A chorus of noise reverberated within the cafeteria, the tones of different languages blending together into a meringue of pure, unintelligible sound. His body felt heavy in the reprise between chemistry and literature lessons, and the mess of people surrounding him did nothing to encourage him to wake from his sluggish state.
âCoffee is the silver lining of France.â Artem mumbled, rubbing his eyes soon after placing his tray of vegetables and grains on the table â a contrast to Nadiaâs generous slice of pizza and pile of berries, and he continued to marvel over how the girl could stomach the greasy abomination. School cafeteriaâs never mastered comfort food, yet the girl sitting across from him bit into the triangle of overbaked and nearly brunt cheese without a problem. âThough for you, Iâm sure you prefer early onset diabetes.â The remark earned him a swift kick to the shin and a lopsided smirk, and he chuckled softly before drinking his coffee (the staff brewed it strong, just as he liked it, and he sweetened it with a hypocritical amount of creamer).
âAs if youâre any â â Her retort seemed to dissolve into nothing, her lips parted on the final word, one she never spoke (though he could assume well enough) and frowning he bit into one of the few things the cafeteria got right: freshly baked bread. Indifferent to drawing attention to himself Artem turned his head to follow Nadiaâs gaze, and his focus fell onto a certain duo that was all too famous around the school, or infamous, depending on the context or people asked. The schoolâs resident Sleeping Beauty and Snow White naturally drew attention, and by the scowl which practically blossomed across Nadiaâs lips he figured something happened between lectures for the girls to ruffle Maid Marianâs feathers (not that it took much, even a nasty look could ignite a vengeful rage in his friend).
He shook his head in response, but didnât bother turning away; after all, he thrived on chaos and was never bothered by the yapping of tiny princesses. âYou think Gabrielle has met the evil step-sister yet?â They were in ear-shot now, but he didnât attempt to lower his voice, keeping his tone level and calm as he simply aired his thoughts to Nadia and sipped on his coffee. Nadia hardly flinched, and he thought the two of them must look like a pair of predators, cornered in their little piece of territory with their eyes sharp, and vigilant.
It never gets easier.Cecileâs words rose into his mind throughout classes, disrupting the flow of concentration he had attempted to maintain, and instead of coasting through the first day of school he found himself walking to the cafeteria with his shoulders slumped and heavy with the weight of anxiety.
It never gets easier. Could he really settle into the role of Cinderella? The woman seemed so distant to who he was now, her heart purer than his own; she had been patient and gentle with even those that tormented her, and he had tainted his heart with isolation and cowardice. He could hardly connect himself to his past lives, yet in this school he was expected to play the part, to introduce himself as Claude, the reincarnation of Cinderella, and to continue dressing as a girl â continue living as a girl, with his hair long and eyelashes curled, and no one the wiser.
That weight grew and his shadow clung to his ankles, as if dragging him down and making it difficult to even lift one leg and put it in front of the other. Claude inhaled slowly outside of the cafeteria doors and rubbed his palms to soothe the frayed nerves. Cecile was nice enough, and she had given him plenty of kindness and advice, and the idea of pursuing the gardening club sparked a sliver of excitement within him. At least he could return to a former comfort here if nothing else, and he debated on fleeing from the crowds to discover this hidden garden and those that tend to it, but he did not know the building or property well enough and would most likely become lost in the maze of porcelain and roses.
It was almost too much â
People everywhere, laughing and eating â
They reminded him of tropical birds, flocking to their friends and singing in different tones, in different colors.
He smoothed down his skirt and lingered at the doorway, his stomach weak and empty and no longer craving any food, and the sourness gathering at the back of his throat told him that if he did eat, he may just throw it up. When he breathed the air felt hot and humid, and he searched the crowd for someone â
anyone â that could help him navigate this mess, but the girl with snow white hair was with another, and he couldnât pick out Cecile among the packs of uniformed students.
It was true, he was too sick to fly away from home.
Was running from his step-motherâs grasp worth leaving the protective walls of his fatherâs estate?
