Upon stepping inside, I feel as though I've been abruptly yanked out of a dream, and into a loud, over-populated reality. Candles burn brightly along the walls of the nave. I step out of the way as Dainsen shoulders past, arms piled with wood, before closing the doors for him. I shrug off my coat and step upstairs to put it in my room. Isolde and one of the other little girls run past me from one of the rooms, pulling off their mittens as they go. Isolde darts down the steps. The other little girl stops beside me.

'You're a teacher?'

I feel as though I should make myself a sign that says something along the lines of, Yes, I am in fact a teacher and no, I'm not a child.

I nod. 'Yes. That's right.'

Her chair is tightly curled, a coppery cherry oak colour, pulled back with string. 'You like books?'

'Very much.'

She clasps my hands with a solemn, earnest look. 'Good. I'm Ada. You can stay.'

She's simply too much. I smiles and lightly squeeze her hand. 'You like to read, then, I take it?'

'Mm!' And as abruptly as she came, she disappears, jumping down the stairwell.

As head for the stairs, I happen to notice a mirror through an open door. I hesitate a moment. Then Ipause outside and glance in the mirror, trying to bring order to my dishevelled hair and clothes. The door swings open and Kat crashes into me, cracking her forehead on mine.

'Ow!' she shrieks.

I stagger back, and put a hand to my skewed glasses. 'Ah, I-I'm… excuse me.' Her eyes are a vibrant blue, paired with dark hair.

She rubs her nose, brow creased. 'Let me guess. You — ' She breaks off, and levels her hand across our heads. I'm a couple of inches taller. At best. 'You're kind of short.'

A flush burns under my skin. 'And you're rather — ' It's my turn to break off mid-sentence. I can't insult my students — I'm meant to be a role model to them. On that note, I better double-check I locked that padlock. Did I unload that gun before putting it in there? I give myself a mental shake. It doesn't matter whether the gun is loaded or not; it's the fact that I have it that's the issue.

'Hey, what?' she asks, leaning forward with a grin. 'Tell me.'

I press my fingertips to my temple, and give her a look. 'I don't think —'

She pivots, with dainty footsteps. 'Let me guess — I'm rude. Sorry, sorry. But you are short. Are you some kind of genius kid professor, or…?'

'I'm an adult.' She looks me up and down, and holds my arms out to the side. I almost expect her to whip out a tape measure and start sticking me with pins. We look as though we've been frozen mid-dance. Strange partners, to be sure.

I raise my eyebrows. Her gaze snags on mine, and she chokes, before bursting out laughing. 'Sorry, I'm so sorry. I sew; it's a bad habit.' She coughs and snatches her hands away. 'A-Anyway— the mirror.'

I fix my glasses, and unsnarl the ends of my hair. 'I didn't realise someone was there. My apologies.'

She sighs, and waves a hand. 'Sorry, don't worry about it. Someone's always trying to use the thing. I'm the only one who has one, and Rosanna was smart enough to get a hand mirror.' She turns away and crosses her arms, weary exasperation personified. 'It can't be helped, but it's still annoying, you know!'

The way she tosses her head and throws back her shoulders is so fluidly exaggerated, that I get the impression that she doesn't really mind at all. 'Perhaps you should charge a tax then, as compensation. Even though it clearly doesn't bother you as much as you say.'

She flinches, then groans. 'Oh great, you're one of those mind-reading ones. I was looking forward to passing notes in class, too… I'd read about it in a book somewhere. I'm not bragging, but my handwriting's great.'

'Well, we shall see. You better up your game, then… Kat, was it?'

'Kathervou — a-ah, I mean, Katherine! Katherine. Sorry. Just Kat is fine,' she wildly corrects.

I stare at her, and she avoids my gaze. 'Well, anyway, Kat, I'll give you fair warning. You should put your handwriting to work in your lessons. I would wish to avoid getting into a fight with any of you right away.'

'A fight… You mean — throw down behind the church?' she asks, bewildered.

I wince. 'That was not my meaning at all. I meant that I would have to speak to you in a correctional tone.' Oh. 'On second thought, please don't tell me fighting behind the church is a regular occurrence.'

