Chapter 4

Change of scene and mind

"What reason for anything can you give that would make me care again?"

~Analicia Delizabane

          Madame Lefrey's school for young women of privilege was something out of the old world. Its musty corridors attested to its age only a little less than its curriculum. Lying outside of Lyon, France, Lefrey's was the premiere of academies for young ladies of the Romafellar foundation. Since its founding in the first After Colony decades, it had educated the wives of the greatest Romafellar leaders and the most notable of western high society. Having graduated and passed through the gilded doors of Lefrey, a young woman was usually caught in a marriage contract from the most recent high graduates of Lake Victoria or Bektar Bianc Military academy almost immediately.  The women of Lefrey were established as beautiful, graceful, and socially obedient; the fashion of the time for Romafellar women. Even the dullest girl who was fortunate enough to be accepted was soon turned into a Goddess, fit to be married to any of the young or even old Romafellar Gods who were eligible.

           Of course, I did not know any of this initially. However, from the moment I set my eyes on the place, I despised it. It was large and overpowering. I knew from the start that the ceilings would be too high for me and the carpets too fine. I was not accustomed carpets, or high ceilings, or to luxury in any way, and now it appeared I would be poured out into this gold mold to be shaped into something pretty. Being only twelve and an irregular personality, I did not understand the necessity of making women pretty. But then I was taught not to notice such things. Master Hirumatsu had made it a lesson to ignore beautiful things to the point of not even being able to identify them. For that, I did not understand anything considered dazzling or precious. If one could not see the dazzling ight, one would not be blinded by it. It was suppose to be an important lesson for females and for me. Hirumatsu and my father obviously believed I would be confronted by such challenges in the walk of my life.

           In light of such a lesson, why was I now being sent to this decadent place? What had possessed my father to send me to the continent for Lady's training? It seemed utterly ridiculous to have spent years inside a sparse Dojo with no companionship to a huge decadent academy with many other young girls and a multitude of teachers. For what reason was I initially schooled in martial ideals and techniques and then banished to study needle work and curtseying? I did not know my father well but I believed him beyond such menial education as this; especially for one who would eventually lead our family. Would crocheting help me to better the conditions of the Isle? Any arguments I might have had at the time were moot, for none were concerned with my opinions. 

           I remember very clearly the car pulling up the long gravel drive to the large house. It was overly opulent; built in the Georgian fashion that still reigned supreme in the Foundation. In the Isle we had adopted a love for all things Napoleonic, and I found somewhat ironic that France should still embrace the style of a long dead English monarch, while we held tight to a French one. If I got a good laugh out of it I hardly remember, because I stopped laughing at anything rather quickly after arriving. My father had neither the patience nor inclination for this particular chore, as he so often had neither patience nor inclination in anything dealing with me. So he had not accompanied me to the school, but instead sent Bram Wickfield along.

 I was led through a grand archway and into the main hall by Bram. It was summer still but I wore the long black coat I had been dressed in when we arrived on the continent. Between my nervousness and the heat I made for a frightful sight. When the head mistress caught site of me as she came to greet us in the hall, she nearly had an embolism. I didn't understand why of course, not knowing anything about the importance of appearances in the world. Worst yet, I had lived a majority of my life barefoot in the Dojo. Shoes were the worst sort of constraint and I constantly fiddled with them and occasionally took them off to wiggle my toes unfettered. I had been scolded several times during the journey by Bram for this lack of "manners". There was nothing wrong as far as I perceived. I treated my elders with deference and respect and bowed accordingly. But most did not seem impressed with it and I continually thought on how to correct any aberration in my reverence. My bows and feet shuffling did not impress the head mistress of the school, Madame Duhamel; a stuffy women looking to be in her early forties. She stared at me with an odd expression; a mixture of disgust and disbelief.

"Are you certain this is Analicia Delizabane?" She asked Bram, bending down to examine me. She must have been expecting something different.

"Quite sure Madame."

"I was told to expect something far grander than this. Her birthright is not at all obvious in her bearing. How old is she?"

"Twelve, Madame."

