Alburn

His arm felt numb from the pain, and a small voice whispered in his ears, telling him to go outside, but he couldn't guarantee a safe outcome to that approach. With his right hand still in use, he left the hospital and made his way towards the institute's dormitories they were assigned, ones he was never found in. His eyes strained and it became difficult to focus. He felt the winter's cold embrace, which pained his shoulder even more.

His only concern was if the Dean had remembered their agreement before he disappeared for a month. If he indeed forgot, he would have to spend a night in the cold and quite possibly die of the frost if not of the blood he had lost.

He wandered endlessly on the irregular grasslands of the institute, he regretted the countless glasses of alcohol he had that evening, which made his stomach churn at just the thought. His breath struggled, it was a struggle to carry himself this distance. He felt the numbing of his brain, his heartbeat slowed in the freezing cold, the effects of winter he had never before endured.

He found himself at a door, which door? he didn't know. He only wanted the warmth of its walls and a roof. Thinking of going back to the hospital but he didn't have the energy to entertain that thought anymore.

"Open the door," he mumbled as he banged on the large doors of the castle doorway. His pleas became more and more desperate with the moment. "Open the door" he shouted again, his only working arm numbed to the constant banging against the icy metallic gate. He sprawled down the door, his coat wet from below, working against him. His vision blurred and his breath slowed. With a sigh of exasperation, he felt his head thump against the cold flooring, his eyes drowned in sleep.

In a memory-like dream, his life dawned on him, a vivid picture of his House by the forest, the willow tree that thrived in the sunshine and withered away its weight in the winter. By which he would play along with Iris as a child. And as he grew older, it became a witness to his countless wrongdoings. His room, his own room, where he spent his childhood. He hated his room. He could never sleep in his room. He had been terrorised by shadowy figures in his sleep but was never haunted when he slept on the floor in the grand hall. His dormitory room, where he would spend his first year without hesitation, but it was around the second year he decided to live in the dilapidated houses of the city. His Mother's old soft hands and her voice crowing at the maids. But it was like all these memories were pushed away when he saw her.

He saw the girl from the hospital strolling down to the main gate before she noticed his lifeless body against the door. She held her heavy coat in her hand despite the cold. His eyes struggled to stay open, the only thing he remembered before he went numb was her.

Her careful step, Her watchful gaze, pity in her eyes. Her look of contempt and silent heartsickness. Her lips twisted to mirror her unspoken words before she bent down and spread her heavy coat on him like a mother putting a child to bed. Her hands brushed against his skin, the warmth seeping into his body and giving him protection like fire was for a lost traveller in the woods. His eyes lazily looked back up at her, and it was as though he couldn't bear to look away. He took in every moment, every second of her presence. His heart rushed from the feeling. He wanted nothing more but that feeling of warmth again, but as soon as that thought was etched into his mind, he had fallen sound asleep.

...

"Nicholas?"

"Nicholas get up!" The Dean asked of him.

It was still the dead of night before he was awoken, his arm hurt from Mr. Gus shaking his shoulder with great force. His eyes unfocused and his breath hurried. He had seemed like he had awoken from a bad dream.

"Mr Nicholas, what are ya doin' here?" Mr Gus inquired, behind him stood Mr Charles, his glasses gleamed in the moonlight, his face staged a fake look of concern.

Nicholas was still covered in that heavy coat up to his eyes, keeping him warm up to his head. A strong musk of flowers and nature rubbed against him, orchids or lavender? He couldn't tell. He sat carefully, making an effort to appear as sober as he could before his Professor.

"Ah! Mr. Gus, I called on you several times--" Nicholas's drunken state was etched into each word he spoke.

"What happened, dear boy?" Mr Gus asked in genuine worry. His ginger brows raised in such confusion and his lips pursed.

