There is no light, and the room is cold. Nothing can be seen. Just the way she likes it.

  The girl hugs her cow plush tightly. So soft it could be used as a pillow. She uses it not for her head, but for her chest.

  To feel warmth from something that, even if artificial, brings comfort. It gives her a moment of peace.

  She sighed, accentuating her fetal position beneath the thin sheets of luxurious silk. Of all days, this one had to be special. The first day of classes at the Academy of Larion, one of the most respected schools of sorcery in the entire world. It was a moment where she could shine, without even trying too hard.

  But she has shone many times already.

  They forced her to smile with stitched lips, to dance, to play until she bled others’ smiles with her violin. To them she was nothing more than a trophy.

  And no one wants to see a sad trophy. Because it becomes a mirror.

  She hated them. She wanted to freeze them all. To make an avalanche of snow fall on them. Maybe then she would see them as human. Maybe then she could draw out a true reaction.

  Despite the magic of her old and respected surname, inside her there was nothing but fire.

  A fire she had been forced to put out for her own good. But fire doesn’t stop being fire just because it’s hidden.

  She heard heels approaching. The same ones as always. The double doors of her chamber opened. The long curtains surrendered with practiced immediacy, letting in the gray light of morning. With a groan, she covered her face with the sheets.

  “Lady Miria,” spoke the woman’s voice. “I must insist that you prepare, please.”

  She was one of the young maids of the palace. The younger ones were the most energetic, and the strictest. Ironically, she could get away with more with the older ones, since they had grown fond of her and let her do something improper in the past, when she was smaller.

  She knew they pitied her. Everyone did. Even the gardeners, who gave her little blue flowers like her eyes. Her father’s best inheritance wasn’t a mansion, nor a secured future. It was knowing how to manipulate people to her favor. She could sneak away with her cousins or friends from other great houses at family gatherings, eat from the fine desserts prepared in the grand kitchens. Things she was not allowed. Because ladies do not eat raspberry-and-chocolate filling from a bowl with a soup spoon, hiding from the chefs and pastry cooks.

  The maid’s heels faded away, not without first closing the door. Rubbing her eyes, Miria rose from bed. The bed was messy, but when you live in a place like this, you expect it to be made again by the time you return to it.

  Miria yawned, her white silk pajamas like her hair wrinkling slightly as she stretched her arms.

  She went to the bathroom, a large one just across a door in her room. She let the soft pajamas fall to the floor, revealing her young naked body. Skin like a snowflake. The water was warm. A maid must have left it ready while she slept. The towels smelled of dead flowers, folded with the perfection of someone who would never embrace her.

  Once inside the water, she let herself sink completely into the tub. She liked this, submerging in warm water and staying there for a minute before surfacing for air. It was like paradise for her, feeling a blanket, an embrace on every fiber of her being. Like returning to her mother’s womb…

  Not a day passed without thinking of her. Her beautiful voice singing with her in the gardens.

  Before, when they still had color, when the flutter of butterflies meant joy, and not mourning. When her soft hands slowly taught her to play the piano.

  She was a delicate woman, fragile. She always spent her days in that wheelchair, smiling.

  Her love so pure, so needed in this luxurious coffin of marble and silver called “home.”

  She deliberately took longer than necessary. She prepared her mind and soul, stepping out of her daily baptism of warmth. It was an almost daily ritual, necessary to face the coldness. She dried her body in her room. The hair dryer’s forceful blow made the tiny flags of the trophies on her shelf flutter.

  1st place in fencing.

  1st place in violin.

  2nd place in piano.

  3rd place in archery.

  One hundredth place in laughing…

  She kept them to remind herself she was useful. That she could be excellent like him.

  “Oh, she’s as intelligent as Gerard!”

  “Oh ho ho! She’s Gerard’s copy in female form, what a beautiful damsel!”

  “She even knows fencing like him, and won first place. Oh, the Frostweavers are flawless!”

  Ha ha ha ha HA HA HA HA!

  Idiots.

  She put on the navy-blue uniform she would be seen in every day at school. At least, maybe just a little, she could camouflage herself. She could be treated like one of the others. She envied them greatly. In elementary school, she would see her common classmates running, playing, getting muddy, or not suffering serious reproaches when they misbehaved.