"TWELVE! Goodness no, I cannot possibly take in someone so dishieveled at that age. At eight perhaps or even ten she may well improve in enough time. But twelve is too old." She stood up and settled hands on hips. "No indeed, No indeed. A proper bearing is the first skill learned and if she does not have it by now, then she will not learn at all. We have standards in Romafellar. Standards that must be met or who will look at her? It would shame the school I tell you, and her as well! Look at her, she is almost wild looking, it is hard to say if that is even a girl under there. She is so coltish that she might pass as a boy. No femininity at all. Lord Delizabane had best send me his second daughter without delay. I can get results with her if we work quickly. But this one . . .  no, not this one."  I shuffled more deliberately, having found that the woman saw it as offensive and being very offended myself at her speech.

Bram shook his head without deference.

"Twelve will do fine."

"What? I just told you it was too old."

"And I just told you it will do fine."

"Mr. Wickfield, it is impossible, she is clearly beyond hope."

"You have yet to even speak to her and have not been in her presence for more than five minutes. That is hardly an acceptable assessment."

"I think I am in enough of a position to judge the young lady's character here and now! I have been head mistress of this school for seven years. I know a tomboy when I see one. Look at her, for God's sake man, she can barely keep still. Her hair is coarsely kept and her shoes are on the wrong feet. If this doesn't show it I don't know what will."

Bram looked down and observed me for a time; his inclined head noting with disapproval the arrangement of my shoes. I shrunk back a little in shame, yet not understanding why I should feel so.

"Mr. Wickfield, do you really expect this one to make it through Lefrey's? She is as plain a piece as they come. There is not a single feature that is striking or remarkable, not even a noble bearing. Do you honestly expect young men to look at her one day? Perhaps Merrick Delizabane thinks that because his family is in the upper stratosphere of Romafellar that his daughter will automatically ensnare a husband. He should in that case think again. There are many young men who will be of age as she is of age. The Weyridge boys, the Dolmen twins, and at least one of the Khushrenadas; they will be the premiere bachelors among the next crop and the girls attending this academy will be perceived as their perfect and natural compliment in marriage. It would degrade Lefrey's as much as it would degrade Miss Analicia to have her attend. Now, I suggest you take her and go at once. I will be charitable as it is a Lady's place to be and mention this to no one. So the girl's reputation will not be stained by the rejection."

Madame Duhamel bowed in a dismissing fashion. Bram rubbed his forehead for a moment and then turned to the door. I stood in place; red faced and deeply ashamed that I was not acceptable. A part of me was even angry that I had been judged so rapidly. When he reached the door to the hallway Bram's hand curved around the knob while the other went to the lock. He snapped the lock in place and confirmed the knob immovable. The head mistress sniffed at the insult and raised her head in a superior fashion. Bram came back to my side casually.

"Mr. Wickfield, I really must insist." Madame Duhamel admonished.

"Leecy" He answered and I looked up at the name I had not been called in so long.

"What?" The Head Mistress asked in confusion.

"Her name is Analicia, but she likes to be called Leecy."

"I would say it hardly matters at this point, sir. She –"

"Her name is Leecy and she will be attending this school. Twelve will do just fine."

"Mr. Wickfield!"

"Twelve will do fine because Lord Delizabane wishes it so. If he must be informed that twelve is unacceptable than I will have no trouble informing him. The information will not be welcome however, to either him or your school."

She stood there mute as Bram continued.

"If twelve is not acceptable then I am afraid the benefactors of the Madame Lefrey's academy will be informed as well. The resulting actions will likely cause the school to be closed and its head mistress to be out of both position and respectability."

Her eyes widened.

"How dare you! You think Merrick Delizabane is high enough to displace the benefactors of Lefrey's. It's a scandal to threaten us so and I shall be sure Romafellar hears of it. We have the most powerful families in all of Romafellar backing us. Not a single family can denounce us."

"Would you like to test that?" He asked in return.

"We have rejected girls and been threatened before, Mr. Wickfield. I am not impressed anymore by Lord Delizabane's threat than by any other."

Bram smirked in a way I had never known before but would come to know quite well in the future.

