Lament for My First Life

Tears in the Hall

The classroom was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of quills scratching across parchment and the professor's calm, melodic voice echoing through the air.

At the center of the room, Xylenne sat upright, her white hair glinting faintly beneath the sunlight filtering through the high glass windows. Her deep blue eyes, however, weren't focused on the lesson, they were fixed on nothing at all, her thoughts tangled elsewhere.

Finally, she raised her small hand. "Yes, Lady Winter?" the professor asked, his tone soft and patient as his gaze fell upon her.

"I need to use the bathroom," Xylenne said, her voice sweet but composed. "Very well," the professor nodded. "You may go."

She stood, pushing her chair in quietly before stepping out into the corridor.

The hallways of the Royal Academy were eerily empty during class hours, the only sounds being the faint echo of her shoes against the polished marble floor. Her small hands gripped her dress as she walked, deep in thought. I may have avoided being adopted by Lady Varra for now, she thought, her eyes narrowing slightly. But this isn't the end. If I don't act, it'll only be a matter of time before my grandfather agrees to her again.

She bit her thumb lightly, an old habit from when she used to think too deeply. I need to find someone else willing to adopt me... someone powerful enough to stop her from taking me again. Her mind raced. If no one in my family wants me, no direct or distant bloodline, then I'll have to find someone outside it. Maybe... maybe one of my classmates? She frowned thoughtfully. If I can befriend someone with influence,a noble, maybe even a duke's family, and win them over with my charm and intelligence, then maybe... just maybe... they'd want to adopt me.

Her small brows furrowed as she thought harder, her mind spiraling into possibilities. She was so lost in her scheming that she didn't notice the quiet footsteps approaching from the opposite end of the hallway. And then Thud! Her foot caught on something, and before she could react, she stumbled forward, tumbling to the ground with a small gasp. Her palms scraped against the polished floor, her knees stinging.

"Ha!"

A voice rang out from behind her, amused and mocking. "You always seem so distracted. I didn't think it'd be that easy to trip you. You must be stupid."

Xylenne looked up, startled, to see him. The boy with messy black hair and crimson eyes stood before her, arms crossed and one leg extended, the one that had tripped her. His expression was smug, but his tone wasn't cruel, just teasing. Yet to her, it didn't matter.

Her heart clenched. The corridor blurred for a moment, replaced by flashes of her past life. Lady Varra's mocking voice. Marinel's cruel laughter. The sting of being shoved, of falling, of being humiliated over and over again.

Am I going to get bullied again...?

Her chest tightened, fear curling through her small frame. Meanwhile, the boy's smirk faltered slightly as he noticed her expression.

Why is she looking at me like that? he thought, uneasy. All I did was trip her. She's not seriously hurt, is she? A pang of guilt struck him unexpectedly.

He hesitated, then sighed and extended a hand toward her. "Here," he said, his voice softer now. "I was just—" Smack! Xylenne slapped his hand away in panic, scrambling backward until her back hit the wall. "Ow!" he hissed, pulling his hand back and holding it. "What was that for?!" Her wide blue eyes filled with tears, her voice trembling. "Why did you trip me!?" The boy blinked, confused. "What? I—"

Her emotions spiraled. The fear, the humiliation, it all crashed into her chest like a wave she couldn't stop. God, I hate being a child, she thought bitterly, clenching her fists. Why can't I control my emotions? This body is so weak! "I was just messing with you!" the boy shouted, suddenly defensive. "N-no! You tried to hurt me!" she snapped, her voice cracking as tears started to spill from her eyes. "It hurt my hands and knees when I fell!"

The boy froze. His expression fell, replaced with something close to guilt, genuine, sharp guilt. "I-I didn't know..." he said quietly, his voice losing its edge. Xylenne sniffled, turning her face away from him, her tears dripping onto her sleeve. "Hmph!" she huffed through gritted teeth before brushing past him, her head down. He stood there, still clutching his hand, watching her small figure walk down the hall toward the bathroom, her pale hair swaying, her steps shaky.

I... I didn't mean to make her cry, he thought, guilt twisting in his stomach. I just wanted to tease her a little. Why does it feel so bad seeing her like that? In the quiet of the bathroom, Xylenne stood by the marble sink, her tiny hands trembling slightly as she turned on the tap. She splashed cold water onto her face, trying to calm down, but the sting in her knees and palms reminded her that the pain was real, both the physical and the emotional.

She leaned forward, staring at her reflection in the mirror, a child's face with blue eyes from crying, porcelain skin, and pale hair falling loosely around her shoulders. "I can't fall apart like this..." she whispered softly to her reflection. "I have to be strong... I can't let anyone hurt me again."

Her reflection didn't answer, but she held its gaze for a long moment, until the tears stopped falling.