  She saw them being picked up by their mothers through the piano class window. How they ran into the arms of women who could walk, who could carry them. Who didn’t start coughing blood.

  She still remembers when she made her first major decision about the course of her life. The fireplace in the main hall, his face with that insipid composure, like hers when she didn’t have to smile like a doll.

  “Father,” she called, with firm resolve that made her cross her arms. “I will go to the Academy of Larion.”

  She hadn’t said please that summer afternoon. It wasn’t “I would like to.” No, it was “I will go.” It wasn’t a request. It was a declaration of steel. Her father had noticed. He had seen a reflection of himself at her age in those light blue eyes they shared by curse.

  “Unusual. I expected you would go to the Royal Guard Academy, like your brother.”

  Your brother. Your brother. Your damn brother…

  I AM NOT HIM! I DON’T WANNA BE LIKE HIM! FUCK YOU! JUST FUCK YOU ALL YOU PIECES OF SHIT!

  That’s what she wanted to scream every day, at everyone she knew. Who knew her. No, no. They didn’t know her. Everything she did was cast into the shadow of her brilliant brother.

  Worst of all, what frustrated her more than any comparison… was that she could not hate him, because Gerard was the only one who treated her with true affection. He loved her. He still does, really. He knows the emotional cost this life carries. The deprivation of embraces, of comfort.

  “Do you pity me so much that you won’t even let me hate you?…”

  They were inseparable as children, but that was before they made him shine as a prize, as the pride of the family.

  He was ten years older than her. She knew she could never catch up to him, surpass him, or even equal him. But… she loved him, because if Miria inherited her father’s firm and stubborn character, Gerard inherited her mother’s gentle care. And that calm smile he always wore… it was the identical copy.

  Prepared, she looked at herself one last time in the mirror.

  And she went down the stairs.

  Breakfast was nothing special. Toast, tea, father, his newspaper, his indifference to everything. She found irony in the enormous rectangular table they ate at daily.

  Tables are supposed to bring people together, but each of them sat at the opposite end. More than a bridge, it felt like a wall. One with a window through which to speak.

  “We will step down from the carriage together,” he said, without bothering to raise his eyes or his voice. “There will be photographers.”

  “I know,” she answered.

  That was how their conversations went behind closed doors, when there were no ceremonies or guests. Only the necessary words were spoken directly. The fewer, the better. Like saving ammunition. Bullets instead of words.

  As in other kingdoms of the world, the nobility in Larion was respected, admired like celebrities. In front of the cameras, they smiled politely. Keeping the family’s etiquette was another daily task when they went out.

  Frostweaver,

  Bloomwarden,

  Goldbrand,

  and Amberfall.

  The four most important families. She knew the heirs. All excellent youths like her, with no time to meet among themselves and share the same weight they bore as golden chains around their necks.

  Miria could have chosen the Royal Guard Academy, where kids like her went. They would all be there, but she already knew the rules of the game, the comparisons, and the implicit competition.

  She would have had to compete with the Bloomwardens in theater, the Goldbrands in sports, and the Amberfalls in music.

  All three at once. More pressure, more expectations. No, she didn’t want that. She was sick of it. And worst of all, she knew very well that if she fell behind them, they would not hesitate to see her as inferior.

  As the poor sad little girl who misses her mommy.

  Or worse, they would be kind to her. They would pity her.

  Just thinking about it made her clench her teeth, and she stabbed the bacon with her fork.

  Once breakfast was over, a maid handed her backpack ready with books and supplies. She hung it over both shoulders, not just one. She had learned at seven years old that carrying it over one shoulder was frowned upon, and “vulgar.”

  The maid, hands fast in speed, deaf in emotion, adjusted the collar of her uniform.

  They opened the main door, the carriage with the pegasi of bright sky-blue wings was waiting.

  Miria stepped in first, then her father. They sat on opposite seats. Father’s newspaper was more important than asking his daughter how she felt. Miria only sighed, resting her elbow on the carriage window ledge, letting her chin rest on her hand.

  She just kept watching the buildings of the modern city, the cars so tiny, even more than the people driving them in comparison. Funny how even on sunny days like these all she could see was grey.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  And in the distance, through a silhouette veiled by clouds, she saw the towers of the castle. Where she had no idea her life would change forever.