"You should be. Merrick Delizabane's threats are not the continental type. We do not often take the unnecessary road. If there is only a single barricade blocking the route, then there is no need to destroy the entire road, neh?" I clearly remember the stout woman choking a little indignantly. Her face did not keep its arrogance long. Bram pushed me aside and behind him as he opened up his coat a bit for Madame Duhamel to see inside. Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped at the sight. I heard a slight clicking noise.

"Perhaps the more immediate situation at hand will better sway you. Rest assured that Merrick Delizabane is confident in your ability to properly train his daughter in the necessary arts of society, of which he has prepared a list of emphasized subjects. You will ignore some of the more antiquated subjects and concentrate more on the development of social diplomacy. I have a list of languages she is to learn and other areas she will have strong focus in. If teachers are unavailable for the required curriculum we have set forth, then Lord Delizabane will have additional tutors brought in. You will of course always give Leecy special considerations and ensure she receives a well rounded education here Madame Duhamel." The clicking sound continued. "We are in agreement?"

Madame Duhamel looked like a bloated fish that was released into the air. She was struggling to breathe and her mouth was wide as if to suck in air that wasn't there. It took her several seconds to answer Bram with a strong nod. Whatever he had presented her with; she now most definitely agreed it was the best course of action.

"Trust that if Leecy has any difficulty here we will know and take the proper action." He added as he turned solemnly to me. He bent down to be level with my face and spoke tenderly.

"You will always keep true to your family and tell us if they mistreat you in anyway. You must remember who you are and let that knowledge raise you above where others might put you. But do not rise too high, remember your training, Leecy, and carry yourself properly. All will be well." He waited for me to agree and I did obediently. I remember his hand squeezing my shoulder and his almost smile. Then he rose and took his leave of us, unlocking the door and moving out.

Madame Lefrey's looked upon me, her walls creaked and her skirt rustled. My pants did not. Her Head Mistress took note of that and sniffed. Sniffing up and back, repeatedly, at first in disgust then in something more physical, she looked at me with increasing dismay. I suppose today that the threat Bram had presented her with was finally starting to sink in. But to me at the time it seemed as if she was going to be sick all over her fine carpet.

 I knew little of illness at this time, having never been around much of it. I should really have done something about that earlier. But it occurred to me that Madame Lefrey seemed to be in a disorder. Her hands shook and her face had deepened in color, something like the inside of a grapefruit, or so I supposed that's what the inside of grapefruit looked like. But regardless of comparisons, it occurred to me that part of the reason I was here was to learn proper behavior, and I had read something of politeness in one of irregular novels that had crossed my bed in the Dojo. Being that the case I decided that I would show Madame Duhamel that I was not beyond all hope by being polite enough to ask after her health. I began carefully.

"Are you ill, Madame?"

She choked all the more after that question. I wondered at the matter, but it did not occur to me to be frightened, only more polite. Obviously my politeness was not satisfactory and she was declaring her disgust in a physical way. Well, this called for a more aggressive strategy of politeness. I did not know enough about this art of politeness. Perhaps there were a prerequisite number of words to properly address this lady. I could tell my delay was only upsetting her all the more, for she was now coughing and banging at her chest

"Please excuse my inadequacy, Madame. Is there something the matter with you?"

Madame Duhamel gnashed her teeth together; glowering down at me. I looked up at her with no real concern, only a mass of confusion. I was trying to reword my next combination of politeness when she seized my wrist and jerked me aside, bending down into an almost supplicant crouch. The hands that had been banging her chest were better employed now in shaking my arms. Grapefruit was no longer the best fruit for her face. Something like a plum would do better.

"We must make this work, young Lady. We must make this work. Look at you, you! In pants like a tomboy and your shoes are on the wrong feet. Oh dear Lord, we must make this work. We must. And you are going to be the one who makes it work Miss Analicia. Madame Lefrey's cannot be suspended, not for the sake of one such as you. And I . . . I . . ."  I grew angry.

"Perhaps you will care to enlighten me on the particulars of one such as me, since you seem to have your own theory on who and what I am that clearly clashes with my own!" I rasped out at her.

