I WAS SO MUCH YOUNGER, and the last embers of the orphanage were smoldering in my rearview. It was a hazy memory, one that I badly wanted to forget. My heart pounded in my chest, matching the rhythm of my footfalls as I sprinted through the undergrowth. The tunnel's damp earth clung to my hands and knees, and the scent of freedom was just as intoxicating as the fear that screamed in my veins.
I emerged on the other side afterwards, gasping for air and clutching at freedom with dirt-streaked hands. Perthlochry's underbelly sprawled before me, and a labyrinth of shadowed streets and unknown dangers lurked behind. The alley was a narrow canyon, an artery in the town's heart. Its pulse thrummed beneath my feet, in the whispers of the wind and the distant wail of sirens. I found a recess between two buildings, an alcove obscured by an avalanche of discarded cartons and newspapers. I thought to myself, What if I head there?
I collapsed upon entering, exhaustion wrapping me in its familiar shroud. My eyes fluttered open as the sound grew closer. I think it was coming from an officer patrolling nearby. I ran deeper into the alley, and there, I bumped into someone. His silhouette loomed over me, haloed by the frail glow of a distant streetlamp. My heart clenched, and my hand instinctively reached for a broken shard of glass lying nearby. The silhouette then became clear, stooped with age and hardship. His hands were stained with the day's labor, and his eyes reflected the years of countless memories. He rummaged through the refuse, his movements careful and precise.
Seeing me shaking, he offered me a half-eaten sandwich. "You must be hungry," he said nervously. His voice was a roughened melody, a song sculpted by time and struggle. I took the sandwich, my silence a protective barrier.
"My name's Elliot. Who are you? And where did you come from?" he asked, extending a hand calloused by years of labor. I hesitated before accepting it, my own hand disappearing within his grasp.
"Primrose," I offered, my voice barely above a whisper. "Primrose Dawson."
"Where did you come from, Primrose?"
I didn't respond. Maybe he picked up what I was trying to imply, so he looked down and apologized.
Elliot. The name felt strange on my tongue. Then he stumbled, a sharp intake of breath betraying his pain. My instincts surged, and I aided him, my arm around his waist. "Thank you," he said, a cough accompanying his voice.
He asked me to help him to his home, which I did. As we neared, I noticed this untidy area. His home was a patchwork of makeshift repairs. It was nestled amidst the town's forgotten corners, and after we stepped near his home, he thanked me once again.
Inside, I helped him onto a threadbare couch, a piece of furniture that's worn out. I nursed him the best I could, cleaning his wounds and offering him water. His gratitude was a warm echo in the dim room, his eyes softening at my ministrations.
"What happened?" I asked.
He just laughed. "You know, Elliot's already an old man with a lot of illnesses," he said.
When the night was at its zenith, he offered me a corner of his world, a sanctuary from the chaos outside. "Anyway," he started. "You can stay here until you figure out where to go."
"Thanks," I replied to him.
Slowly, the memory blurred, and I came back to the present moment, just as this single drop of tear fell from my eye.
That was years ago. I kneeled forlornly by the grave, my heart heavy in my chest. Slowly, tears trickled down my cheeks, falling like liquid pearls onto the stone. The name etched into the cold, gray marble was a distinct reminder of the loss I felt so profoundly—Elliot Hayes.
There was a rustle of fabric and a soft footfall against the dew-kissed grass. Mamori was there, her presence a comforting warmth against the chill of grief. Her silhouette was a gentle shadow against the brooding place, a figure of resilience amidst the sorrow. She moved closer, inching towards me with the care of someone approaching a wounded animal. The world seemed to slow as she settled beside me, her hand finding mine in a tender grip. Her touch was a steady anchor, grounding me in a reality where every breath felt like a battle.
"Primrose," she called, her voice a soft whisper against the wind. "It's okay."
I turned my tear-streaked face to her, swallowing the lump that had found a permanent place in my throat. "Thank you," I said, the words catching in a sob. "He was more than a father to me, you know. More than anyone I've ever known. And seeing him here, knowing I wouldn't see him again, I..."