Kat waves a hand. 'Sorry, no, of course not. I mean, the kids might scuffle sometimes, but nothing ever comes of it. We err on the side of caution. If someone transgresses, Rosanna comes after us like a fiend straight out of the abyss, and if we survive that, Sister Mary sits us down for a "talk."'

It seems that if nothing else, she's picked up a Dantean sense of humour from her time here. 'Excellent,' I say.

We drift towards the stairs. Voices rise through the floorboards. She shakes her head, exasperated. 'You wouldn't say that if those two sat you down.'

I adjust my glasses, and hang my coat on the back of my door. There were… two, four — nine, children? And I've met five of them. I head down the stairs. I might even manage to get through them all tonight. I realise that I'll have to watch myself on the staircase in the future, if I don't want some child landing on my head.

'Oh, don't worry, they have,' I answer. My fingers slide across the wall, and I pause to let Kat squeeze past. 'Careful. Or rather, Sister Mary sat me down. I haven't yet had the pleasure of — '

Rosanna rounds the corner and tosses a yell back into the nave, 'Hey, where's the teacher?' before darting into the stairwell and crashing into both of us.

'Well — speak of the devil and he shall appear.'

Kat pushes past and out, protesting, 'Stop doing that, Rossa! Someone'll break something!'

I'm offended as well, but on a different front. 'A devil — that's a dreadful thing to say,' I huff.

Rosanna hooks her arm around my neck and pulls me out of the shadows, sending me tripping into the open. 'It's a proverb, don't take everything so…'

Her voice fades away. I get my balance, the carpet and stone filling my vision. Some instinct twinges. Telling me to get back in the shadows, out of the warmth. I don't belong here. The chilling voice burns in the pit of my stomach, twisting, before melting away. Pushed back to the edges by sheer force of will, of repression of my emotions, perfected by practice. I straighten, and lift my eyes from the floor.

…My vocabulary is failing me for once.

The doors have been bolted against the cold, and a fire burns, hidden, in the back of the church. The firelight plays on the stained glass, a rich rainbow of ruby and gold sugar confectionary. A fragrant, rich smell wafts in the air, and the children are scattered throughout the church's interior. They all look… happy. Is that so surprising?

'Sometime today, yeah?' Rosanna pushes me down the aisle, and my heels leave scuff marks on the carpet. 'You're the man of the hour, so to speak.'

'Until the novelty wears off.'

She laughs, a rough kind of sound, like a cough you try to stifle. Like brown sugar. 'Yeah, you got it.'

Her hands leave my shoulders, and she's already off again, ambushing Kat and dragging her along somewhere, despite a storm of vehement protests. I walk further down the aisle. It seems the north and south transepts — the wings to either side of the church at the back — have been walled off as seperate rooms. Fire glows in the open door of the south transept. A kitchen? I glance inside. Dainsen leans against the wall in a corner, eyes fixed on the flames in the stove, and Sister Mary lets a heavy pot of goulash hit the dining table with a crash.

I stay out of their way — the space is far too small for a third person with all that activity. I grimace. Even if that person is pint-sized.

Between the north and south transepts resides the apse, the recess that houses the altar, separated from the nave by steps. The crucifix dominates completely. It's not exactly to my taste… perhaps the priest requested it. As my eyes adjust to the shadows, my heart sinks. The dull metalwork isn't just an unusually ornate and ugly crucifix, it depicts Christ's ripped and torn body nailed to the cross. …Really? I mean, yes, but — really? In an orphanage?

I sigh, and glance at the north transept. If the south is a kitchen, then what's in there? I step towards the door.

A slight rustle. The scuff of shoes on stone. The air splits; I pause, and raise a hand.

'A-Ah, look — '

The ball nearly rips my hand off my wrist. I stifle a wince. Ugh. My fingers throb, painfully.

'…out. Ah, uh, oops…'

'Now w've done it.'

I close my eyes and smile, before pivoting on my heel. It's the two boys that ran inside the church together earlier. They look stricken.

I shake my head and toss the ball back, flexing my fingers to give it some spin. 'Save it for outside, boys.' The younger blinks, as the ball falls into his hands.