  …

  …

  …

  In a middle-class neighborhood.

  The rustle of fabric, the sharp thud of shoes being tightened, the zip of a backpack closing. A deep breath.

  Feralynn looked at herself in the mirror. Pale. Red-eyed. Marked by scars that, luckily, did not show on her face. Her short black hair fell messily around her face, untamable despite her early effort to smooth it.

  She saw her room, but there wasn’t much to it. She didn’t care—her room was for sleeping, not for spending time. The liveliest decoration was that bag with only crumbs of Annya’s chocolate cookies, thrown on the desk.

  The Larion School uniform suited her. It was the first regulation outfit she had worn that didn’t smell of blood, fire, mud, or smoke.

  She looked like a proper student.

  Even if she didn’t feel like one.

  She had tried on the skirts last week with Annya.

  “Mandatory dress code,” the paper said.

  “Ugh, fucking hate skirts…,” Fer muttered, while Annya spun around laughing in hers at the clothing shop.

  Fer slung the backpack over her shoulder, her fingers trembling just a second at the buckle. The weight felt strange and uncomfortable, but that was because her black boots were inside. Mom said she absolutely had to wear the shoes strictly required by the instruction pamphlet.

  The plan was simple: the moment she stepped out of the house, she would ditch those damn girly shoes, hide them in a bush in the yard, and put on her boots.

  “Black footwear,” the rules also demanded. Well, boots are black, aren’t they?

  When she stretched her hand toward the doorknob, she was caught by a tight hug.

  Darina. Small arms wrapping her like armor made of something softer than steel.

  “Good luck on your first day, honey. I love you. And please, I beg you—don’t hit anyone, don’t set a classroom on fire, don’t blow up the cafeteria…”

  Her voice sounded teasing, but her eyes were glassy with pride and fear.

  Feralynn exhaled through her nose. Rolled her eyes just enough to hide the emotion burning behind them.

  “Mom, I’m not gonna punch anyone… I think,” she muttered under her breath.

  Uniforms and books were already bought—expensive as hell—but Aunt Martha had covered the costs. That woman was a miracle wrapped in mismatched perfumes, fur coats, and too many rings. Half-deaf, completely chaotic, but loving enough to support her niece’s daughter.

  Despite everything, they had been lucky.

  Fer opened the door.

  “All right…”

  She took a long, deep breath.

  “Here goes nothing…”

  It was a sunny day in the city of Marlow. The autumn air struck her with affection, reminding her that everything was fine. That everyone was safe. As soon as her mom closed the door, Fer pressed herself against one of the side walls of the house, hidden. She kicked off the horrendous “proper student” shoes.

  She looked at her feet in white socks, massaged them a little, cursing how uncomfortable it would have been to walk in them.

  Without much care, she left them hidden in a bush covering a spigot. She shouldn’t forget them, but trusted her memory.

  She opened her backpack, and there they were: her boots. Black, solid. Capable of crushing watermelons—or skulls. To her, there was no difference. Once on, she felt a little more like herself again. They crunched on the fallen leaves, a dry, piercing sound—like bones breaking under pressure. A sound all too familiar, if you asked her.

  She walked with slouched shoulders, a sleepy gaze. Dark circles from having spent the night reading action comics she had bought, devouring them under a blanket with a flashlight. She let out a yawn so loud it could cut the thickest fog like a dagger through skin. Her sleep cycle ruined after nights of movies with Annya.

  Then—footsteps.

  Quick, clumsy, animated. Almost childish, in a way.

  “Fer! Fer! Wait!” shouted a voice she already recognized, wearing the same uniform, a pink backpack slung on her shoulders.

  Her new friend. Maybe the only one capable of putting up with her bitter character.

  Annya Oak. Light steps. Bright eyes. Optimistic simply for being alive and breathing the same air as her loved ones. She bounced a little as she caught up, her cheeks pink from the cold.

  Feralynn sighed—hard.

  “There you are, just hurry up already! Geez, a snail is faster than you.”

  “Hey! I told you to wait so we could leave together!” Annya protested, puffing her cheeks.

  “You’re mean, I won’t give you cookies anymore!” A lie—she already had two bags saved to share with her at lunch.