Understanding flickered in her eyes, softening her features. There was no need for words; her silence was her way of listening and of bearing my grief with me. I let the tears flow, my sobs punctuating the melancholy symphony of the graveyard.
She held me then, her arms forming a protective circle around me as I cried. Her presence was a soothing balm, a quiet strength that allowed me to let go. Then the passage of time became a blur, marked only by the slow rays of the sun as it slipped below the canopy, painting the dirt in hues of blue and gold. The graveyard bathed in the morning's glow, its somber beauty resembling a backdrop to my breakdown.
With the passing of minutes, though, my tears finally began to ebb. The raw intensity of my emotions slowly faded into a dull ache, the storm of my sorrow subsiding into a gentle rain. The world was still there, as was Mamori, but slowly I began to gather the shattered pieces of myself. The pain was still there, but with it came a sense of peace.
Elliot was gone, but he lived on in my memories—in the wisdom he had imparted and in the love he had shown me. And in these precious fragments, I found peace.
Mamori approached me, her eyes full of a concern that felt almost alien in the midst of my sorrow. "Prim," she called, her voice gentle. "How are you holding up?"
I turned to her, the world snapping back into focus. "I don't know," I admitted, my voice no more than a whisper against the silence that blanketed us. She just nodded.
"Are you okay?" she asked, her tone softer than the rustling leaves.
I nodded, not trusting my voice to keep its composure.
She hesitated, her gaze flitting to the grave then back to me. "Do you want to meet the others or do you just want space for now?" she asked finally, referring to the rest of the gifted orphans.
Again, I nodded. "I want to meet them," I said. I gave Elliot's grave one last lingering stare, a silent promise that his death wouldn't be in vain. "I want to distract myself from the pain, you know."
Mamori smiled first as she encased me in a hug. After a few seconds, she led me away, her hand on my back, guiding me towards our destination. We passed through the massive Victorian house, its regal splendor muted by the weight of my grief, and out into the garden.
"Sorry if I triggered something," Mamori said.
"No, you didn't. It's totally okay," I told her. "In fact, I'm happy to know that he was given a proper burial. Yet still, I can't accept the sudden loss."
"That's totally valid. He's the only family that you have, right?" Mamori said, causing tears to well up in my eyes.
"Yeah," I said.
"But you have us now," Mori said.
Maybe, I said in my mind. Maybe.
I wiped my tears off my face as Mamori and I made our way towards the garden. A gasp caught in my throat as my eyes landed on the barefooted blonde in the white silk dress. She was a picture of ethereal beauty under the sun's gentle caress. Her skin tone was somewhere between a fair and olive complexion. And her freckles—well, they were little flecks of sun-kissed skin, scattered across her face like a smattering of dust. Her green eyes, as verdant as the garden around her, sparkled. A crown of flowers adorned her head, and she was dancing in the field.
Her every step was in sync with the rhythm of the wind, her every twirl resembling a delicate symphony with the rustling leaves. The flowers themselves seemed to sway with her, their bright colors a blur as she pirouetted, a graceful ballet with nature itself.
The scene was breathtaking, honestly. If I were to comment about it, it was as if the very essence of life and beauty had converged into a single point, a moment of transcendent serenity. For a brief moment, I forgot about the world, about Elliot, and about the man in black. All that existed was the garden, the girl, and Mamori beside me.
"Aria," Mamori suddenly said. I looked at her, and her gaze was fixated on the blonde girl dancing barefoot. "Aria Taylor Greenwood. She's a vegan and a hippie, our friend who loves to meditate. But sometimes, she has her own world."
The moment Mamori mentioned her name, it was as if a spotlight had been shone on her. I couldn't peel my eyes away from the girl in the garden. Her hair was a wave of blonde hair, cascading down her back and swaying gently in the breeze. She moved with a serene and graceful rhythm as she tended to the verdant garden before her. Her hands danced through the air, a mesmerizing ballet of delicate curves and arcs, and in response, the plants seemed to lean towards her, their foliage rustling and blossoming in a spectacle of colors, as if under a spell.
