Near the Portal

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STUDENTS STOP, their chatter quieting as they all stare behind me—or at me.

I begin to turn when a hand clamps around my arm, squeezing the fat with a tight grip as it yanks me forward.

Mr. Singh glares down at me as he continues to storm down the hall, me whimpering at what I know is going to be a bruise. Students pause in the hallways, all staring at me with surprise, fear, or knowing. Some giggle too.

Something's up.

"I didn't do anything!" I protest, trying to yank my poor arm away. But he only tightens the grip, eyes cold and full of hate, rancid breath tickling my eyes.

"Shut up you incompetent stupid bitch."

I freeze—Never have I heard Mr. Singh swear. I've been scolded and handed detention countless times for doing just that.

Incompetent stupid bitch.

Anger coils itself in my stomach as my cheeks heat and my skin flushes. My eyes narrow at his wrist.

How easy it would break.

I blink.

I did not just think that.

I'm yanked around a corner before finally being shoved roughly into an office. The principal—Mrs. Elliot—sits behind a desk, hands clasped and a stern look on her face.

But my eyes shoot to the person sitting before the desk, with tear-stained cheeks and slightly blood shot eyes.

Ruby tucks a strand of raven black hair behind an ear, dark eyes taunting.

WHAT.

Her right eyelash is still slightly off.

"What's going on?" I mumble warily.

"Sh-she-she, forced me!" She cries. Mrs. Elliot turns eyes of pity on her, and hands her a tissue.

WHAT.

But my lips are frozen.

"It's okay, dear," Mrs. Elliot encourages. Ruby nods, blinking for a moment as she gathers herself.

Shit.

She even cries pretty!

"She's been hanging out with my friends a lot lately. She just sits there, at our table, and doesn't talk. Just sits there and eats and watches us with those cold eyes, judging us—which is fine, I guess. We pity her, you know?" I clench my fists. "And I may have complained a bit about my math work," she looks up at Mr. Singh, suddenly, and extraordinarily, blushes. "Not that I don't like it. It's just difficult, but I try. I try my best." She smiles sweetly, and Mr. Singh's eyes warm. 

My heart thunders. As if she can hear it, Ruby turns an eye towards me. "I-I caught her in the faculty lounge—on my way to class, I saw her sneak in. I think she may have been just so desperate to join us, to have friends, that she thought by cheating my grade, she would instantly just be everyone's best friend." Her face scrunches up in disgust.

At least that was true.

At least that was ugly.

"I—of course—immediately thought it was wrong, and begged her to stop. She threatened—threatened!—to hurt me if I told anyone. While at it, she upped her grade, too. I was so scared, and Sophia noticed me crying, and asked me what was wrong. So I told her. Everything. So Sophia went back to change my grade. I couldn't risk getting in trouble, and I felt bad for Barber. But I just...can't. The guilt caught up to me..." She whimpers, burying her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. Still elegant as ever.

Mrs. Elliot places a comforting hand on her spine, cooing. "I'm proud of you, Ms. Black. For speaking up, and doing the right thing." Ruby looks up at her, beaming. "And you should still be proud of your 68%."

WHAT.

"I'll see you later, alright?" She pats her arm.

"Thank you, Mrs. Elliot. For all you have done." She saunters out, and I notice the little glint in her eyes. She notices my staring and bares her teeth. My heart skips a beat, and the door slams shut.

I swallow, glancing to Mrs. Elliot—whose eyes are murderous.

"Take a seat, Ms. Barber."

☽

The Rose Field

"ICE!" I shriek. I throw myself at her, and we tumble into the blood drenched flowers. Ice only laughs maniacally as I pin her down, hands clenching her pale wrists.

"She's dead! She's dead! She's deeeaaddd!" She sings, letting out another round of laughter. Even years later with hardened words, her voice is beautiful.

I ignore the pile of meat and fabric out of the corner of my eye. I may have killed before, but Ice's way of killing is a whole new level of cruelty. I'm pulled back into my memories, seeing her in a dress of pastel flowers, face caked in makeup and chemicals staining her hair—shrieking and sobbing as over and over again she pummels his face with her fists—

There's a sound. I freeze, even as Snow arches her back, more laughter exploding out of her body. I leap to my feet, leaving her there in the crimson roses and crimson blood as I unsheathe one of my daggers and warily look towards the shrubs on the edge of the field.

