Chapter Four

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Word Count: 1022 words
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Lark stands and makes his way out the door with a nod. While I would have thought that he'd be angry about it, or tense, he appears totally at odds with that assumption. If anything, he seems happier that he's not going.

     I want to ask him what he's happy about, but from spending time with Tam, I know that it's probably best that I don't ask.

     Flash watches him leave, and I don't miss her eyes track every movement he makes.

     In fact, my eyes narrow in response to his body language.

     I make sure to remember to talk him the next time I can. 

     "Miss Foster?"

     I jump at the sound of my last name, and I can see Flash scrunch her face in misunderstanding, her emotions becoming a puzzle on her face.

     I can also see the moment realisation settles in, and she turns to me. "Foster? As in... as in Sophie Foster? The Moonlark?" Even just her voice conveys her skepticism.

     I hesitate again, but nod eventually. Her jaw drops open, and she glances back and forth from Mr. Forkle to me.

     Finally, when she's looking at me again, she whispers, "but we all thought you were dead?"

     "Dead!?" I can hear the shock in my own voice, and then it fades to anger as my own understanding begins.

     If Flash thinks that I was dead, and the rest of the Black Swan does, then that means that they probably told the Council, who made the announcement public, meaning that my friends...

     "Does everyone else think that?" I demand, jumping up and slamming my fist on the desk.

     My outburst causes an echo of flinches and nervous glances, but I'm only focused on Mr. Forkle.

     "Sophie... it's been so hard for us–" Squall begins, but I cut her off with a glare. I'm only interested in what the old, wrinkled man in front of me has to say.

     The sun has officially set, and I notice that the vines have begun to glow. Some have fruits that glow pinks and blues, while others have their vein's glowing a lighter green. If I wasn't so angry, the change in lighting probably would have been beautiful.

     Linh would have liked it.

     Keefe probably would have liked to draw it.

     "Tell – me – Forkle," I draw out, punctuating every word with a quick pause in between. It doesn't have quite the effect that I would like, but I guess Mr. Forkle is just use to my outbursts.

     "Miss Foster, it was the only way to keep people from looking for you," he explains, and with th admission comes a wave of nausea.

     "HOW DO YOU THINK THEY'LL REACT WHEN I RETURN – ALIVE?" My voice has risen to a loud shout, and I just hope that the walls are sound-proof.

     When Mr. Forkle and I were outside, we heard nothing from the inside, so I'm sure they are. I'm counting on it.

    "Sophie, please. Listen." He holds out his hands, like how people do in human movies when they surrender.

     I do listen, but I stand to pace, and I can feel the weight of everyone's nervous gazes on me as I move. I can feel the energy around me crackling, and I an suddenly aware of just how out-of-control I feel. Even before I was trained, I didn't have outbursts of angry energy unless I told myself to.

     This reaction is new, but I can't stop it.

     I just hope that it doesn't harm anyone in the room – but a good shock of pain for my creator might be some sweet form of revenge.

     I regret the thought as soon as it's finished.

     Mr. Forkle continued to explain his thought process for the rumour of my death: how it would have helped people to forget about me, rather than keep people looking for me; how it would settle people instead of letting them think that even the Moonlark had retreated.

     "But what about my friends. My parents–" I slam my mouth shut as soon as the thought of Edaline and Grady filters through.

     They'd lost one daughter before – Jolie – and it had sent them into a deep spiral of depression. What would they have thought of their adoptive daughter dying, too. They must have felt so... hopeless.

     I stop straight in my tracks, turning to turning to face Mr. Forkle. "What would my teachers think of me returning to school after having been dead for the past six months. How do you think the Council would react to their source of information and their leader returning after being dead. Who had replaced my job as leader of Team Valiant?

     Who did I owe everything to now?

     "Look. We don't have enough time to argue about this, Sophie. I'll explain whatever I can as I walk you back to your room." Mr. Forkle turns his attention to Flash. "And I expect you not to repeat a single word you heard in this meeting, alright? Not to anyone."

     He waits for her to nod before continuing.

     "Very well. You may both head to your rooms and start packing. Flash, your uniform will be brought to your room. School starts tomorrow."

     Then there are strong but gentle hands on my shoulders as Granite takes hold of me and pushes me out of the door quietly, leading me back to my room.

     He's always been gentle with me, though I assume it's because I was the thing that Prentice was protecting. People are always gentle with me because they need me or I was important to someone else.

     It's getting boring.

     "Trust me, Sophie, I was entirely against the idea. I know that you would rather have them think that you were afraid than have them think that you were dead. But, just in case, no one's mind has broken from any guilt. Not any that I know, at least. You'll have to ask Bronte."

     And with that, he drops my limbs and allows me into my room quietly, his face a warm contrast against the stone casing around the rest of his body.


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Author's note: 'Hello! Sorry to anyone who was waiting for a chapter yesterday; I was busy and am already losing motivation/ creativity/ ideas. Anyway, Chapter five is coming out later tonight so yippe! Can't think of anything else to say.'

     - Riezie c:

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