She floundered in her agitation and beat her palm against the floor and I saw her ruddy face swollen with exasperated tears. At once her hands left my shoulders and went to her temples where they aided in her wailing and over-all distress. Then her expression stalled, as if she just realized another fatality.

"Oh, Miss Analicia. I'm sorry. Please, please forgive those words. There… there is nothing wrong with you, of course. It's just, we cannot … well, you see. I think we must keep you away from the other students for now. Yes, we should tutor you privately inside the school. We can arrange that, yes!" an ecstasy of eye wiping. "We will give you a private room, no, private apartments, and send those special tutors. Yes, that's what we can do until you are caught up with the class enough to not be… conspicuous. Does that agree with you..uh… Countess, wasn't it? Countess Delizabane?"

I just looked at her. Deferring to me? What a very odd woman she was. I was still held up in some doubt as to her physical well-being; even a little curious about her mental health. In any case I had listened mildly to what she had said, waiting for an opportunity to speak. During her excitement it occurred to me that this was one of the hidden advantages Hirumatsu had taught me to sniff out. This woman, put in such a state over me, could be also bent according to my will. Unfortunately, I had no will at this time. So I thought it best to pocket the advantage until it became necessary. Perhaps I should lull her into thinking I was an uncomprehending muddle-head who would never understand anything around her. Yes! How wicked that could be! Smother her with girlish politeness and hidden double meanings, so she would never know if I was a threat or a safety. Excellent! After all, if she thought the worst of me, I might as well give her the worst of myself. Kill her with kindness, yes, that was the means. When she finally ceased her blubbering speech I tried out my newest combination.

"Madame Duhamel, it is quite apparent…." I stalled for a moment, making sure I was phrasing it correctly and with a good amount of words. "..That at this present time you are not at all in proper spirits. Should we, being as responsible and sensitive to our situation as we are, call upon some physician to see to you in your present crisis?"

The troubled lady gaped at me, slowly narrowing her eyes until she was sure she had me figured out. Looking back I can see full the suspicion and conspiracy born in her eyes even as I pretended to be blind to it then.. But my Master had taught me to attack a situation in its kind. Being that this was a school for Ladies, polite diplomacy would have to be my ignorant solution. I would soon learn. But at that moment, Madame Duhamel rose rather dramatically from her knees and once again took her matronly stance above me.

"I see your meaning girl. Well, I think it's clear what kind of mind we have in you. You will no doubt be all eyes upon me and be the little bird ready to sing into your father's ear. Well, this is no new game to me, Little Mistress. This is the world of Romafellar, after all. And perhaps you are further a long in mind, if not in appearance and in… essential grace. But no, we shall not call upon "some physician" as you so aptly put it. There is no need for that Mistress. We will accommodate you. But you must understand that if I bring you out into the open in such an untrained condition, the other girls will know you for the embarrassment you are to the school, and word will get back to the families. I must protect the interests of Madame Lefrey's. So we shall engage you privately until you are ready. But I will beware of you." Her eyebrows drew and withdrew in a conspirator understanding where there existed no conspiracy at all, only my wicked child's game. I can only laugh to remember her.

"I should think whatever means you decide upon to teach me will be suitable. I only wish to learn what is to be useful to my family." I tried following with the agreeable smile I had read about in those novels. It seemed a satisfactory agreement to Madame Duhamel. She nodded and acquiesced. "Privately then." She motioned for me to exit the room, whereupon she called for an attendant to take me to my rooms. I had come with nothing. No clothes, no shoes, nothing more than what I wore on my back and the uncomfortable shoes on my feet. This did not seem to be a problem, however.

"Send one of those beauty pirates to her. They will fix her up appropriately."

********************************************************************

Beauty pirates, I was to learn, were beauticians and fashion coordinators of the most useless and decadent sort. They lived within the nearby city and had made a variable empire out of the superficial needs of Madame Lefrey's school. Once I was situated in my apartments (which was an extraordinary thing in itself. No child at Lefrey's regardless of status was given anymore than two rooms.) they arrived in a flourish of flamboyance and idiocy. Then, they proceeded to make a dolly out of me. I was gripped, groped, pulled, tangled, pulled again, straightened, curled, tucked in, and pushed up; all the while the fools fondled and complimented my hair and face even as they jabbed and pulled at it. It did not take me five minutes to despise them all. I would have given my beautiful hair and face for a katana to rid them of theirs.

