Chapter 1
𝓣he library. Warm light captures countless aisles filled with novels and secluded corners, that hide in the shadows, providing snuggeries to brood in on the days when rain pelts against the window panes. Every word, every sketch, every ink stain, every crease in parchment, I have no better solace than the one found within the pages of a book. How I long to pour all the knowledge I possibly can into my mind, until it overflows, a volcano of wisdom. From the moment I stepped into this haven of literature for the first time as a puerile preliminary student, I deemed it necessary to study here as much as I possibly could.
"Calliope, we ought to return to our dormitory now, " Allegra urges me. Despite it being merely the second day of semester one of our fifth year, my ever loved roommate and I had conducted another one of our frequent study sessions. Tearing my eyes away from a dust coated textbook my eyebrows had been furrowed over, I glance down at the wristwatch my mother had gifted me on the eve of my fifteenth birthday. The hands proudly display 9:55 pm in silver, the time glitters in the flame of Allegra's small lantern.
"I cannot possibly detest the idea of another detention more than I already do," my roommate complains. Here at Roxiliya Academy students are required to be in bed by 10:00pm, more than a few times Allegra and I had been caught by Silvia. She, with her intolerable persona and superior complex, is commonly known for her unwithering hatred towards students. Being the Principal of the school, Silvia is inclined to hand out as many punishments for students who dismiss regulations as she possibly can.
"Oh, well if we must…" I begin to gather my books and school supplies, careful to not make much noise. I cannot help but smirk at Allegra's faux annoyed expression. I had shared a bedroom with this girl ever since my preliminary year. Ever since 'WATERS, Calliope ' had been assigned a dormitory alongside ' PARKER, Allegra', I knew a truly valuable friendship would be forged. So as Allegra Parker stands before me, a vexed expression painting her lovely girlish face, blonde locks pinned up in a loose knot, her brilliant nordic eyes squinted at my inability to be punctual, it is not a challenge for me to determine her innermost thoughts. We both know, wholeheartedly, that there is no other way we would want to end a day of study.
The elation felt sprinting through empty moonlit halls, unaware of Principal Silvia's whereabouts,the highly likely chance of being caught breaking the rules yet again, is simply exhilarating. After all, what is life without a little risk? In a life of solemnity and sensibility, shouldn't one seize the opportunity to feel free when they can?
Choruses of our airy laughs drift along the wide open hallways that are poorly illuminated by the slight glow of the moon and Allegra's lantern. Hallways that, come dusk, are to return to passages of busy schooling. Dashing around corners, making sharp turns at sudden dead ends, we hold our breath waiting for Silvia to break out from behind one of the ancient suits of armour and catch us. But the moment never comes as Allegra and I find ourselves at the entrance of the parlour room. Still giggling at our own childish antics we enter through a gorgeously engraved door.
Cushy armchairs, homey rugs, pillows of clouds and walls adorned with banners and decorations make up our beloved parlour room. A fireplace, in which flames dance all throughout the night, with embers constantly burning to keep us warm throughout the cruel winters, sits in the middle of the wall facing most of the furniture. I regard our parlour in the same manner in which I regard the library, a piece of Roxiliya's very own heaven.
However Allegra and I are not the only inhabitants of the glorious parlour. As this room itself is a common room connected to all the dormitories, a great deal of students feel the loving embrace of the parlour each day. The parlour is shared by our fellow fifth year students, our entire cohort, as well as the entirety of the sixth year cohort. Thus the parlour had proven to host adequate parties, provide space to laze around with friends and sometimes even became a bedroom - for those who got in arguments with roommates or disregarded their tiredness, and in turn greeted sleep - on the couch. The latter had a tendency to occur to my sixth year brother, Andre. It is understandable that over the course of our preliminary, first, second, third and fourth years my cohort had grown an affection for our parlour.
"We really ought to turn in, dear roommate," I voice out into the quiet warmth of the room.
"Oh how I concur, Calliope!" Allegra nods in agreement. Ascending up the spiral staircase we go, ever so carefully, knowing that the slightest misstep would cause an almighty creak to echo through the entire tower.
Sleeping quarters at Roxiliya Academy were sectioned into separate dormitories. Girls were to follow the large staircase positioned on the right of the parlour, while boys were to pursue the downwards spiral on the left of the room. Upon ascending up the spiral staircase towards the girls dormitories, one is met with an elegant corridor, doorways positioned on either side. Handles of gemstones differentiate each of our rooms; a glittering rose quartz handle indicates Allegra and I's dormitory. Pushing open our door, my best friend and I are faced with the tornado of laundry, hazardously strewn across the delicate wooden floors.
How wonderful it is, to be young and careless. To live within piles of one's own messes, not having a care in the world. To simply ignore the siren call of mundane tasks in adulthood and indulge in the rosy haze of girlhood. Disregarding the imperfections of one's own space to instead relish life in its purest form, free of bothersome drudgery, however foolish negligence may be. As Daisy Buchanan once feverishly exclaimed, "-that's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool. "
Soon, as Allegra and I slink tardily into our canopy beds, I lay gazing up at the ceiling. My parents had recently sent a letter, which I had yet to respond to, regarding our family's affairs back at home. Updates on my friends from home, how the roses in the front garden had finally shown signs of growth, and how my father is constantly repeating the fact that I need to follow my dreams are all detailed in my mother's graceful hand.
How melancholy it is, for me to receive the finest education at Roxiliya but feel the scorn of homesickness ever so powerfully. Roxiliya I belonged to, this I had known from the moment I first heard of the prestigious Academy. What my ambitions failed to account for was the need for a child to feel parental nurture. However well we are treated at school, no matter how much chicken soup is made wholly for students who fall victim to common colds, the affection present in one's mother and father cannot even be merely resembled - let alone matched. As it is from my mother I sustained my compassion and looks, as it from my father I gained my stubbornness and work ethic. I am but a product of my parents: a warm smile, short temper, and need to enlist geniality in every person I encounter.
Consequently I am left to drown in my own alienation. While Andre's presence barricades me from utter family deprivation, knowing that the pair from whom I received my name and life's blood are so physically distant, I cannot help but feel incomplete.
If thoughts were waves, it is tsunamis that crash around in my mind, bashing against my skull - determined to not go unnoticed. Although I may be laying still, I am constantly drawn away into the countless realms of my own thinking. These tsunamis have been crashing for years now, by now they are common - to be expected, alas I cannot help but wonder if one day they just may crack the skull they crash against so brutally. The notion leaves me pondering the question I revisit so frequently; how does one sleep when they have the world in their head?