Chapter 2 – The Girl Who Should Bleed
1169 Words
Chapter 2 – The Girl Who Should Bleed
Lyra didn’t sleep well.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it again—the shadow beneath her door. The quiet footsteps. The feeling of being watched.
It wasn’t a dream.
She was sure of it.
Morning came too fast.
A loud bang on the door jolted her awake.
“Up!”
Lyra flinched, scrambling to sit up as the door swung open. A servant stood there, already dressed for work, her expression annoyed.
“You’re late.”
Lyra blinked, confused.
“I—I just woke—”
“Then you’re already slow,” the woman snapped. “Move. Kitchen. Now.”
Lyra didn’t argue.
She grabbed her thin cloak and hurried out.
The corridor was just as cold as before, the air damp and unforgiving. But now it was filled with movement—servants rushing past, carrying trays, buckets, crates.
No one looked at her.
No one cared.
---
The kitchen was already in chaos.
“Where were you?” the head cook barked the moment Lyra stepped inside.
“I—”
“Don’t answer. Work.”
Lyra rushed to the nearest station, grabbing a cloth and dropping to her knees.
Scrub.
Scrub.
Scrub.
Her hands moved quickly, but her mind was somewhere else.
Someone was outside my door…
Her chest tightened slightly.
Was it a student?
Or… something else?
“Hey.”
Lyra didn’t react fast enough.
A foot kicked the bucket beside her, sending water splashing across the floor again.
Cold liquid soaked into her clothes instantly.
Laughter followed.
“Clumsy as ever.”
Lyra looked up.
The same group from yesterday.
Of course.
Her stomach dropped.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, reaching for the cloth.
“You always are,” the girl replied with a bored smile. “But it doesn’t fix anything, does it?”
Lyra lowered her gaze.
“No…”
“Pathetic.”
---
By midday, her arms felt like they would fall off.
The work never stopped.
Carry this. Clean that. Move faster.
Her body was already exhausted from yesterday, but no one cared.
“Take this upstairs.”
Lyra blinked as a tray was shoved into her hands.
It was heavy.
Filled with plated food—fresh bread, roasted meat, steaming vegetables.
“Room 3A,” the servant added. “And don’t drop it.”
Lyra nodded quickly.
“…Yes.”
---
The upper floors felt like a different world.
Warm.
Bright.
Alive.
Students walked through the halls in neat uniforms, their voices light, their laughter easy. Magic flickered occasionally in their hands—small spells cast without effort.
Lyra kept her head down as she walked.
The tray in her hands trembled slightly.
Don’t drop it…
Don’t—
“Hey. Watch it.”
She didn’t react fast enough.
Someone stepped into her path.
Her shoulder hit theirs—
The tray slipped.
Crash.
Plates shattered against the marble floor.
Food was scattered everywhere.
Silence fell.
Lyra froze.
Her heart stopped.
“I… I’m sorry—”
“Are you blind?”
The voice was sharp.
Cold.
Lyra looked up.
A tall boy stood in front of her, his expression dark with irritation. His uniform was flawless, his posture straight, his presence… heavy.
Not like the others.
Stronger.
More dangerous.
“I didn’t see—”
“Of course you didn’t,” he cut her off. “Servants rarely think.”
A few students nearby laughed softly.
Lyra’s fingers clenched.
“I’ll clean it,” she said quickly.
“You’d better.”
He stepped back, but not before deliberately brushing against her again—harder this time.
Lyra lost her balance.
Her body hit the floor.
Hard.
Pain shot through her arm as her skin scraped against the marble.
A sharp sting.
She bit back a cry.
Laughter.
Again.
Always laughter.
---
By the time she finished cleaning, her hands were shaking.
Her arm throbbed.
A thin line of blood ran across her skin where it had scraped open.
Lyra stared at it for a second.
Red.
Bright.
Slowly dripping.
She swallowed and reached for a cloth—
Then paused.
Her brows furrowed.
The blood… stopped.
Right in front of her eyes.
The wound closed.
Not slowly.
Not naturally.
Too fast.
Too smooth.
As if it had never been there.
Lyra froze.
“…What?”
Her fingers trembled as she touched the spot.
Nothing.
No pain.
No cut.
No scar.
Her breath hitched.
That’s… impossible.
---
“Move.”
A voice behind her snapped her out of it.
Lyra flinched and stood up quickly, lowering her hand.
“Yes…”
Her heart was racing now.
Not from fear.
From something else.
Something colder.
What… was that?
---
Later that afternoon, the courtyard buzzed with energy.
Students gathered in a wide circle, excitement filling the air.
“A duel?”
“Who’s fighting?”
“I heard it’s him.”
Lyra stood at the edge, holding a basket of laundry.
She wasn’t supposed to stop.
But her feet refused to move.
At the center of the courtyard stood a figure.
Tall.
Still.
Effortless.
The moment she saw him… something shifted.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t move unnecessarily.
But the space around him felt… different.
Quiet.
Controlled.
Powerful.
“…That’s Kael Draven,” someone whispered nearby.
Lyra’s breath caught.
Kael… Draven…
She had heard the name.
Everyone had.
The top student.
A pure-blood.
Untouchable.
Across from him, another student raised his hand, magic crackling.
The duel began.
It ended in seconds.
A single movement.
A flash of power.
And it was over.
Silence fell.
Then—
Cheers.
Gasps.
Excitement.
Lyra didn’t react.
She was staring.
Not at the fight.
At him.
Kael Draven.
His expression didn’t change.
No pride.
No excitement.
Nothing.
As if winning meant nothing at all.
Then—
His gaze shifted.
Just slightly.
Toward the edge of the crowd.
Toward her.
Lyra froze.
Their eyes met.
For a brief second.
And in that moment—
She felt it.
A strange, sharp sensation.
Like something inside her… responded.
Then he looked away.
As if she had never been there.
---
That night felt colder than the last.
Lyra sat on the thin mattress, her hands resting on her knees.
Her mind wouldn’t stop.
The wound.
The healing.
The duel.
Him.
“…What is happening to me…?”
No answer came.
Only silence.
But deep inside—
Something was changing.
---
A sound broke the stillness.
Footsteps.
Again.
Lyra’s head snapped toward the door.
Her heart began to pound.
Slow.
Measured.
Stopping.
Right outside.
Her breath hitched.
“…Who’s there?” she whispered.
No answer.
Only silence.
Then—
A faint scrape.
Like something… touching the door.
Lyra stood up slowly, her body tense.
The air felt heavier.
Colder.
Her instincts screamed.
Don’t open it.
But her hand moved anyway.
Slowly.
Carefully.
She reached for the handle.
And the moment her fingers touched it—
A voice echoed softly from the other side.
“…Found you.”
Lyra’s eyes widened.
- Writer