The difficulty came with the shoes. As history will tell up to this point, I was not in favor of shoes, having lived most of my life without them. They were not the tender little ivory pedals of Romafellar girls. They had been worked and roughened to endure stress. I could have stood upon a black metal bulkhead at high noon in August for all the time in the world and not have felt any discomfort. My feet were good enough shoes without shoes. Besides that, they made me trip, especially these new ones. They had heels like metal doorstoppers and I felt like I was forever walking downhill. Soon enough I began falling downhill as I took one unsuccessful step after a crashing other. What ridiculousness this was? How was this beauty? I looked at myself when I was able to reach a mirror, although it took a while to get their in the hideous foot contraptions.

My face was transformed, painted and accented with light and darkness. My violated hair was upswept and falling back in some kind of full cascade. What they had done to my ears was the most outrageous. Holes! Holes in my ear lobes from which they hung jewels. The dress they had put me in was barely anything at all. Just a swatch of red over my body and it constricted my breathing.

"What is this?" I turned and demanded of the pirates. They giggled a little and murmured to each other what they liked and what they thought could use some work on me, like I was a walking mannequin. They did not hear me.

"This is not me! Why have you made me look like something else?" I practically yelled. This was outrageous! What a disgraceful, insulting accomplishment they now congratulated each other on.

"Mistress is quite beautiful now. You look so much older Miss, at least seventeen." They cooed, almost in chorus. I began wondering if they had no individual brains, but just some dull collective mind.

"But I am not seventeen. This is all just a masking of the truth. Is this beauty?"

"Beauty is all illusion, Mistress."

"Why is it so important?" I wondered. I could not be aesthetically pleased at all by the appearance of people. So I had no understanding of the uses of beauty or attractiveness. It was completely transparent to me, utterly meaningless. Were people so foolish as to be drawn in by this deceit? Until I could find sufficient reasoning behind this madness, I would have no part in it. Deciding thus, I ripped the earring from my ear, kicked off each high heeled shoe and promptly tossed all at the giggling mass of pirates; commanding them off. They scampered like rats and I made to the bathroom to dress my wounded ears. I needed to learn more about this. Hirumatsu had always advised to take part in no plot until the advantage is clear. When I had seen to my ears, I put a heavy rob over the tight dress and went in search of answers.

They did not take long to find. My explorations soon dulled my ire over the make-over and I was drawn into a curious stupor over this estate. As luck would have it, my rooms had been placed in the same wing as the only really important room in the mansion. The school's library was grand indeed. Very secluded and out of the way from the wing's main corridor, the great room lay down a side hallway. It was vast, and filled to the brim with a coffer of volumes, undoubtedly someone's personal collection. I was enchanted, and quite alone. So I spent the better part of the evening sifting through books, determined to find something in the volumes to answer my question. I picked up a number of Greek plays and myths that bore flourished titles in gilded settings. Those seemed to me overly opulent, and so I reasoned might shed some light on this beauty issue. Then, with my arms full of volumes, I went to the door, when a book caught my eye by at the edge of the book case. It looked old, falling apart really, and out of place amongst the rest of the golden colored collections it was next to.

My curiosity once again claiming me in victory, I put down the Greek books and pulled out the black title. A Latin word I was not familiar with stood out, underneath stood the words "The Account" I opened the first page and saw, to my immediate heart pull, a map of the Nation, as it had looked before the Third Great War. I stared at how vast it was, spanning two seas and a gulf, so expansive, so grand. Above it and below it were words that read Canada and Mexico. A great Gulf that stood between the borders of the Nation and its southern neighbor curved in like the breast of mother earth. It was beautiful, and its name so lost now. The world referred to it as North Columbia, the sister continent to South Columbia. Canada was only known as the Canadian providence of North Columbia, the south referred to enough to be given a conventional name. Just a wide space now, called North Columbia. They had Re-Romanized the name of the founding sailor who had discovered the lands centuries before, dubbing it Columbia in a hastened effort to extinguish the name of America from the current world. They even went so far as to rename South America, so much did they need the name, the reference of that land, the one she now ran her fingers over, to be erased.

