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When nightfall reigned down in all its binary glory, there was naught to do but sit on my bed and think about the moon's purpose. Was it nothing more than a beautiful globe? The old legends say it was once the bride of a god; but on his way to the altar, the groom-to-be lost his way. See, he had abandoned his godhood, casting aside aside his golden veil to wed the likes of a mortal woman. He was supposed to be an angel of the sun, supporting the heavens' luminosity. Yet at the commencement of the wedding, the sun receded, and the light was gone without its angel to serve a beacon. With day cut in half, seizing their chance, the creatures of the dark leaped upon the angel on his way to the altar and mauled the newly anointed mortal. Consumed by grief, the bride donned the golden veil and rose to the heavens, only the veil was no longer gold but white. Forevermore, she cast a pale loom upon the earth, attempting to fill the void left by her lover's descent.
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I have also heard that the moon gives the seas their ebb and flow. Either way, without the stars, the moon is lonely. And under its lonely light, I showered in a sense of doubt. Doubt about what? Nothing in particular... Just doubt. If I could explain it, perhaps I could start feeling better. Ironically, I didn’t want to think; I just wanted to stay under the moon and contemplate nothingness until there was hope.
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Time passed. Hope itself became this ebbing emotion inside of my gut. I felt it wobbling somewhere. No, it wasn’t hunger. I never missed a meal in the banquet hall. I was not one of those sociopathic children who left food on their plate. Garlic roast and bread were served during two spaces of the day. Two times because schedules were hectic. Students would attend one of two lunches, while the rest continued classes. Unfortunately, no one I knew shared my lunch period, which is why I usually gobbled some bread before I would run off to study alone. Today was nothing special. Idling at the long tables, distracted by dozens of redundant candles suspended above, I noticed the valley of space between myself and the other students.
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I took a moment to absorb the hall, its students, its baroque style, and the many decorations. Across the stone blocks so perfectly stacked, animations of the sea, the sand, and forest groves perpatually animated around lunch time. These enchantments conveyed a serene sense of realism juxtaposed to all the fake faces.
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Have you ever had that feeling when eyes are upon you? You know the feeling.
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Breaking my breadstick into even pieces, I happened to glance at a student who was already diagonally gawking at me. He wore his collar up with the extended flare of all the rebellious boys, and he could hardly hide, being a blonde fellow with bespoke bangs. He had to be a first year. Of course, he broke his gaze at the final second, believing that I didn’t see him. Haha, fool. I am Pollux, the all-seeing maister of random thoughts. Look upon me and despair. Slowly, I nibbled—but there he was again! The second time, I decided to confront him.
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"Yes?"
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The boy glanced left then right.
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"Yes, you. Do you mind?"
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He sat there, slack-jawed for a moment, which is atypical of Cinderfall students. Not a noble's kid? "Sorry, I didn't mean to stare," he finally admitted.
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"So, they all say." It didn’t change my discomfort. "I am eating. I hope there is nothing strange about that."
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"Okay."
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"A disability doesn't make me your carnival entertainment, understand?"
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He blinked. "What?"
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"You’re too obvious."
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“What do you mean?”
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“I know you’re like the rest who want to see what’s wrong with me.”
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"Okay... I knew nothing of your disability, but I'm sorry."
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I leered at him before returning to my plate. A piece of bread here and a thimble of chickens. Why so little chicken? I leered again, and though I did not catch him staring a second time, I couldn't help but feel irritated. "You. What do you mean, you didn’t know about my disability? Why were you staring at me then?"
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He watched me, a bit nervous with a piece of chicken in his mouth. I couldn’t tell if it was all an act yet. After swallowing though, he made eye contact. "What do you mean?" I inquired. It turned into a demand. "If you weren't staring because of my leg, then why were you staring?"
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"I know not. I just stared at you."
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"What about me?"
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"Your eyes?"
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"Why were you staring at my face, to begin with?"
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"You have nice eyes?"
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"...Huh..." Is he serious? "What are you playing at?"