"She usually walks barefoot. Well, she wants to feel the nature," Mamori said.
The sight of her manipulating nature so effortlessly was enchantingly beautiful, yet it stirred a profound sense of melancholy within me. It made me think of Elliot. The grief that had been a constant companion since his passing suddenly seemed distant, as if it had been momentarily dispersed by the magic of this new world.
"Anyway, let's go inside the house. I need to tell you something," Mamori said, taking my hands and dragging me inside the looming mansion.
The world seemed to tilt on its axis as Mamori and I walked inside the halls of the academy. It was as if a heavy weight settled upon my shoulders, squeezing the breath out of me.
"Mamori," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the fluttering of my anxious heart. "What are you going to tell me?"
Her eyes met mine, filled with a mixture of trepidation and resignation. "Miss Alice's house rules," she replied. "These rules are absolute. Miss Alice's word is law, and we must abide by them if we wish to stay in this place."
My mind swirled with a whirlwind of emotions—fear, confusion, and a simmering rebellion that threatened to spill over. Then Mamori continued, her voice filled with a mix of weariness and determination. "First rule: no gifted person should interact with people outside the force field," she explained, referring to the bubble that encased this Victorian house inside. "We are isolated from the rest of the world, forever hidden away from prying eyes. And it is for a good cause, since we are still hiding from the public eye. They have no idea about us. They have no idea about the gifted beings."
"But what about the men in black?" I asked.
"They're a different story," Mamori said, now in a more serious tone. "You see, they are hunting gifted beings down for their own experimentation. That's basically why Miss Alice hid us away from prying eyes. If you noticed, the dome that's protecting us concealed us from the rest of the world. It's actually invisible if you view it from the outside, the only takeaway being that it ripples from time to time."
Much like a bubble, huh?
I nodded, swallowing the bitter truth. Their powers were both a blessing and a curse, rendering them outcasts in a world that feared what it could not understand.
"Each gifted orphan is also assigned a task," Mamori continued. "Household chores, mostly. But the tasks change daily, depending on the gifts an orphan has. It's a way to keep us occupied, to prevent our powers from spiraling out of control."
I glanced around the room, observing my fellow orphans as they went about their assigned tasks. Billy, with his crisp Southern accent, tended to the hearth, while Lennox, with a talent for gravity, moved and arranged objects with a mere wave of her hand. They were like a symphony of extraordinary abilities, each note playing its part in the grand composition of their lives.
"Breaking curfew is also strictly prohibited," Mamori warned, her voice carrying a weight of caution. "We must be back in our quarters before 11 p.m., or else..."
Her words trailed off, and I couldn't help but shudder at the unspoken consequences.
"What?" I asked.
"You will be assigned to a heavier task," she said. "Anyway," Mamori added as we took a turn in the hall.
"There are daily walks with Miss Alice and mandatory lessons with Augustus too. Before you ask, Augustus is our mentor here. He's a gifted, and he's meant to hone our abilities, to train us in the art of control with his insightful skills. It's not a must to attend these sessions, but each orphan is encouraged to attend since gifted beings are taught to hone their skills as early as possible."
I nodded, my mind already envisioning the hours spent in this home. This isn't like the Perthlochry orphanage. This is way different.
"Additionally," Mamori added, "be aware of people capturing images of you with old-fashioned cameras."
I raised my eyebrow in confusion as I stopped in my tracks. Mamori also stopped as she looked at me. "Why?" I asked.
"For self-precaution," Mamori stated.
"Self-precaution?"
"The enemy usually does this to determine whether the person they are targeting is either a normal human being or a gifted being," she replied. "Gifted beings' eyes, and sometimes faces, tend to become blurry when photographed. I mean, aside from humanoid gifted because they do not appear blurry. Normal humans appear, well, normal. Just be cautious, because the men in black usually do this to target gifted beings."