The book was by an American, a citizen of the Great Democracy it had housed. It was his account, his account of the last days of the Nation. I snatched it up and put it on top of my pile. This was important information for me. I would read this book first.

I reclaimed my pile; black book tucked beneath my chin and found my way back to the rooms.

***************************

The true grit of the book about the United States of America, I will not get into. I will say, however, that it allowed me to understand the zeal of my countrymen better. There were many unanswered questions and so I put the book away with only stand aside thoughts to remind me of its existence. Amusing in the end that I of all people should have at once time been so disinterested in the great "Nation", but this was the case. Applications of study were all that mattered to me at the time.

When the tutors of special order had arrived from my father, I addressed with them some of the more pressing questions the small black book had raised. My tutors, who were usually frightened, small men from the Isle (I will not bore you with names, for frankly I do not remember them myself), would never fully explain. They were delighted at my interest in the Nation, but advised me to put aside The Account. So I took to answering my own questions.

One night, in August, only a few months since my initial arrival, I stood lingering on the balcony outside my room. The night air was fresh and innocent smelling; still. The stillness drew me out. It was good to practice skills of hearing when the air was still. A noise would inevitably break through, and listening, listening with eyes shut, answers were found.

Tight shut, tight as a clothed drum, my eyelids bore into each other. The wind came up just once, but it did not disturb my answers. I pressed the night air for more stillness, and it complied. The Account drifted through my mind. The questions followed it. It was all slowly done. First, each question drew forth and caressed the book, rubbing against its pages, its story, loving it, begging it for a piece. My questions were cats fawning for an address, dogs petitioning for a bone. The book did not yield and then the wind came up. I pressed it back and pulled the stillness back around the book. The questions became impatient. Now they were small birds, pecking and taking bits away. But the book still did not yield. Finally, they became fierce, attacking and picking it apart. They ate at the black book like carrion birds, my questions. The skeleton that remained, its desolate shell, finally yielded to me all that was left.

But unfortunately for my countrymen, there sparked the beginning of something terrible, terrible for them at least, they who put so much in the book that had all but been devoured in my head. It was as if my thoughts became small tendrils and curled around each other and soon took on a new shape. The corpse of the book, decaying already, was that rot I smelled now in the wind? The remains mixed and blended with the thoughts, the tendrils wrapping around it. They did not devour it as one would expect. The shreds of The Account embraced the attacking questions and together they gave birth to their enduring child; my doubt. My faithful companion of these longest years, my true mate, my lifeline.

 Perhaps that may sound trivial, but my mind as you will eventually see was not a trivial thing for my countrymen.

The stillness broke just as my beloved doubt was born. I would almost venture to believe in fate at this moment, for what had broken the stillness of the air was not a leaf falling in the wind, nor a night critter skittering across the field beyond.

Below the balcony, were sat the Grecian style atrium that announced the small rose garden and field beyond, a voice was heard. It was low and hurried, scolding. I pressed myself up against the cold stone railing to see the source. A potted plant obstructed my view. Why on earth do they put plants in such stupid places? My neck craned about the great leafy thing. The voice was still there, and still low. But I could see nothing. Unacceptable! They were directly below, but the plant hindered me.

"If something hinders, it must be removed."

It took a decent push to send the stone pot over the side of the balcony. It ground against the stone of the balcony railing and then descended; dirt and leaf flying out to meet gravity. Then the pot met its destiny in a dozen or so pieces, mingling with the broken stone of the atrium floor. The crash was loud and resounded against the mansion's outer walls.

"Shit!" the voice replied to the crash, now hurried and alarmed, but still hushed. He was not totally stupid, still holding enough of himself in check to not yell out his alarm.