☽

By The Rose Field

She is dead.

She is really dead.

Really, really dead.

As in grossly-mutated-and-severed-limbs-dead. Dead.

Sweet Quincent is dead.

Quincent Gray is dead.

My heart thunders. There is the sound of laughter, the sounds of arguing. I peer through the brambles, rubbing my sore elbow as I notice that only the murderer remains. The woman though, who had rode in a horse of what could only be described as magic and with golden hair that reached to just below her ear...

She is gone.

My only warning is the groan of a branch above and then I am tackled to the forest floor. The air leaves my lungs and I gasp as a hand is replaced by a boot on my chest.

The woman has the most beautiful eyes. The deepest blue, like the depths of a sparkling puddle and holding all different shades of blue.

"Who are you?" She growls. Even with anger and cruelty lacing it, the words sound like the chirps of birds.

"River," I croak, and my eyes go wide. I have never said it, never before. Never told it to anyone but the trees and the worn pages of my books.

Seeing my hesitancy, she increases the pressure of her boot.

"Andrew!" I gasp, as tears spill from the corners of my eyes. Even now, disgust creeps in.

I hate that horrendous name.

For I am more than that.

I know I am more than that.

"Who sent you?"

I blink.

What?

"Who. Sent. You?" She repeats, eyes cold. I watch, entranced, as the blue swirls.

Who sent you?

Who sent you?

Who sent you.

WHO SENT YOU?!?!

"Anna!" I cry.

Well, technically. She had sent me to retrieve my sister from the market, but I had thought I might take a break for an hour after working all day hauling shipments.

Besides, I know Norah is not at the market.

The woman stares at me, as if contemplating.

Who is this woman?

What is she doing here?

Where did she come from? For I know everyone is this damned Town, and I have never seen her before.

But something tells me that she is not from here. It could have been that she wore armour, that she came riding in on a magnificent glowing horse, that she held a weapon as if she knew exactly how to use it, or that she moved as silently and gracefully as a rabbit.

No, it was not any of that.

It was that she was wearing pants.

I have never seen a woman in my entire muted life wearing pants.

These pants—the variety I have never seen before, either. They are clearly high quality. Azure, bellowing out before being cinched by black and iron at the ankles and sucked into her terrifying, shiny buckled blue-black boots. The other woman–the murderer—had been wearing something similiar, but instead navy with gold bands and boots of the brightest red that matches the flowers before me.

She smirks, looking deeper into my eyes, as if she knows exactly what I am thinking. The smile widens even further, and she bares her crisp white teeth.

She removes her boot, and glorious air fills my lungs. I wheeze as she grabs the collar of my shirt and yanks me to my feet—stumbling as the blood rushes to my head.

"Please do not kill me!" I whimper. The woman chuckles, eyes warming.

I'm not going to—unless you give me a reason to, her eyes seem to convey with that liquid melody. Wait for a few days, and be ready to be contacted by us. If you tell anyone what you have seen today—be aware that there are fates far worse than death.

"What do you want?" I demand, heart thundering.

"I've just told you," she says with a wink as I realize that she had spoken.

She had spoken.

In.

My.

Head.

In.

My.

Head.

"You are a witch," I murmur. And then, the panic blasts.

"You are a witch." My eyes widen.

"You. Are. A. Witch." The breath leaves me. The woman looks slightly concerned.

She opens her mouth, "Well, not exactly—"

"WITCH!" I shriek, turning to run, only to twist and fall back onto the forest bed. Branches scratch my arms, and my bruised body groans in protest. My heart thunders and spreads, the blood in my body zooming throughout. Sweat beads on my forehead as my breaths become short and quick—

"GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU—" A hand clamps around my mouth. Tears stream down my cheeks as I claw at the hand, kicking my feet helplessly as I am scooped up.

The woman holds me from an arms length away.

"Quiet," she hisses. Quiet, quiet, quiet.

I stop, the only sound the pounding of my tired heart. Something tells me in her eyes that if I did not quiet, bad things would happen.

"Wait for a few days," she repeats. "And be ready to be contacted by us. And remember, don't tell anyone what you saw." She brushes back a stray hair, and warmth spreads through me. The pain and ache throughout my body evaporates with it.

