Auburn Academy

#2

THEODORE

We finally settled in and classes where staring tomorrow. I bore the mark of an Anguish Fairy which I kind of predicted, what I didn’t predict was that the girls and boys rooms would be in the same place and I just had to live down the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. She had the lightest blond hair and the darkest brown eyes which could pierce your soul, I couldn’t quite catch her name probably because I haven’t talked to her. I haven’t really seen her interact with anyone but I figured she was just shy and I could get to know her better when classes starts. We didn’t have room mates and I was grateful for that. Because the last thing I needed was some guy breathing down my neck about being friends.

When I first got here I expected shadows, I expected stones what I didn’t expect was the damn disco ball. Yeah you read that right- a glittering, spinning little disco ball right in the center of the ceiling like some angsty fairy party was about to break out. A colorful rug covered the floor- deep purples, navy blues, and bits of gold thread that shimmered like they’d been spilled on accidents. I laughed. Actually laughed. The Umbra Vault rooms are supposed to reflect you. So… this is me?

A bean bag chair in a corner. Posters of ancient musicians with way too much eyeliner and names like “The screeching Shadows”. A shelf filled with candy jars- lemon drops, sour belts, chocolate pebbles. There was even a punching bag in the corner shaped like a smiley face. I smirked. The bed looked soft. The kind that hugs you when you don’t want to be held.

I flopped onto it.

Then the air shifted.

I looked up.

The ceiling had changed. No more disco ball. Now, constellations- glowing faintly, twinkling like they were watching me. One of them formed a shape- a girl with curly hair and wide eyes. Dahlia.

I sat up.

The rug dimmed. The candy shelf flickered like it might disappear. The posters wilted slightly at the edges. Behind the bookshelf, a wall peeled open- revealing another, smaller room behind it. Not a room- more like a hideaway. A space you crawl into when the world feels too loud. Too heavy. Inside were scraps of paper- notes never sent. A music box. A chipped teacup. A necklace I hadn’t seen in years. And in the farthest part of the space, there was a photo. One I never took. Me, smiling. But not the kind of smile I throw at everyone. The real one that cost something.

The room heard the joke. But it had listened to the silence after the laugh, too.

This place knew I cared.

That I still care.

About the sister I left behind. About the girl I haven’t met properly yet. About the parts of myself I pretend don’t ache.

I leaned back into the bed, letting the fake light flicker over my face.

The disco ball came back.

Of course it did.

It knew me too well.

CARTER

I adjusted my collar one last time before I stepped inside Aeris Spire. The place had a quiet, disciplined kind of elegance- like it expected greatness from anyone who crossed its threshold. I straightened my spine automatically. First impressions mattered. Everything about this place reminded me of him.

My brother.

His name lingered here like a shadow- in the way professors glanced at me, in the subtle nods from older students. As if they were waiting to see if I’d measure up. If I’d carry the name well.

When I reached the room marked with my name, I paused.

My hand hovered over the door knob. I took a breath through my nose. Controlled. Measured.

I opened the door.

It was… perfect.

Every shelf was aligned, every corner square. Books sat in alphabetical order on dark wooden shelves. A glass desk waited in the corner, untouched- with crisp white paper and sharpened pencils arranged in military precision. Even the bed was made – sheets smooth, edges tucked tight, like a hospital corner. Just the way I would’ve done it. Just the way he would’ve done it.

I stepped inside.

And the strangest thing happened.

The air shifted.

There was no open window, but I could feel it- a soft, circulating breeze that rustled the curtains ever so slightly. The scent of rain and old books clung to it. Something unsettling. Something… gentle.

The paper on the desk fluttered a little.

I frowned. There were no fans, no vents, just the stillness of the room- and that subtle invisible breath.

The room was adjusting. To me.

But not the version of me I showed the world.

No. this room knew the tension in my jaw, the weight in my chest, the pressure behind every carefully placed word and perfectly drawn line.

Breathe, it seemed to whisper.

Perfection is suffocating. You’re allowed to let go.

I shook my head and pulled my study plan out from my bag. No time for metaphors. I needed structure. I needed control. I needed-

I sat at the desk and began organizing my schedule by the hour, breaking down my reading load, plotting out review blocks, study breaks (fifteen minutes, maximum), and sleep (strictly six hours). But even as I wrote, the breeze continued. Constant. Quiet.

I ignored it.

Or… tried to.

Because even though I tried everything planned, something told me this room wasn’t just mine. It belonged to the version of me I kept buried- the one that maybe, someday, might let go. But not today.

Not yet.

LAVENDER

The halls of Luminara Sanctum gleamed like polished starlight, the floors catching golden reflections from the sun- drenched glass panels above. Everything shimmered- the air itself humming with light, like it had been infused with magic. My shoes clicked gently as I walked, echoing down the corridor. The walls were pale cream with flecks of silver, but warm pastel accents peeked through the arches- hints of rose quartz, lilac, and faded coral. It was… beautiful. Dreamlike. But I felt like I was holding my breath.

Everyone else seemed to belong here.

I was just the quiet girl with cold eyes and a family I had to fight for.

When I first stepped into my room at Luminara Sanctum, it felt… sterile. The walls were a pale, frosted lilac- neat, quiet, polite. Just like I thought it would be. The bed was perfectly made, hospital corner sheets in muted silver. My cauldron was set in the far corner, resting on a pristine marble base, spotless and unused. The desk was organized with military precision, books stacked by height, pencils aligned like soldiers. There were no clutter, no warmth and, no trace of me.

Because at first, I didn’t know who me was allowed to be.

I remember thinking, Rosy would’ve hated this room. She would’ve splashed colour on the walls and danced barefoot across the floor. But Rosy dropped out of Auburn academy. She broke the rules, broke our parents’ hearts, and left me to stitch the family back together with perfect grades and tight smiles. Every time mum and dad argued about her, their voices shattered glass, they’d glance at me- Lavender’s not like that, they’d say. And in those glances, I saw the glue they needed me to be. So I promised myself: I’d be everything Rosy wasn’t. Perfect. Quiet. Safe.

So I made my room reflect that lie.

But slowly- barely noticeable at first- it began to change. A pink throw blanket appeared on the bed one day, soft and warm, like something I didn’t have the courage to ask for but need. A few days later, pastel potion jars lined my shelf, their glowing content humming gently. Then came the fairy lights, strung along the walls in a soft spiral, twinkling like laughter I hadn’t shared yet. My cold, unused cauldron became cluttered with notes and ingredients, experiments gone delightfully wrong, because mistakes started feeling less terrifying when they were mine.

The walls began to shift too- not physically, but in how they held me. I pinned up little things that made me smile: doodles, dried flowers, and a photo of Rosy sticking her tongue out at the camera. I missed her, even though I resented her a little- okay a lot. For making me the glue of our family. For forcing me to be the perfect child I didn’t want to be.

My room is still quiet- but now it’s warm. There’s a hint of rose gold in the sunlight that filters through my curtains, and the air smells like vanilla and crushed petals. It still has order, but now it breathes. Like me.

To most people, I seem cold. Distant. They don’t see the bubbly girl who talks to her potions when no one’s around, who loves romantic novels and humming under her breath when she mixes stardust. But my room became my mirror- the real one, the version I perform to hold my family together.

And maybe one day, they’ll see her too.