  Fer didn’t reply immediately. She just kept her hands in the pockets of her uniform and stared ahead.

  “Mhm, whatever. Let’s go before it gets late.”

  “Yup! Onward!”

  Fer wasn’t that excited. Though the edge of her lips couldn’t help but curl into a faint smile. She didn’t notice. Or maybe she did, but didn’t care to hide it.

  And that was it. That was all she had to give. She had endured afternoons with Annya talking about how wonderful magic is, and magic.

  Magic, and more magic. Magic this, magic that. Magic please. So much that Fer swore if she kept talking about it—especially today—she’d pinch her hard on the arm.

  Silence stretched.

  Until it didn’t.

  “Hmm-hmm! Hm-hmm-hmm!… La-da-da-da!!!…”

  “Annya, no.” Fer warned once.

  “Doo-doo-doo! Hm-hm-hm!!!…”

  “Stop.” Second warning. One strike left.

  “La-da-da, hmm-hmm-hmmm, la-da-da-da-daaaAAAAAAAAA…!!!”

  Feralynn stopped cold.

  Her head swiveled like an owl spotting prey in slow motion. She raised her arm quickly, hand pinching like claws to strike. Annya squeaked a little, covering her bare arm, but Fer didn’t attack.

  “Told you to stop. Humming. So. Loud.”

  Annya blinked.

  Then giggled.

  But didn’t argue.

  The two girls walked in silence after that. One now humming more softly. The other trying not to set anything on fire.

  “Oh, Fer, look!” Annya pointed at the sky. “Pegasi!”

  “Hm?”

  Bored, Fer lifted her gaze. Her brow arched when she saw, far off in the sky, a carriage pulled by pegasi with flaming sky-blue wings, painting a fleeting line across the cloudy heavens.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Language! Hm, looks like it’s heading to the castle. Must be someone important.”

  “Perks of being rich,” Fer said with cynicism.

  “Oh, what if we have a teacher who’s a celebrity?! Imagine if your teacher was none other than Witch Agatha Misty herself! Oh gods. Fer, I can’t wait anymore, let’s go!”

  She started running, hopping over the tiny puddles on the pavement. Fer sighed and quickened her pace to catch up. Annya had spent the whole week talking about how much she wanted classes to start.

  Being the only mage in her family—and in the neighborhood, except for Fer—she wanted to meet new friends right away.

  She was dying to share cookies. To train her magic. To become beloved even by teachers. Like in elementary school, where she was the “chef girl” of her class, all her classmates delighted every time she brought homemade desserts to share.

  She had been practicing, reading ahead with Fer from the school books to prepare, though every impromptu study session ended with Feralynn falling asleep on the notebooks, drooling onto the pages while snoring lightly.

  Annya walked with a determined smile, quick steps, until she nearly tripped. As the ground tried to steal her first kiss with a faceplant worthy of a bloody nose, Fer grabbed the back of her uniform collar with one hand. Holding her effortlessly.

  “You look like a chihuahua running like that,” she said, raising a brow. “You ain’t gonna survive a single day without me, are you?”

  Embarrassed, Annya pushed her round glasses back into place with a finger. Her cheeks flushed.

  “Good thing I’ve got a bulldog to protect me, hehe!”

  Feralynn groaned, rolling her eyes as she lifted her away from her near-embrace with the pavement.

  “If I’m going to save your ass, then I want you to pass me your homework.”

  “What?! No way!”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just joking. Come on, I don’t want us missing the damn train because of you.” She said after briefly chuckling.

  Fer shoved her hands into her uniform pockets, walking ahead to block her from speeding up again without her newly assigned canine guardian’s permission.

  Annya smiled, gripping the straps of her pink backpack with both hands. Proud of herself. But prouder of her.

  “She’s joking now. A week ago, she wouldn’t have.” she thought.

  Already lost all touch with Mónica and the rest of her childhood friends from the neighborhood. The moves, the Academy… everything had happened so fast. She hadn’t spoken to them in a long while now.

  It still hurts to look at the photo album. Especially the Halloweens, when Annya dressed as a scarecrow, Mónica as Frankenstein, and July as a vampire.

  When she prayed every night to Elerya for an inseparable friend, she hadn’t expected someone like Fer. But… she knew the Goddess of Light had listened, and she trusted her.