The older boy snaps out of it, pulling an apology together as I walk up. 'I-I'm sorry, we weren't paying attention, and… you're sharp, sir.'

I keep my expression neutral. 'Thank you. I'm Heine, the new teacher.'

'T-Tio. I'm Tio.' He nudges the younger boy forward. 'And Gabby, my younger brother.' The boys have slightly darker skin than most, and dark hair and eyelashes. From their accent, I would guess they were from an Venezia, a nation that Glanzreich has territories in.

'A pleasure to meet you. I look forward to having you in my class.'

Tio and Gab — I'm going to assume his name is Gabriel — Tio and Gabriel both look slightly… abashed, perhaps? Even though I'm from a similar background, and share a lot in common with these students — I'm still their teacher and their superior. Something I haven't yet adjusted to myself.

Tio pockets the ball with a grimace. 'That was out fault, but, uh… You didn't even look to catch it?'

I blink. 'Oh, no. I didn't.'

I've built up the habit over time. With sharp ears, you can pick up on even the slightest of movements. A party trick with macabre origins, to be sure. I've lost count of how many times only a faint sound on the wind was all that warned me of a thrown rock, or a knife to the back. I was assaulted in an alleyway once. The only thing that got me out of that mess alive was that I'd heard the rasp of the man's leather garments, as he hefted a brick over my head.

I snap out of my flashback, and hope it didn't show my face.

It seems not. Tio's eyes sparkle. 'Eh, a really?' I was right, given his accent, Tio must be from Venezia.

I smile. 'It's just a trick. Still.' I step past him, and touch his shoulder. 'Stained glass costs a lot to replace. For your own sake, let's not let this happen again.'

Tio grins. 'Si. I mean, yes, Professor.'

Behind me, I hear snatches of argument between the two of them. '…Tio, Tio. Be good.'

'Well, I a wasn't the one who a threw the ball, Gabbie!' Tio exclaims, and collapses into a pew. 'You're one to talk. When I said you should learn how to throw, I didn't mean right this very minute…'

The tiny, little, shy one threw hard enough to nearly shatter a grown man's wrist? 'Well, I'm sure he'll be a pleasure to have in class,' I say under my breath.

I touch a finger to my lip, and glance around. I seem to have met all of them… have I? Something knocks my leg, and I look down to see a little girl, with blonde hair falling to hide her face. She totters forward again, bumping against my hip. After a moment, she blinks, steps around me, and drifts past.

'Wait.' I drop to one knee, and hold out a hand. 'I don't believe we've met.'

She looks around, and finally pivots, unsteadily. Her blank eyes flicker. Her gaze fails to stick, slipping past me, through me, like a wraith. A sudden, disorientating chill caresses my spine. I shake my head. Stop it. Could she be blind, perhaps?

I hold my hand out, palm up. Her gaze snaps to my fingers. Her irises are so pale, they look white. No, not blind. 'I'm Heine,' I say gently. 'I'm the new teacher.'

Her eyes follow my arm, tracing the veins in my wrist, snagging on the cotton fibres of my sleeve. She looks at my face. She tilts her head to the side. Doubt creeps into my stomach, gnawing with sharp teeth. She could just be shy. Or quiet. She could have a disability, perhaps. I'm caught off guard, something which doesn't happen often. My instincts request an audience, and I grant it. This isn't right. She's old enough to be able to act cohesively. Something's not right.

I don't know how to deal with this, not right now, at any rate. I look up at her. Well. No matter who we are or where we're from, we all have one thing, a universal communications tool that crosses all borders.

I smile at her.

She stares at me. As lifeless as a porcelain doll.

Then she smiles, and it sends a bullet of fear into my chest. Because her smile — from the purse of the lips, to the slight hint of pearly teeth — is like looking into a mirror. She's merely copying my smile, with no emotion of her own.

'I'm… Blanca,' she says, with that dazed smile. And she totters off.

And I'm left sitting on my knees, chilled, as the heavy weight left in my chest dissolves into sadness.

I stand. Can I help her? Is that even possible? Can I do anything?

'Hey. Teach. Prof.' Rosanna lightly raps on my head. 'Anyone home?'