Claude bit his lip and prayed it was, even with the feeling of being smothered overwhelming him, and the noise of students drowning out his thoughts. He focuses on their faces and found a classmate he recognized, a boy of orderly appearance and dark hair. Wasnât his name Olivier? Claude hesitated for a moment, wavering between the hallway and the cafeteria, but the memory of seeing the boy speaking with Anneliese gave him the strength to walk forward. If Snow White had such a friendly demeanor and shining reputation, then shouldnât her friends be just as amiable and kind? He smothered his worry before he could flee and he approached the other boy, and once he was close enough he spoke â forcing his voice above a whisper, and keeping himself at an armâs length away.
âExcuse me â â He paused and stood awkwardly next to the taller boy, and he felt for a moment thankful for his long hair, for it felt like a shield or blanket that separated him from the rest of the world. ââŠIâm in one of your classes...umâŠ.â At a loss Claude shifted uncomfortably, feeling the pangs of regret bang against his rib cage, the temptation to run strong, yet his legs remained still with his feet firmly planted on the ground. âIâm ClaudeâŠLevĂȘque. Iâm kind ofâŠlost? I wanted to find the schoolâs garden before class resumed butâŠthere arenât any maps.â His explanation felt like it was twisting off of his tongue in uneven, confused strings of consciousness, and he clasped his hands behind his back, hoping that the boy was kind enough to point him in the right direction and not ruin his lifelike the Beauchene character that Cecile warned him of.
There was numbness lingering at his fingertips, as if ribbon had been curled around his limbs, becoming slack and wrinkled as he floated to the surface of his subconscious and broke through the barrier between dream and reality.
His lungs filled with oxygen, the cool air lulling him from the spellâs soft hold, and once the serenity of sleep waned from the cold sheets and sterile smell his heart pounded within his chest, and he shed sleep off in a violent jerk. Sitting upright, with his hair tousled and eyes wild, Zhihao woke in the infirmary with nausea taking control of his stomach and pain permeating throughout his body â like growing pangs, dull thuds resounded within his bones and joints in an almost rhythmic fashion.
What had happened? He tore his gaze from the posters advocating for flu shots and healthy practices and looked to the woman sitting beside his bed, her hands occupied with a foreign book and fingers decorated with delicate gold rings.
The rise and falling of his chest relaxed, and the woman said nothing as he pieced together the puzzle. Around her forearms were runes tattooed in white ink, and for a seasoned witch she seemed to nestle herself comfortably into a dated stereotype, however perhaps that was the purpose of the eyeliner and the amethyst hanging around her neck â venomous snakes wore yellows and blues proudly to warn their prey, and sitting quietly she seemed just as deadly as a sleeping viper.
ââŠWhy?â Zhihao finally asked, examining the threads in the sheets before grasping the material in his fists. He thought he would find fury in this moment, but when his life was predetermined all he could feel is overwhelming disappointment, as if he could do nothing more than helplessly surrender to fate. âI didnât say a word to you. I havenât even
seen you before.â He continued to challenge the logic in the curse, because it was nothing like the cause and effect from his history. Always had he warranted the backlash, yet this time he simply walked into a trap.
The witch didnât look up from her book and he ran the pads of his fingertips across his hands, feeling his now dry skin and wondering when his body would become disfigured into that of a beastsâ. âI know you cursed me. I swear, I can feel the magic running through my veins. So, why do I still look human?â A thread of hope presented itself to him, but he only barely tugged on it, not wanting to be swept away before facing the ugly truth. He heard the book close and the woman stand from her spot, and he looked up at her, waiting for a response, staring at her pensive expression with his own sullen visage.
âSomething went wrong.â
Her voice was like a pin dropping, echoing in his mind and squeezing onto his heart.
Something went wrong. He tore the sheets off of himself as she walked to the doorway, but he didnât follow her,because even if he had spent all this time running from destiny he at least
knew that once the act was done the witch would never undo the spell â only he was capable of that. âYou should take care of the rose. Itâs beginning to wilt.â There was something regretful in her voice, but Zhihao didnât question it, and he looked to glass case sitting on the end table, how it protected the red rose inside, the petals already browning at the edges. His body went cold, and he stayed silent as the witch left the infirmary, didnât flinch as he heard her heels click against the hallway floor â he could only sit and stare at the rose, staring at how his destiny manifested before his eyes.