– Thorns in the Flock
Elara hated mornings, but she hated them more when Vivienne Blackthorn was around.
The day had barely begun, the air still crisp with dew clinging to the schoolyard grass, when Vivienne's voice sliced through the chatter of students like a polished knife.
"Well, if it isn't our resident librarian."
Elara froze, clutching her books tighter against her chest. Vivienne stood by the lockers, surrounded by her glittering court—girls with perfect curls, glossy nails, and eyes that never stopped scanning for the next victim. Vivienne herself was almost too flawless, her dark hair cascading like a waterfall, her lips painted the kind of red that screamed both elegance and danger.
She didn't need to try to command attention; it followed her like bees to honey.
Elara adjusted her glasses, trying to slip past without a word.
But Vivienne stepped right into her path, tilting her head, smile sharp as a thorn.
"Careful," she said, her voice dripping honey but edged with venom. "You'll trip over all those books you pretend to actually read."
Mila, ever dramatic, swooped to Elara's side like a knight with glitter armor. "Excuse you, Vivienne. Some people care about knowledge. Not everyone's life goal is to marry a football player."
Vivienne's smile didn't falter. "Some of us don't need to study like our lives depend on it. We're born to shine." She flicked her gaze up and down Elara, lingering just long enough to make the moment sting. "And some of us…" she gestured vaguely at Elara's oversized sweater, "…well, maybe books are the only things that will ever love us."
Jonas's muffin froze halfway to his mouth. Sierra cracked her knuckles like she was daring Vivienne to try her luck, but Elara shook her head slightly. Fighting back would only make it worse.
Vivienne's posse snickered, and just like that, she swept past, perfume trailing behind her like a flag of victory.
---
Elara slid into her seat, trying to block out the burn of humiliation. Vivienne sat at the front, angled perfectly so the sunlight through the window haloed her like some cruel saint.
When Mr. Harris called for volunteers to answer a question, Vivienne's hand shot up. She didn't even look at the board—she didn't need to. Confidence was her weapon.
"Elara," Mr. Harris said suddenly, pulling her name from the seating chart.
Her stomach sank. She stammered out the right answer, cheeks hot, eyes down.
"Barely audible," Vivienne whispered loudly enough for half the class to hear. "Do you need a microphone, Rivers?"
Snickers echoed. Elara's pen pressed so hard against the page it almost snapped.
---
Cafeteria chaos. Jonas balanced a tray stacked higher than the Great Wall of China. Mila debated whether to break into a Shakespearean monologue about soggy fries. Sierra had already picked a fight with the vending machine.
For a moment, Elara almost forgot the sting of the morning. Until Vivienne appeared again.
She glided past their table, pausing just long enough to 'accidentally' knock one of Elara's books to the floor. Pages fanned open like wounded wings.
"Oh," Vivienne cooed. "Was that important? Oops."
The cafeteria laughed in patches, not because it was funny but because Vivienne demanded an audience.
Elara bent to pick up the book, fingers trembling, and for just a heartbeat—just a flicker—she thought she heard it again. That strange voice, low and protective, curling inside her like smoke:
Don't bow your head to her.
She jolted upright, clutching her book to her chest. The cafeteria seemed louder than before, the laughter sharper, Vivienne's smirk more poisonous. But beneath it all, the whisper lingered, vibrating through her bones.
And for the first time, Elara wondered if something inside her was… awakening.
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