He emerged, a young man, quite young, a boy by this light, but it was hard to be sure. He was not tall, average height for a boy. Dirt christened his coat and he pulled himself out into the open to look above to where the assault had come from. I supposed his shoulders were too noble to have been sullied by pot soil. He looked up and saw me immediately. His mouth was open and the set of his jaw showed just how anxious the plant had made him. I smiled at that, all upset over a plant.

He scowled at me of all things. Mouth clenches shut now as if a hundred things he meant to yell were clogging his throat. In response, his face turned red and I expected an asphyxiated blue to follow. Not so lucky as to be able to see by the meager light on night, his face returned to a normal color and his scowl drew upwards into a less harsh but still hard expression. I do so love examining people's expressions. They always expose the lies that saturate the voice. I could see it even then, that he was trying hard to lie with his face. Now everything looked as if he had just been injected with Novocain, all loose and without any articulation. That was a great lie there. I loved expressions, but I think I loved lies even more.

"It was a Morning Glory vine" he called up to me. I thought that was queer. He seemed too indignant a moment ago to have noticed what kind of plant was in the pot. I shook my head down at him folding my arms over each other as I leaned on the stone balcony rail. "It was my doubt flower" That must have vexed him! It delights me still to think of how it must have vexed him.

"Why are you up there? The Student Dormitories are on the first level."

"Why are you down there? The Student Dormitories are for females alone"

"I wanted a peek"

"And I turned on the light for you" I pointed down to the corners of the manor where lights were being turned on. The faculty had been awakened by the crash of the pot on the stone atrium floor and was now running to see what had happened. The school was going off like a flare gun now. The boy saw with alarm and called inside to his companion.

"Damn. Hey! Come out of there!" he disappeared under the balcony and emerged again with a second boy who was shorter than he but by the limited light they looked the same age.

"What the hell?" the new arrival whispered harshly.

"We have to go. Juliet up there called her kinsmen on Romeo" I missed the reference, having not read any Shakespeare at the time. But the two were off across the field after giving me a glaring look. I lost sight of them and consequently interest in them. Instead I ventured back into my darkened room where I began again pondering my newly fashioned doubt of all things.

Madame Duhamel adored in her night robe and looking like the mistress of clowns that she was came rushing in with a retinue of other employees. They were also gathering outside underneath my balcony and I could hear the excited tinkle of girlish voices below.

"Miss Analicia! What happened? What took place here?" I turned rather slowly on my bed to face her, yawning before I spoke.

"I pushed the plant off my balcony." I answered her indifferently.

"What?" Indignation, it was so easy to inspire at Lefrey's.

"I pushed the plant off."

"Explain yourself!" She demanded. Thinking of what the boy had said about Juliet and kinsmen, and knowing how I was intrigued by lies, I answered her thusly.

"It displeased me. So I rid myself of it. The Atrium may have it. It will be better appreciated there."

This did not appease Madame Duhamel. She scowled so heavily I thought her drawn eyebrows would fall right off her face. Her voice was raised when she spoke next, telling me how I had upset the whole household, defaced the property, and nearly exposed myself to the other students. Again and again she repeated how ashamed I must be of myself. But instead of feeling anything like it, I felt jubilant. I laughed and tossed at her demands for my shame. My doubt wrapped around me like an insulating snow, making me not care. I remembered what Bram had said to me in regards to this place and how he had insisted that I should be allowed to stay by right of ruin. The power to ruin Lefrey's was in my hands and I could exercise it whenever I chose. My loving doubt kept me away from all care for what I might do here. What did it matter now? Nothing was set in reality anymore.

"I don't feel ashamed. I don't think you know what I should feel Madame. But shame is reserved for particular dishonors." I remembered it as Hirumatsu had taught it to me. "I don't think you know that kind of shame." Then, another creation of mine made its debut; a taunting and malevolent smile that has served me so well.

"I can teach you that kind of shame Madame, if that is your wish."

Oh, she knew instantly my meaning. Her face took on the asphyxiated blue I had expected in the boy. My smile outlasted her cerulean shade.

My merry games with Madame Duhamel at Lefrey's never ceased to entertain me

.