"Oh I was about with some friends and I was told my father was at the gates, but once I reached outside, The doors were closed earlier than expected," Nicholas had made a habit of lying through his teeth but this was by far the worst lie he had told. He faced the silence of both the professor and dean. His confidence seemed immovable though.

"So you were told by someone that your father, who usually doesn't come by you that often unless called about your fusses, had come again, after your month-long absence, and then the doors magically locked leaving you in a drunken state with nothing but a dirty woman's coat?" The Professor pointed out. A single white hair shone in his beard, which was a surprise considering he would dye his entire beard with a colour so dark, that he would look like the showman of a circus. With the usual look of disgust on the professor's face, Nicholas had known he wasn't quite a fan of his, but he had held a special grudge against Nicholas and didn't stifle the urge to pick on him in any given situation.

"Precisely," Nicholas looked him in the eye and said.

"Ah ya Charles, look at the boy! Don't you be doubting him!" Mr. Gus scolded the Professor, but he simply stared at him with his shallow cold eyes.

"My boy! I told ya not to hang aroun' that lot!" Mr. Gus was convinced, and that was all Nicholas wanted.

"Mr. Gus I'd like to be taken to my room please, My head would likely fall off in this cold" Nicholas pleaded. He held his head in great distress to exemplify his pain.

Mr. Gus bent on his knees, taking the coat gently in his hands but Nicholas clutched it tightly, his hands warmed under the coat and he couldn't let go. Mr Gus didn't push any further, he instead pulled on his arm, sending bolts of lightning pain towards his heart. Nicholas muted a blood-curdling scream and pushed down the urge to whack down the fluffy aged man before him.

"You b-" he stifled.

He felt his newly stitched-up wound release. His only appropriate response was a sigh that went unnoticed by the Dean. Nicholas held the girls coat close to his heart, making sure his bloodied shirt didn't get noticed by the Dean or the Professor.

"Dear Boy, what has happened to yer' finger?" The professor questioned in his dull voice as he pointed to his blackened thumb.

"A dog bit me," he replied simply, implying no further need for conversation.

Mr. Gus was lenient though. He started shaking as soon as the coat was taken off, his hand over Mr Gus, as Professor Charles watched on. He made his journey over a few flights of stairs and corridors to the other east corner of the Castle, which was entirely detached from the hospital in the west wing.

His arm still clutching the coat with force, kneading and clawing at it to release the incoming pain from the left shoulder.

A while later, after what seemed hours of walking to Nicholas, Mr Gus knocked on a door before him, his tubby fingers clanging against its metal. It wasn't long before the door glided open, revealing a comfortable living arrangement, up and below for the groups of boys living in these fancy cellars. The chimney still clamoured with dying embers, and a large group of boys huddled around one boy holding a wordy letter.

The boy who opened the door seemed shocked at his appearance but quickly relieved Mr Gus of his weight and carried him inside.

"Ya, boys need to be asleep by now! Ya don't wan' me to get to the principal do ya?" He warned them and they all protested in unison.

"Al'right, Al'right, I'll leave ya alone!" Mr Gus closed the door after himself, leaving Nicholas in the room full of boys.

"You have letters from a sweetheart," a boy teased him, waving a letter in the air.

Nicholas felt himself bloat in anger. He rushed towards the boys, gritting his teeth. And still half asleep, he punched the boy across his face, to which he faced no protest. His right hand took the letter, and he fell on the soft chair behind him.

"Whose coat did you steal?" Another boy chimed.

"A girl gave it to me," Nicholas looked him in the eye and said.

Some boys cooed, some went silent, a certain anger in his tone that cut through their humour. He wasn't one to be messed with when he was visibly drunken. 

His eyes travelled on the first few words of the letter.

Pennington, Kamana

12th of February 1823

Victoria Alburn,

That was all he had to read before he tossed it in the dying coal of the chimney. He watched as it caught fire on its ends and blackened from its scorn. few pages went in vain. All the boys watched as he burnt the letter of the woman who was once affianced to his dead brother.