She says, "Apologies."

Darkness.

☽

I slump down at the counter, massaging my forehead, and let out a sigh, sniffing as I wipe my eyes.

Ruby had betrayed me.

Jada had betrayed me.

You go ahead. I know how much you care about not being late to English.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"FUCK!" I silently cry out, more tears streaming down my cheeks as only a croak comes out of my throat. I stare at the mirror, and glare at my stupid reflection—who glares right back at me. I flip her off, and wipe my face with my sleeve.

When I'm sure I'm ready, I swipe the key and make my way out of the tiny, dingy bathroom. The scent of sugar permeates the air, and a popstar screams out his girlfriend problems to the world. It's empty—of course—but an old couple who sits by the window, feeding each other strawberry ice cream with tiny plastic spoons.

I drop the key on the table, thanking them before ordering myself a double scoop chocolate. Choosing a booth in the corner, I take my time, enjoying the little marshmallow and oreo toppings, the caramel sticking to my teeth.

What am I going to do?

I can't go home.

A woman saunters in, a cheery bell chiming to announce her arrival.

I'm suspended for two weeks, with detention every week for the rest of the year, and next year—for about three or four months. ("At that time, we will conduct an examination of your present...state in order to determine as fit," Mrs. Elliot had purred.) Summer school, too—of course.

She's stunning, with light brown skin and eyes like big, shiny pennies, hair cropped closely to her scalp—pixie cut, sharp cheekbones and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks that remind me of stars, and wearing an airy pink dress with finely detailed gold patterns that glitter even in the harsh fluorescent lighting.

My parents will literally flay me alive. For who would believe? The pretty girl who was only trying to do the right thing—or the girl with the piercings and thick eyeliner and lipstick who fails in every class but English? The girl who burst into tears—or the girl who just glared and snarled with her arms crossed?

The perfect; The wannabe.

But her shoes are practical, plain white with gold finishes. They actually look really comfy.

The girl who all the students adore—or the girl who's cast away every friend she's ever had?

The woman waits at the counter, humming a soft tune that almost seems to elevate the lyrics of the cheesy song playing from the crackling speakers. She taps her nails on the counter—which I notice are picked to uneven stumps and slashed with little cuts and scabs.

First Rita, now Jada. My life is a broken path of betrayal and lies. Pain throbs in my chest as I hold in a sob.

The woman glances at me, as if noticing my pain, but turns back to the counter as she says something to the owner that I can't hear. He only nods, walking off through a back door as she follows. My eyebrows scrunch together in curiosity.

I gotta do something. I can't just sit around and mope over ice cream—however delicious. I press my lips together, before getting up and abandoning it—-practically running out the door.

I am going to fix this!

☽

General Cinderella's Office, The Paltom

"Describe her, again, for me."

"Red hair—wild curls. Pale skin. Lots of freckles."

"And her eyes?"

"Amber. Cold. Intelligent...Judgemental." A snort.

"What was she wearing?"

"Thick lipstick and eyeliner. A nose piercing. Dark hoodie. Appeared as if she had just been crying."

"Where?"

"Outside of Hozaeh's." A pause as I contemplate. Briar stands before me, copper eyes full of hope.

"Are you sure?" I ask, thumbing my dagger.

"Yes," she says breathlessly. "It was almost begging to be heard." My lips twitch. "She has Tiana's eyes—and Archie's skin—and Ice's curls—and Mu's intelligence—and her bravery..." A low growl comes out of my throat, and I snarl.

"I know, I know," Briar admits, her delicate face pinched. I press my lips together, still not allowing myself to hope.

"Remember, she must come of her own volition."

"I know." A moment of silence.

"Ice is going to be furious..."

"I know." A wink.

☽

By The Rose Field

I gasp as I sit up—and cry out when I bang my head on the tree trunk. Warmth blooms there, and I feel the small trickle of blood.

Had that all been a dream?

Wait for a few days, she had said. And be ready to be contacted by us.

And remember, don't tell anyone what you saw.

Don't tell anyone what you saw.

Don't tell anyone.

Don't tell.

Don't tell.

The words ring—over and over again in my throbbing head.

Don't tell.