I then internalized everything she had said. Weird, I thought.
As Mamori and I stood in the hallowed silence of the ancient hallway, our shadows danced across the cold stone floor, elongated by the flickering candlelight. A massive door loomed before us, its seasoned wood gnarled and aged, bearing the engraved scars. The door was a mystery and was secured by an elaborate labyrinth of iron locks. Upon stopping, Mamori, with her delicate, porcelain-like features, turned towards me. Her almond-shaped eyes, usually filled with a kind of mischievous sparkle, were now hardened, as serious as the grave. "Lastly," she began, her voice barely more than a whisper, "there's one more rule."
Her words hung in the air, a tangible weight between us. The rule was simple yet ominous: "Never enter the forbidden door." The command was punctuated by the chilling echo of our own silence. Mamori's eyes flickered back towards the door, her eyebrows knitting together. "Nobody knows what's inside," she admitted, "but it might hold really important things."
"And if someone enters the room?" I asked.
"I don't know. Nobody has entered this room so far," Mamori said.
Of course. Of course.
Our conversation was abruptly interrupted by an intrusive sound—the ominous echo of footsteps against the stone floor. An icy shiver ran down my spine, anticipation and fear tangling in my stomach. Mamori straightened her posture with a sigh, turning towards the approaching figure.
Emerging from the shadows was a girl who looked to be about my age. Her hair, as black as the midnight sky, cascaded down in waves, contrasting starkly against her tanned, sun-kissed and olive skin. Her eyes were like shards of obsidian, sharp and intimidating. The sharp angles of her face were accentuated by the flickering candlelight, giving her an intimidating, almost predatory aura.
She first gave me a glare, her eyes narrowing as if evaluating me. The intensity of her gaze was like a physical force, causing me to involuntarily step back. Without uttering a word, she brushed past us, her presence leaving a chilling silence in its wake. As the echo of her footsteps faded, Mamori turned to me with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry if she's a bit unfriendly." Mamori's voice was soft, a stark contrast to the icy glare the girl had shot my way. "Noelle..." Mamori said. "She's a bit distant, even intimidating. The gifted orphans here tend to avoid her most of the time."
I nodded, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling Noelle's glare had left behind. As I looked back at the forbidden door, its imposing aura seemed to have grown; the mystery it represented was now intertwined with the mystery of Miss Alice's home. Despite the unsettling encounters of the time, a strange thrill coursed through me. The door, the rules, Noelle—they all hinted at a larger, hidden world within this house, a world I was now a part of.
***
As the sun began to sink, I trudged along a path I had walked earlier. Underneath the oak tree beside Miss Alice's house, I knelt, bitterly smiling as I heaved a heavy sigh. The massive oak tree stared ahead, its branches stretching out like gnarled fingers against the backdrop of the evening sky. Underneath it, the simple gravestone bore the name Elliot; its sterility was a harsh contrast to the vibrant life it represented.
My fingers traced the cool, etched letters, the chill seeping into my soul. The flowers I held—a bouquet of wild roses I took near the porch—seemed pitifully inadequate against the enormity of my loss. Gently, I laid them down, their petals brushing against the cold stone, a visible testament to my unspoken apologies. Tears then welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. The haunting image of Elliot, his eyes wide with fear as the man in black tightened his grip around his throat, came rushing back. A sob ripped through me, echoing through the quiet evening, a raw, jagged sound that seemed to tear the peaceful fabric of the world around me.
"I'm sorry," I choked out, my voice barely a whisper, drowned by the symphony of evening critters. "I failed to save you."
The tears came then, cascading down my cheeks like a waterfall, each dropping a measure of my guilt and sorrow. I cried, I mourned, and I raged against the injustice of it all. Time slipped away, the minutes stretching into an eternity until my sobs subsided; my tears eventually ran dry, leaving a hollow emptiness in their wake.
