A/N: Hello, everyone! My thesis has been approved, and I now have a fancy piece of paper in Latin that says I've officially graduated. In other words, I'm no longer on hiatus :) I've missed working on this story, and I'm excited to start on it again. Fun fact about last chapter, though: I based Carolara on a cross between Regina George and Draco Malfoy.
Anyhow, this chapter is the first to actually address in-game information, so that should be fun. Hope you all enjoy it!
Darkness Rises
I never did regain my social status. In the years that followed, I became just as much an outcast as Aurnie. Poor Aurnie, though; the bird incident did little to improve her standing with Carolara. The others still whispered and gossiped: the only difference was that now there were two girls who sat silently with their heads down, pretending not to hear. We never became friends, though; perhaps we should have, but we rarely spoke two words. We didn't even look at each other—each of us too uncomfortable a reminder of what had transpired. Carolara and her court still gathered out by the fountain, but I remained inside during lunch, fiddling around with alchemy ingredients.
In a way, it was a miracle in and of itself that we were even permitted to study alchemy at such a young age. Although we were pushed into advanced magic remarkably early, the complex formulas involved in alchemy could prove daunting for even an experienced mage. And there were rumors—stories of a student years before who had made an error and created something horrible. Some stories said he blew up the lab, others said he had brewed a terrible, corrosive poison that ate though his alembic—and his hands, right in front of his classmates. Of course, it was just as likely that a parent had complained that the discipline was too rigorous for children our age, but regardless, alchemy had only been reintroduced to the curriculum that year.
But despite all the supposed danger surrounding it, I loved it. My desk was constantly littered with samples, my notebooks were filled with pages upon pages of magical effects and formulas, and drying ingredients hung all around my room at home. Even my dreams were scattered with various alchemical symbols.
At the end of our fifth year, the Master called to me as we were gathering our school supplies and filing out of the building. "Antoinetta!" he barked. "I would speak with you for a moment." Swallowing hard, I set my books down and made my way up the aisle to his desk. When it came to the Master, being ignored was essentially the same as praise, and if he had something to say to me, it was almost certainly nothing good.
Sure enough, as I approached, he held up a glass vial labeled in my handwriting. "This is wrong," he said bluntly. I drew in a breath as he glanced down at the label. "'Restore fatigue. Fifteen units for five minutes,'" he read. Then he glanced back to me. "That is not what this potion does."
I could immediately feel the blood rushing to my face. He rummaged along a shelf behind him crowded with hourglasses, and plucked up a smaller one marked in minutes. Selecting a spoon from a nearby rack, he handed it to me, along with the vial itself. "Test this. Tap the glass when the effect ends," he instructed.
I obeyed, unscrewing the vial and pouring out a dosage onto the spoon. As I swallowed it, I felt the faintest prickle of its effects: senses sharpening, tension easing. The minutes wore past as I waited, trying to look everywhere but at the Master. And then…
Nothing. I quickly tapped the glass, and the sand stopped flowing. The Master picked it up and squinted at it, then turned to me. "Three and nine tenths. Four at best." My face flamed even brighter, and I immediately began to apologize.
"I'm sorry, Master, I don't understand what happened. Next time I'll make sure to—"
"I don't want excuses." He interrupted me, and I fell silent. "I want to know what went wrong."
"I... Well, I…" I paused, struggling to remember where exactly the error could have possibly occurred. "Well, I did the calculations twice. Three times, actually. The formula had to be right," I insisted. But the Master only stared at me as I chewed a lip and tapped a foot against the floor. "The temperature?" I frowned. But the Master shook his head.
"The strength of the effect was not the problem. The length was." He crossed his arms over his chest, and I drew in a breath.
"Okay. The formula was right, the temperature was right…" My forehead creased as I settled deep in thought. "The water!" I straightened up triumphantly. "Impurities in the water could have interfered."
"But I have personally purified every drop of water used in the classroom," the Master pointed out, and my face fell once again. "You are on the right track, however." When I only met him with silence, he gave a long sigh. "What ingredients did you use?"
"Aloe vera and fennel. I have the notes…" I indicated back toward my desk, but he shook his head.