A small flicker of hope races through me. Maybe I had really fallen from the tree—only to hit my head and dream this befuddlement up...

I jump to my feet—careful not to hit my head again—and race to The Rose Field.

Only to find...nothing.

Everything seems normal.

Everything. Seems. Normal.

Absolutely N-O-R-M-I-L.

Wait...

Hold on.

N-O-R...

That's easy enough.

Then, M-I..?

No.

A!

N-O-R-M-A-L.

There we go.

I despise that word and its overuse.

The beautiful roses. The spring scented breeze. The fluffy clouds above.

I examine the roses, unsure. There was no body, but it must have been my imagination when I scented a hint of rust on that breeze. To insure my sanity, I peer closer towards where I had smelled it. Pushing through the flowers, I brush them back from a spot—

Blood.

So much.

Soaking into the ground...

Coating the thorns of the roses...

Sticking to the patches of grass...

It had not been my imagination.

And remember, don't tell anyone what you saw.

I swallow.

☽

The Human Market

To my stupefaction, all of my bruises and scrapes are gone—even the ones I had gained from helping James.

To keep Anna satisfied, I proceed to the Market. It is bustling today, with more than half The Town. Stands carved from wood and scraps of linen stand tall, displaying their wares with pride:

Fruit plucked from the trees by the Farmers.

Meat sent by the King.

Brown and beige fabrics scavenged from the sheep by the Courtiers.

And Anna's baked goods, made in her own home. Muffins. Cakes. Loaves. Scones. All gleaming with salt and clumps of day-old butter. Norah currently slumps behind the wares, left cheek cupped in her hand, her eyes half closed. I pick up a pebble from the ground—toss it once, twice—in the air, before chucking it towards her. She squeals as it hits her right in the forehead—right where I had aimed—and leaps to her feet. She picks up a muffin, clutching it in her hand as she scans the area for the perpetrator. I laugh, clutching my stomach as she notices me and chucks. Catching it, I take a bite, enjoying the tangy wildberries inside as they pop in my mouth. Norah grunts as I trudge over with a knowing smile and ruffle her wispy wheat-coloured hair.

"Mother asked me to retrieve you," I say as I finish my muffin and peer up at the sky, blinking at the shine of the Father as it nears the End.

"Hmph. Who is it today?" She sighs, burying her eyes in the heels of her hand.

"Lexter."

"Nooo!" She moans. "I'm NOT going! I'm going to lock myself in the attic and dance the dance of witches and summon our ancestors and beg them to fly me far, far away!" A couple of people strolling through the walkway pause, staring at us.

"Norah," I hiss under my breath. "You know I hate it here, too, but not so loud, alright? We do not need people accusing you of being a...you know..." As if I had not been talking to one today...

Who am I to reprimand her?

"I know, Andy. I know," she replies, running her hands through the tangles of her hair. My heart twangs at her world, but when she peers up at me with her big green eyes, it immediately softens.

"Come on. Let us close up." I help her fill the baskets with the remaining goods of the day, then trudge home beside her.

"What took you so long?" Anna snaps as the door shuts behind us. "Lexter is going to be here in 10 minutes!" She notices Norah as she unloads the baskets. She grabs her face, gripping her chin as she forces her to look at her.

"What is this?" She demands. Norah glares at me, the angry vermillion welt on her forehead more pronounced with the crinkle in her skin. I wince.

"You did this?" She accuses me.

I back away, putting my hands up. "Mother, I was only playi—"

She slaps me.

I cry out as pain blooms and blossoms on my cheek.

She grabs me by the ear as she yanks me down to her short form.

"How dare you! I have had five suitors over the past month—not one will marry Norah! And now, you have also practically ruined her chance with Leo....Lester when he sees this...this imperfection on her face! He will think her wild!" She squeezes my ear harder, and Norah peers at us from the kitchen with concern as she clutches the molding of the door, knuckles icy.

Anna glares at me for a moment, and fear buds deep in my stomach.

Can she see the truth there?

Surely she can...

Fear and anxiety—red and hot—flares, and I worry she might call in James to do more, but instead orders me to go and complete my work.

I trudge back outside, casting one more glance behind me at Norah—who is being led upstairs by Anna with a little more force than must surely be necessary.

And my heart breaks a little more.