CHAPTER 6: THE MASK BREAKS
1381 Words
Belle's POV :
There was a soft humming.
Then warmth. And something cold.
Belle blinked.
“Belle?” A voice—muffled, soft, worried.
When her eyes opened fully, she found herself staring at a blurry ceiling and a familiar face hovering above her, framed by tangled chestnut curls.
“Lira?” Belle whispered, her throat dry.
“Oh, thank the heavens—you’re awake!” Lira sighed with so much relief, tears brimming at the edges of her bright eyes. “You scared me to death!”
Belle slowly sat up, her muscles aching from the effort. She was on a nurse’s bed, tucked under a thin blanket. Her memories began to piece together—Physical Education. The heat. Her chest tightening. The way her knees gave out.
She groaned and rubbed her forehead. “Did I faint?”
Lira nodded quickly, then burst, “You didn’t just faint—you collapsed! Like boom! You dropped mid-run! I was screaming for help like a maniac!”
Belle winced, mortified. “Don’t tell me everyone saw.”
Lira paused dramatically, then leaned closer and said in a hushed voice, “He carried you.”
“…What?”
“Orion.” Lira’s voice trembled with excitement. “Orion Leonhart carried you, bridal style, all the way to the infirmary!”
Belle’s cheeks flamed. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not! I wish I was, because now the entire school won’t shut up about it!” Lira flopped onto the edge of the bed, hugging a pillow and kicking her feet like a girl in a romance novel. “He looked so serious—like some knight from a drama. His arms were so toned, Belle. He didn’t even look tired. Like carrying you was nothing.”
“I’m going to die,” Belle groaned, burying her face in the blanket.
“No, you already fainted. You can’t double die.” Lira giggled.
But Belle didn’t laugh. “It’s embarrassing. Now he thinks I’m… weak.”
Lira glanced at her. “No. He didn’t look like he thought that at all.” There was a weight behind her words, quiet and honest.
But Belle didn’t answer.
—
News of the event spread faster than wildfire in dry grass.
The next day, the whispers began. Even as Belle walked through the stone corridors of Velmire Academy, she felt the stares.
“She’s the one Orion carried, right?”
“Is she his girlfriend?”
“No way. She’s just a Bronze.”
“Why her? He’s never even talked to anyone before.”
The rumors suffocated her. The attention was overwhelming. And she could feel the hateful gazes of Clarisse and Genevieve burn into her back like daggers.
At lunch, she barely touched her food.
Lira tried to lighten the mood by telling dumb jokes and teasing her about Orion again, but Belle was far too quiet.
Then, later that day in the hallway near the conservatory, it happened.
Belle was reaching for a book from her locker when Clarisse’s perfume wafted in—sickly sweet and unmistakable.
“Aw, poor little Belle,” Clarisse purred mockingly, stepping beside her. Genevieve trailed just behind, twirling her hair.
Belle froze.
“Must’ve been quite the performance. Fainting to get a prince’s attention? Clever.” Clarisse leaned in with a cruel smile.
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t bother lying,” Genevieve cut in, her tone syrupy. “You always were desperate for scraps, weren’t you?”
Belle bit her lip and turned away.
But Clarisse wasn’t finished. “Let me give you some advice. Stay away from Orion Leonhart. You’re not the type he talks to.”
Then, in one swift motion, Genevieve pulled at the collar of Belle’s uniform—just slightly, just enough—
And the faint, faded lines on her upper shoulder peeked through.
There was a pause.
Then Clarisse’s voice dropped. “Oh… what is that?”
Genevieve giggled, louder now. “Scars? Seriously? You’ve been slicing yourself up like a sad little rabbit?”
Belle’s heart dropped.
A few students had paused nearby. One girl looked alarmed. A boy laughed nervously and quickly walked away.
“Pathetic,” Clarisse whispered in a low, venomous tone. “No wonder no one wants you. Not even your own father.”
Belle’s breath caught.
She shoved past them, tears burning behind her eyes. She didn’t want them to see it—how deeply it hit. She sprinted through the corridor, past the classrooms, past the library, until she found herself in the east wing staircase where no one went during the day.
She collapsed into the corner, hugging her knees to her chest.
Why couldn’t they just leave her alone?
Why was existing in the same space as them still a crime?
“Just stop,” she whispered to herself. “Just stop crying. Be strong. You’ve always been strong.”
But the mask slipped. And then—
It broke.
The sob ripped from her chest without permission. Her hands shook. Her breathing came fast. She felt the sting on her skin—those old scars that never really faded, only hid beneath longer sleeves and louder silences.
Belle didn’t know how long she stayed there.
But suddenly, she wasn’t alone.
A shadow fell over her.
She froze.
Then a voice—quiet, low, and unfamiliar.
“…You shouldn’t believe everything they say.”
Her head snapped up.
Orion Leonhart stood there, framed by soft afternoon light spilling through the high glass windows. His uniform was neat as always, silver accents catching the glow. His storm-gray eyes stared straight at her—unblinking, unreadable.
Belle immediately turned away, wiping her eyes furiously with her sleeves. “What are you doing here?”
“I saw you run.” His voice was calm, steady. “You left your bag.”
He held it out.
Belle hesitated, then reached out with trembling fingers and took it. “Thanks.”
A beat of silence.
Then, softly, he asked, “Was it true?”
She stiffened. “What?”
“What they said… about the scars.”
Belle looked away. “That’s none of your business.”
Another pause.
“You’re right,” he said simply. “It’s not.”
She waited for mockery. Pity. Anything.
But it didn’t come.
Just silence.
Then footsteps as he began to turn away.
“Why did you help me?” she blurted, unable to stop the words.
Orion paused.
“You looked like you needed someone.”
And with that, he walked away.
Leaving Belle alone, shattered—but no longer unseen.
---
She sat there for a few more minutes, letting the silence settle. Then slowly—exhausted and heavy-hearted—she picked herself up and made her way back toward the dormitories.
By the time she reached the dining hall, the sun had dipped low. The long tables were buzzing with students, but Lira spotted her the second she stepped in.
“Belle!” Lira jumped up from her seat, rushing over. Her eyes scanned Belle quickly. “Where have you been? You skipped lunch! I thought you passed out again or something!”
Belle gave her a tired look. “I just… needed air.”
Lira frowned, then looped her arm through Belle’s and pulled her toward the food line. “Nope. I’m not letting you off that easy. You’re eating tonight. And a lot.”
Belle blinked. “Lira—”
“I’m serious,” Lira said firmly, giving her a look. “You do this thing where you starve yourself after something bad happens. And I get it, okay? I get it. But you collapsed. Your body’s not a trash bin. You need fuel.”
Belle stared at her for a long moment… then gave a small nod.
So Lira piled her tray generously—chicken stew, rice, bread rolls, fresh salad, even a slice of warm pie.
They sat at a quieter end of the dining hall, and Lira stayed beside her the entire time, chatting about nonsense, cracking dumb jokes, and nudging Belle to take bite after bite.
And for once, Belle let her.
Because tonight, even if the shadows crept under her skin and the pain still lingered—
Someone notice.
- Writer