  They had to take a bus; it was the start of classes at every school, not just the mages. Traffic was hell, parents with their kids, teachers praying not to deal with parents more immature than sugar-crazed toddlers. Same story every year.

  At the subway station, kids in the same uniform waited eagerly. Feralynn and Annya descended the stairs. The first felt her heart race with excitement at seeing possible future friends, the second swallowed hard, sharpening her eyes and stuffing her hands in her pockets.

  It was packed with students from first to last year. The subway line took them straight to the center of the capital, where the castle was just a short walk away. Since many groups of friends were already forming, Annya sought out girls her height who stood alone, nervous.

  “Hi! I’m Annya, are you first year too? Great, me too! Where do you live? I’m from Marlow!”

  She didn’t take long to start socializing. Feralynn watched her blend with strangers with complete ease. She saw how in less than five minutes a trio of girls their age were already chatting with her, all smiling. All laughing.

  She saw them from afar, and couldn’t help but feel a small sting in her chest, as if seeing her away hurt a little, because it meant she wasn’t as special as she thought she was to Annya. She sighed, almost a growl of irritability as she felt suffocated among so many in the same-colored clothes.

  She walked to catch up with her, but—

  THUD.

  “Watch where you going, rookie.”

  An orc girl, green-skinned and red-haired. Strong, tall. Maybe fourth or fifth year. She didn’t sound aggressive; she said it more as advice than a threat. But Fer’s ego was bruised. Annoyed at feeling alone, away from her chihuahua.

  “Tch, shut up,” she snapped.

  The orc girl turned slightly to glance at her as she left.

  “Hmph, rude.”

  Fer watched her join a blond, slender elf boy, and a human with black hair and emerald-green eyes. Saw how they greeted each other so casually, as if they’d been comrades for life.

  “Huh…”

  Other species walked among them. Humans made up the majority, but not all. She noticed the ears—elves. The skin—orcish. The stature—dwarves. Even beastfolk moved through the crowd. Minorities, yes, but present. She never would have imagined such a gathering. Perhaps Annya was right: the day was already promising to be interesting.

  Excited girls’ shrieks and rowdy boys’ whistles rang loud in the subway as the train blared its horn, announcing arrival. Even a group of boys threw their notebooks into the air, sheets raining down over the anxious crowd.

  The doors slid open with a hiss, and amid shoves everyone poured inside. Fer caught a narrow margin to reach Annya. She looked for her immediately as the tide of bodies pushed against her back.

  Annya turned with a smile to meet her, but a group of third-year boys shoved harder, fooling around, annoying their classmates who shouted and threatened to spray perfume in their faces.

  She let out a small gasp as she collided head-on with Fer, their foreheads smacking together. Both groaned for a moment, surprised by the swift impact.

  They were close. Very close. Surrounded by chatter, gossip, teasing, and youthful games. Fer gripped a rail with one hand, Annya pressed close in front of her. Uncomfortable.

  “Where are they?” she asked, masking her earlier wound.

  Annya looked up, cheeks flushed from the train’s heat—or from the proximity…

  “Huh? Them?”

  “Yeah… your… your new friends,” Fer answered, turning her gaze aside.

  “Oh! Um, lost them. Whoops! No idea if we’re friends yet, haha. I just met them. Think I didn’t even catch their names properly. Too much noise.”

  “Oh…”

  “Something’s wrong?” Annya asked. “You look worried.”

  “No.”

  “That was curt,” she said with a smile. “More than usual.”

  “It wasn’t.”

  Annya smiled. She took Feralynn’s free hand, keeping steady eye contact.

  “I’m nervous too,” she whispered. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna leave you alone.”

  “…”

  Feralynn swallowed hard. She felt her eyes water, a tender ache blooming in her chest that demanded every ounce of willpower to hide. She blinked quickly in reflex, turning her gaze away again.

  “…Smells—” she coughed, clearing her throat as her voice cracked for a second. “It smells like shit. They bath in a sewer or what? Ugh…”

  Annya blinked at her, slightly confused. Then quickly understood. She let out a light giggle, nodding.

  “Ew, you’re right! Smells like onion soaked in vinegar, hehe!”

  But what she didn’t let go of was her hand.

  …

  …

  …

  ?