The Bane of Light

Breakfast and Study Dates

"Isn't all that rage so ugly? And isn't it mine, still? Good god, isn't it mine?"- Ashe Vernon, "Buried", Not A Girl

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I cried for a while in my bathroom. I didn't know what brought about the influx of tears, but I found myself unable to stop, the tears flooding in wave after wave. I sat on the tile of my bathroom floor, the cold biting into my exposed knees, as I uncontrollably sobbed over a phantom grief that I had no reason in mourning. At least I had stopped throwing up when remembering that Paris had been in my bed. Or at least my body stopped attempting to throw up—my empty stomach failing to cooperate with it's wishes to purge the filth from my system.

Maybe it was my body reacting to the magical toxins in his skin, the same ones that seeped into mine during our skin-to-skin contact during the night. Or maybe it was simply my own paranoia, my nervous system panicking in an emotional level. I didn't know. My stomach contracted painfully at the thought. I made note to inform the Venti that I needed new bedding.

My shadows were heavy and sluggish, exhausted alongside me because of my mood. They had told Paris to leave my room earlier, upon the premise that we would meet up later at breakfast. They told him I did not want others seeing us leaving my room at the same time. Realistically, it would not matter either way, seeing that everyone already thought we were together, but idea made me nervous. I didn't care to entertain such thoughts. Nor was I ready to be alone with him again.

With sleepy, heavy eyes, itchy and swollen as if stuffed with scratchy wool, I charmed several glamours onto my face. It took me several moments to remember the equations that Bunny used for her own glamours to make them so unnoticeable. They were considerably complex formulas, and took several attempts to properly recreate.

I really did discredit my sisters intelligence, just because she wasted her magic on such vain things. Correction. Because she utilized her magic on such ornate, artistic things.  I struggled to remind myself that her using her magic on beauty was not wasting it, she was just using it in a different way. Us not valuing the same things, did not make it any less important. My internalized misogyny often revealed itself through such intrusive thoughts.

I sighed, applying the glamour and weaving it into my skin. A faint, golden shimmer radiated on my skin as the magic webbed itself on in a netting pattern. I would have used makeup, if I did not despise the feel of it on my skin. It made me feel grimey, unable to touch my face without spreading the contamination to the rest of my body.

I was envious of the girls who could wear makeup so confidently and unapologetically, whereas I was mortified that somebody would see me wearing it, and find that I was insecure enough to try to conceal my shortcomings. Of course I did not like myself, but others had no business knowing this.

It was like that saying: violent waves of the sea couldn't sink the ship, no matter how hard the waves beat against its sides, unless the water got inside first. I didn't need others realizing they had the ability to sink me, their words having leaked in ages ago. I was filling up with water, and crying was the only way I could stop myself from drowning.

After a several minute long pep talk in the mirror, my uncertainty affronted by both my shadows and myself, I finally found the courage to leave the bathroom and drag myself down to the dining hall. I tried to slip in unnoticed of course, sneaking in between the ajar double doors like a snake, but the sly eyes of the twins did not miss my stealthy appearance. It seems as though they did not miss Paris' absence either, and looked around me to see where he was. Their molten eyes narrowed when he didn't magically materialize by my side, his absence deemed peculiar by their standards.