"None of it ever goes away." — (From Ghosts Of The Past)
Rowan
My father came back home with that usual sadistic gleam in his eyes, which was even more than normal. I knew something was wrong before he even told me. "Rowan", he said in his dark, deep, gravelly voice. "Get in the car, I have something to show you". Eleven-year-old me didn't really grasp what my father wanted me to do or watch. I just thought he wanted to finally spend some time with me, and we could bond. I got into the back seat of the car, and he entered the front. He started the car, and the engine roared to life as he started driving. I didn't know where I was going, so I decided to just go with the flow. I started getting nervous when my father's car approached an abandoned apartment building in the dark, starry night. "Dad, where are we?" I asked innocently. "You'll see, son, then you'll understand what you must take over when you've come of age". I thought he wanted to show me some tips and tricks like I've been asking. I never knew that it'd be something that'll haunt me forever.
I got out of the car with wobbly legs and a feeling of dread curdling deep in my stomach as I followed my dad with a heavy heart. I watched as he conversed discreetly with giant men. I watched as he pointed and talked in rapid-fire Latin to the men. After what felt like eternity, he finally said, "Follow me". I noticed his voice changed to something more dark, but I waved it off as nothing until we got to a secluded room down the hall. "Dad? What are we doing here?" He didn't deign to give me an answer. He finally opened the door, and I saw a girl, tied up, with dried tears on her cheeks, bloated red eyes probably from crying, onyx black hair, a petite body, and she looked like a 9-year-old.
I watched as my father stalked towards the girl with a predatory gleam in his eyes and started whispering words in her ear that made her complexion go ghostly pale. I watched, petrified, as my dad did all this to a 9-year-old. I watched and did nothing, not even to shout 'stop' or hold his hands. No, I stood there astonished that this was what my father did daily and what he expected me to take over once he could no longer do to. I couldn't stomach doing that and wanted to throw up immediately; the thought sprang up in my medulla. I watched as the man I called my father, the one I admired, started unbuckling his belt buckle to whip this girl black and blue. I watched as he tied the girl forcefully to the bed and whipped her until I thought she was dead. I watched as the image of my father slowly shattered and saw what was underneath the 12 am meetings, the all black suits, everything, it shattered completely.
The girl's eyes met mine, and I flinched as I saw the hatred in them, the 'why didn't I do anything', the revenge in her eyes as she looked at my father and me. That was when it dawned on me that whoever this girl was, she would make me and my whole family suffer slowly but surely. My dad finally finished his ministrations and walked out of the room, and I followed, but not before noticing that the girl had fainted. "Dad? Is she going to get medical help?" I asked. "No, son, she isn't," he replied. That was when I fully understood the level of my dad's cruelty was beyond my comprehension.
I entered the car, my eyes wide from what I just witnessed. The car was silent for an hour or so, then my dad said, "You see, son, this is my legacy, what you have to continue". I felt like throwing up when he said that. I didn't deign him a reply until after 20 minutes, when I asked, "Dad, who is that girl?" "Lyra Wren," my dad said. That name and the memory of what happened still haunt me till today.
I woke drenched in sweat with sheets clinging to me. My body stayed locked in nocturnal hyperarousal, convinced I was eleven. I scanned the room with uneven breaths. Then it clicked—I wasn't eleven anymore. I was at Blackstone Academy, about to start my first day. With shaky legs and fingers, I made my bed and showered quickly. I paused to admire my school uniform—a tailored onyx-black blazer, heavy and stiff on my shoulders. The Blackstone crest is stitched over the left breast. The raven, the sword, the cracked shield: a warning masked as tradition.
Underneath, a crisp white dress shirt, starched stiff enough to scrape against my skin. A black tie, narrow and matte, worn straight down the center of the chest. Black tailored trousers, pressed clean, falling straight to polished black leather loafers. I look at myself in the mirror and watch in awe as the boy who woke up drenched in sweat transforms into a man carrying ghosts on his chest. I tie my long, ink-black hair with white streaks with a plain black elastic band. I wear my semi-rimless browline glasses, grab my backpack, and head out of my room to start my first day.
Fifteen minutes later, I was navigating my way through this palace of a school when I locked eyes with the rarest color of green I had ever seen. Moss stone green eyes mixed with Malachite green. It gave her an almost unearthly look. On one hand, her moss stone green was a green that belonged to forests, not people. On the other hand, her malachite green was a green so dark it looked black until the light caught it. Those eyes didn't belong to someone harmless, that's for sure. Eyes that looked like it learned to watch before they trusted. Eyes that remembered. She was wearing the same glasses he was. Her hair, knee-length onyx-black hair, cut with bangs. It is so dark that it contrasts sharply with her caramel skin. She looked about 5'2", but there was something dangerous about her demeanor that made me want to stay away from her, while at the same time run to her.
As I looked closely at her, I saw a flash of Lyra. If she had the opportunity to grow, it would be her. But no, Lyra was dead; no one saved her that night. I quickly buried that thought deep within my mind. This wasn't Lyra. If I had to take a guess, it's the new student who just arrived today- Vesper Hale. Vesper Hale is terrifyingly beautiful. Her beauty didn't comfort. It assessed. Her beauty came with an edge I couldn't name. The longer I looked, the more wrong it felt. Something about her made me feel uneasy, even as I stared. She is beautiful, the way a blade is. A beauty that felt deliberate. I allowed myself the liberty to shiver a bit as I looked at her.
Vesper Hale isn't just the average student at Blackstone Academy. She looked like she had her whole life planned out before she came here. She screams 'danger, run away' and I would- I would run, far, far, far away before she would ever ensnare me.