born of excellent night vision, he loped off toward "Boys' Hallway Two."
"Isn't he great?" enthused Atlantis in a whisper.
"Mm-hm," Orélie agreed absently.
"Are the two of you, uh…?" Atlantis blushed and trailed off.
"No," Orélie replied quickly, "We aren't. I just met him today."
Atlantis looked relieved. "Oh, good. I mean, I know I don't have a chance - he's a fourth year! - but a girl can dream, right?"
"Right," affirmed Orélie with a smile. "Dreams aren't rationed. I think I'm going to bed now," she finished with a yawn.
"I will too," decided Atlantis. "Buona notte."
--
Why do I feel so betrayed, watching Somerset help Atlantis? I don't have a crush on him. After Pierre, I'd definitely recognize a crush - the one exquisite ray of blue light against the terrifying darkness, the pull of the moth toward the flame. But it isn't that, despite what everyone seems to assume.
It's not like he's my property. Good grief, a few minutes ago I was apprehensive of him. I'm not expecting anyone to be put on earth for the sole purpose of helping me. As I told Véronique, I don't believe in guardian angels. I'm not that stupid, not anymore.
But a girl can dream, right?
No, I can't. I can't afford dreams now, especially not stupid, weak ones about not having to fight and beg and humiliate myself for everything. Everybody has to do that stuff, that's just how it is. Just how it is.
--