I dodge from her reach, and straighten my hair. 'Excuse me. Do you require me for something?'

Rosanna chokes on a laugh, and I fume. She shakes her head. 'You're entertaining, at least. I guess you've got to earn your meal a day somehow.' She makes air quotations. '"Do I require you for something." No, but if you could get your pint-sized derriere in the kitchen sometime this week, I'll love you forever.'

I click the heels of my boots together, and point my finger in her face. 'I don't know where to begin — but don't call me pint-sized. Or any part of me pint-sized. And young ladies should not make humour involving anatomical references.'

Rosanna smirks. 'Ah, so you acknowledge it as humour. Yeah, I crack myself up.'

We walk to the kitchen, trading verbal blows every step of the way.

'And don't make out of context remarks that can be read as suggesting a student-teacher relationship: that is just immoral on so many levels.'

'Well, don't take things out of context yourself. It's just an expression.'

'Young ladies shouldn't make inappropriate remarks, no matter the context.'

'Why are you so caught up on the idea that I'm some model young woman — I don't know how stomping around in the woods and hanging out of windows gave you that idea.'

'Well, pardon me. But regardless, no matter how you choose to conduct yourself there are some basic standards of decorum — '

'Maybe you better educate me, for your own sanity — '

'I'd be delighted — '

The whole ensemble of orphans and Sister Mary stare at us from in the kitchen, our argument neatly framed by the doorway for the viewing of all those present.

The sparks zapping between Rosanna and I abruptly fizzle out.

Gabriel takes a bite of a bread roll. 'Rosa and the teacher sure are carrying on, aren't they?'

Me.

Rosanna.

Carrying on.

Thank goodness I don't blush easily.

Gabriel chews his mouthful. Swallows. 'What? We could hear 'em all the way out in the nave. Already getting lectured, Rossa. For shame.'

The misused phrasing clicks and everyone bursts out laughing, even Rosanna. I have to force my smile. Gabe gets a slap on the wrist, but likely for eating before praying rather than accidentally running his mouth.

Rosanna turns to me and talks under the racket. 'Kids. Gotta love em.' I sigh and wonder whether I should take her on in a second round, when she draws me closer, my sleeve between her fingers, her fingertip under my chin. 'By the way, I almost forgot to tell you.'

Her eyes lock on mine. 'We're family here. We care about each other. We're all happy to have you here, but you're an unknown quantity.'

I look at her over my glasses. 'What are you implying?'

'I'm not implying anything. I'm telling you straight to your face that if you don't can't deal with this properly, if you hurt one of the kids, even out of carelessness, then I will turn on you and make your life living hell — because these kids have had enough grief from adults to last them the rest of their lives.'

She smiles. 'And not the multi-storied, check-in check-out nonsense — I mean the good old-fashioned burn-for-eternity type hell.'

I blink. I for once in my life, am speechless.

She pats my shoulder. 'Nothing personal. I would have had a little chat with whoever got sent here. Actually, I quite like you.' She straightens. Tilts her head. Her eyes are so dark as to be black, in some lights. 'I guess someone's got to be the that girl, right?' Because if you already fit that mould, why shouldn't you fill it?

I see it. The regret hidden, so, so deep.

We're so alike.

'Trust me. I know.' I give her a sideways smile. 'Rage against the system, right?'

Her eyes glint. 'What an anarchist.'

'No. Just rational.'

'I knew I liked you.'

I take my seat, taking my place in this tableau. 'Don't.'

She sticks out her tongue, and gracefully drops down beside me. 'Fuss-pot.'

'That is immature.'

'I know it.'

Laughter, noise, and warmth, only slowing for one moment so Sister Mary can say grace, before firing up again. It feels like I've come home, to a house I know and don't know.

Yes. I know. She knows. We both know a lot of things, Rosanna and I. But as we exchange looks over our water glasses, my instincts tell me something, something they've been whispering for a while now.

Something's going on under the surface here. There's something going on in this church…

To be continued...

A/N: Right. For anyone who originally heard that TFL was a four-part story, it seems that there are actually five chapters and not four! It also seems that I can't count. Anyway, more chapters is hardly a bad thing, right? Reviews welcome, and thanks for reading!