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"What?" he exclaimed, growing annoyed. "You asked me, and I answered. I'm not staring anymore."
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Hmph. My stomach was satisfied, but something else was ping-ponging in my head. A confusing situation to be sure. But why? The interaction with that boy had to be one of the strangest interactions I've ever had. What a weird boy to say those things, and at the worst time: while was eating.
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Hmmm.
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It didn’t bother me; I lied to myself. I didn’t realize how the confusion followed me all the way into Sancti Magicae. "The chant is but one verse that branches into holy magic..." As I watched Priestess Serrina sitting at her desk of dogmatic antiques and saintly statuettes, I lost focus. Holy magic has branches... they are. Sigh... The branches of holy magic are... grr.
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"What the fuck!"
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"Pollux!" Serrina shouted. I turned to stone. The whole classroom was staring at me, so I sensed, but the true holy eyes of judgment came down and impaled me with sharpness that vied for vindication. Darn it, I thought I had never seen the priestess so angry.
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"Apologies, Priestess Serrina," I cooed.
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The apology deflected off our teacher’s stone demeanor. “We shall discuss your obscenity after class, young miss!” she warned.
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"Yes, mum."
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And the passage of time slowed near to a crawl as if I were wearing stones in my beret... Since when have I had so much trouble concentrating? It is not because of that boy, right? No... Get back in the game, Lux.
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When our wholly unholy class session came to its end, I kept my head down. The stomps were deafening as the lucky ones made their exit. Finally, there came that awkward silence when it was just the priestess and me. Sigh. I tried yet failed to brace myself for the impending doom. I just didn't have that energy. Without any scolding, however, the priestess just sat silently at her desk, reading verses from a sacred tome. She would not even bother to look up, which made the situation more nerve-wracking. I fought every yearning to look into her eyes. Then, eventually, I saw those eyes rise from the tome with their punitive intent.
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"You are a smart, young girl," the priestess began bittersweetly. "Whatever trouble you believe could warrant such a terrible outburst in the middle of a sacred lesson does not afford clemency. Not when the affront is plain before thy peers."
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My eyebrows clenched as I suddenly remembered that Priestess Serrina was indeed a devout woman of the cloth, which meant her beliefs could give a sprite’s ass about my troubles. In fact, her faith was too rigid to welcome anything other than a whip of the rump. In other words, I was wholly fucked. Holy fucked? Thank the gods she could not read my thoughts. On that note, let me apologize to any gods who are probably listening to my thoughts right now. However, if you are listening, I think there is something wrong with you.
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"In accord with Cinderfall's Lex Academia, several hours of after-class contrition shall be thy mandate,” the priestess said.
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What's that? "Pardon, Priestess, but what exactly does that mean?”
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“Thou shalt serve the faculty whims immediately following thy lessons. For starters, you shall serve as my domestic aide.
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Well, I spend Saturdays on school grounds alone anyway. But I wasn’t going to tell her that. "As you deem fit, Priestess Serrina, I will do as you say."
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"Actually,” she exclaimed innocently. “I see fit to follow the convent and wring your hands for several hours. Then you might appreciate the proper temperament of a mouth when the rest of your body is indisposed."
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I knew it.
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"You must report to my study on the morrow, Miss Lux."
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"Tomorrow?"
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"That’s what the morrow means. Failure to do so will compound your punishment. And please..." Now, her expression seemed a little more sympathetic. "Do not let matters of the heart or the earthly plain cloud your thoughts in the middle of the Chant. That will be all."
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Swallowing, I mustered the strength to stand up straight. Up the stairs, I felt the weight my parish surroundings, Miss Serrina's lunar baubles and crescent relic, the courage of the saints painted on the glass. On the other side of the doorway, once it was all gone, I meditated. What did she mean by 'matters of the heart?'
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Just thinking about my punishment dimmed my mood for the next few days. The fact that a teacher could wield such power over me was maddening. Why should I suffer so long for a short outburst? It was like a slow boil toward my impending punishment. But I almost welcomed its arrival for the sake of relief.
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