"Cast a spell for me. Just a small one, any one will do. Pay attention to the pull on your magicka." I did as requested, performing a weak shield spell, and immediately understood what he was referring to.
"It feels…"
"Drained?" he finished for me. "That would be because aloe vera and fennel both also display magicka damaging properties."
"I didn't know." My shoulders slumped in defeat, and the Master sighed.
"Of course you didn't. Beginning alchemists can rarely identify more than one or two effects of ingredients. But now that you do know, I trust you won't be making the same mistake again."
"Of course, sir." I nodded emphatically, and his eyes narrowed.
"I also trust you'll ask before performing experiments with imported ingredients," he added sharply. "Those samples you used were expensive, and now this entire potion is useless."
"Yes, sir!" I was getting off easy, and I was aware of it. But as I gathered my things, he called out to me once again.
"You have an interesting knack for this," he stated, his gaze scrutinizing as he studied me.
"Sir?" His words sounded suspiciously similar to praise, and my own gaze narrowed as I stared back at him.
"Next year, you can begin picking schools to concentrate in," he said. "I hope to see alchemy on your list." And then the Master swept past me and exited the classroom. His words replayed over and over again in my head on the way home. I practically danced through the streets, nearly giddy with excitement. At eleven, I couldn't imagine any higher accolade. I had arrived. My future spread out before me, grander than I had ever realized. But little did I know, that would be the last time I would ever see the Master.
A week or so later, I was sitting with my aunt in the front room as she wrote out a shopping list. She had been in a remarkably good humor as of late, and so I dared to make a request. "I need ironwood nuts," I spoke up. "And also mugwort seeds. Can you put them on the list?"
She glanced up with a frown "Mug-what?"
"Mugwort seeds," I repeated. I took a deep breath. "Please, Aunt Claudette. I need them."
She sighed, shaking her head as she continued writing. "Whatever for, Antoinetta?" she asked flatly.
"For potions," I replied. "I need to practice alchemy. The Master said I'm good at it, and I want to pick it as one of my concentrations in the fall."
This time, my aunt actually set her quill down and turned to face me, her attention honed in on me entirely. "In the fall?" she asked, a doubtful look spreading across her face. "Antoinetta—you're not going to be here in the fall."
"What?" It was as though the entire world had come to a standstill. My heart froze in my chest, but my aunt simply rolled her eyes and turned back to her list.
"Close your mouth, Antoinetta, you look like a fish," she reprimanded. "And in Hearthfire you'll be going off to school in Evermore. With Brigitte."
"Finishing school?" My voice reached a new volume as I abruptly stood, my needlepoint clattering to the floor. "You've got to be joking. I'm not going." Except my aunt never made jokes, and I could see the muscle of her jaw tightening as she once again turned to me.
"Antoinetta," she said, her voice hitting a dangerous note, "you are being disrespectful. Sit down." The vein in her forehead was pulsing, and I quickly recognized the warning sign and did as instructed. But my world was threatening to crumble to dust around me, and my hands were shaking as I picked up my needlepoint. Finishing school was filled with girls like Carolara, and all they learned to do was curtsey and smile before stabbing each other in the back. During her first couple of years, Brigitte had cried herself to sleep when she'd been home during breaks. Now, at fifteen, she was dead-eyed and vapid, her old spark drained away.
"I don't see why I need to go," I said, trying to keep my tone as calm and even as possible. "Brigitte already went; she can be the one to be a lady. I'll just be an alchemist."
"For the Divines' sake, why wouldn't you want to go?" My aunt sounded incredulous as she slammed her quill down, standing and crossing the room to loom over me. "This is an opportunity, Antoinetta. You'll be a peer to nobility. You could be a real lady someday."
"Being a mage is just as respectable as being a lady," I shot back. "Maybe even more. Mages are powerful."
My aunt stared at me for a moment, and then she began to laugh—an actual, genuine laugh. I stared in horror, unsure of whether to make a quick exit—or to seek out a healer for her. "Antoinetta," she finally chuckled, "it takes a real mage to have that kind of power. Your average hedgewitch is no more respectable than a common beggar, and I'll die before I see you become one."
My fists clenched, the Master's words of praise ringing through my head as tears blurred my vision. "May I please be excused?"