I was so lost in my grief that the crunch of approaching footsteps barely registered. It wasn't until they were almost upon me that I turned, my heart pounding in fear and surprise. I looked back and saw a guy. He stood there, a silhouette against the dying light of the day. His hair, tousled, framed a face that was achingly familiar. His dark hazelnut eyes held a soft glow, a gentleness that seemed to quiet the turmoil within me. He was dressed in a white long-sleeved polo, outlining his lean figure. Even though he wasn't as buff as Billy, his physique is still well-toned.
Recognition dawned slowly as I stared at him more, the memories of our previous encounter flooding back. He was the one whose touch had plunged me into unconsciousness. I was the one who had been there when Miss Alice and the other gifted orphans saved me.
Fear mingled with curiosity as I watched him, his presence adding another layer of complexity to an already tumultuous evening.
A question then came floating my way, like an echo through the chill night air. "Hey," he said, not even darting a glance at me. The words hung, unattended, in the space between us. I didn't respond, not verbally. Instead, I turned my attention to him. His features were softened by the gentle glow of the moon, but there was no denying his handsomeness. His hair was a tousle of brown strands, falling carelessly over his broad forehead. His eyes were just as calm, a deep, rich brown that seemed to absorb the starlight. His lips were firm yet gentle. He was handsome; there was no doubt about it, but there was also a certain gentleness about him that I found disarming.
"What are you doing here?" I found my voice, infusing the question with a measure of curiosity. I was surprised by the depth of my own interest. I wanted to understand, to know, and to piece together the puzzle that was this guy.
He didn't answer at first. Instead, he turned his gaze upwards, towards the infinite expanse of the night sky. "I like to look at the stars every night. They calm me down." His voice was a low, soothing rumble that seemed to blend with the soft whisper of the wind.
He looked back at me then, his gaze dropping from the stars to my face. His eyes widened slightly, as if seeing me for the first time. His gaze drifted to the right of me, to the grave, and back at me. His stare was drawn back to my face, causing his eyebrows to knit together. Without saying a word, he reached into the thing that he had on his shoulder. At first, I wasn't able to see what it was. But then he wrapped it around me. A woolen blanket. The fabric was a comforting contrast to the chill of the night. But it made me shake my head. What's this guy's deal?
I watched in surprise as he stared back into the night sky. The warmth of the blanket seeped through my clothes and into my skin, chasing away the chill that had settled in my bones. His touch was gentle and reserved, as if he were afraid of breaking me. I found myself leaning into his touch and into the comfort he offered.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice a faint whisper against the rustling of the leaves. I wanted to know more about him.
He then smiled, a small, gentle tilt of his lips that was as comforting as the blanket around me. "Bryce," he answered, his voice resonating with a warmth that matched his smile. His name seemed to hang in the air between us, a promise of many more stories to be shared under the starlit sky.
"You?" he asked.
I hesitated at first. He was the reason why I became unconscious during the clash between Miss Alice and the men in black and why they were able to bring me to this weird place. I shifted my gaze towards Elliot's grave as I sighed.
"Primrose."
"Primrose, that's a cute name," he said.
Whatever.
Bryce looked at the grave and frowned, a sigh escaping his perfectly carved mouth. "I'm sorry for your loss," he said.
"It's okay," I replied. "I mean, I did what I could. But I guess he's in a better place now," I added.
"Yeah," Bryce replied, drifting his eyes off into the heavens.
"I guess you'll be living here with us?" he asked. I didn't answer. I just looked at him and strayed my sight elsewhere.
"I take that as a yes," Bryce said. Suddenly, I heard a loud meow nearby. I turned my head and saw Ophelia walking in my direction. Bryce then smiled as he looked at the heavens again, my eyes staring at him for a short moment. Then I took Ophelia and carried her.
"Welcome to the home of gifted orphans, Prim," Bryce said. "You're now part of the family, after all."
Family. That's a word I wouldn't use after losing Elliot.