"You're going to cry now?" my aunt taunted. "You're not a child anymore, Antoinetta. It's time to stop acting like one."
"Can I be excused or not?"
She rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Go." She made a dismissive gesture, and I fled the room.
Out in the garden, I leaned my head against the wall and sobbed. My tears were ones of anger rather than grief, and my entire body was wracked with them. Somehow, my aunt always had the power to break my heart at the very moment I experienced true joy. Despite the Master's temper and Carolara's villainy, school had always been my escape. No matter what my aunt said, I was good at it. The Master was not one for false praise. And just when I had the opportunity to excel further than ever, that chance was gone. Snatched away by my aunt. Now, I was doomed to be surrounded by people like her and Carolara forever. And as I faced the river where Tabby had died, this grim reality had never seemed more tangible.
She's using you. The familiar whisper drifted over my ear. Just like she always has. Just like she used your father and his good fortune. It was true, I though sullenly, scuffing a foot against the grass.
Are you ready to lose everything? Because you will. This is what the end looks like. I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready at all. A new wave of sobs rose up, but I forced them back down.
It doesn't have to be this way. Take back control! Beat her at her own game. My sobs had died away entirely. There is only one way out of this.
Slowly, the truth began to dawn on me.
This is the end. There is no way around it. But from it, you can make your own beginning. Would you rather condemn yourself to life in a cage? Take the keys into your own hands! This is your liberation. One or the other, I began to see. And softly, quietly, I made my choice.
I made a stew for dinner that night. Brigitte was staying in Evermore over the summer, and my uncle had traveled to Shornhelm on business. My aunt was puttering about the next room, and I was sweating over the stove—but not because of the heat. The blooms in my apron pocket seemed to be burning a hole through it, and as I stirred the stew, I tentatively reached for them.
My hands trembled as I dropped them into the stew pot. How many did I need? A single flower? Two? Three? I eyed the stew pot, noting its massive size. All of them, then. I would just have to hope it was enough.
The distinct purple blossoms fluttered into the pot, and quickly disappeared into the depths. As the spoon churned through the stew, no hint of them reemerged. That had to be a good sign. Now it just needed time. I quickly began stoking the fire, piling it with logs until the flames roared up, licking the bottom of the pot. Heat! I could practically hear the Master screeching in my ear. Heat is the catalyst! It releases the effects! The stew had reached an angry boil, frantic bubbles making their way up the sides of the pot and threatening to spill over. And just as it began bubbling over, I removed it from the flames.
My aunt immediately scolded me for the stew's temperature when we sat down to eat, but at least it gave me an excuse not to touch it as I idly twirled my spoon through it. However, my hands were shaking, and I fought to keep them still. But when I turned up a limp, blanched petal, my stomach gave such a jolt that I had to drop my hands down to my lap. I had thought that I had fished them all out.
Finally, though, my aunt pushed aside the plate that had held her bread and reached for the stew. I held my breath as she lifted the first bite to her lips, watching with helpless anticipation. But she gave no indication that anything was amiss as she swallowed and took a second bite. Noticing me watching, she paused to shoot a glare my way. "Eat, Antoinetta," she snapped. I obeyed, picking up a slice of bread and taking my time spreading it with an even layer of butter. How long was it supposed to take? What if I hadn't used enough? What if something else in the stew had interfered with the effects? What if she merely became ill in the night? What if healers examined her and found out what had happened? What if I was sent to prison? My pulse began to quicken, but then my aunt spoke.
"Antoinetta, did you do something different?" I glanced up, and my jaw dropped. She was grasping her chest, mouth wide open and gasping for breath. And then before my eyes, her entire body began to twitch, convulsions rattling her entire frame. "Antoinetta," she gasped out, choking. And then, her eyes rolled upward, and she pitched forward, landing face-first in her stew bowl with a wet splat.
Hours passed by, and I didn't move. Shadows lengthened and night fell over the house, but I sat still, staring at my aunt's fallen form. I scarcely dared to believe that it had worked. But then, as the clock in the hall struck midnight, I slowly rose from my chair and tiptoed over to her, trembling fingers reaching out to touch the side of her neck. She was cold. Dead for certain, then. I exhaled, my hand falling back to my side as I straightened my shoulders.
"I'm not going to finishing school."
