A girl in disguise. An heir in hunt. A world divided.
Iris Lavera is born into the civilization of the least respected ones. The lineage where it's predicted to birth a curse. A low born who will be the downfall of an entire nation if left alive.
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Yeah. I know. Took too long? Hopefully this long chapter will make up for it. Do skim through previous chapters to realive the forgotten passages. Once again, an immense thank you for your patience.
P.s. unedited. Will be polished soon.
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I have hands.
And fingers.
Fisting them i suppress the snooting jabbers of a professor who bore false teeth, long beard and contempt for peering at me with every sentence his voice carried across the classroom. His behaviour identical with the students who regard me in means of a mystic creature, futile to blame them as I watch my hands flatten across the fancy desk that I share with another girl, I feel her hectic gaze on me- I return her action and got rewarded with a flirtatious smile.
I wink.
She blushed.
I resume gazing at my hands. Flexing my gloved fingers. Accepting that I was pretty established within the female community, true enough that if I retire from this class for an esteemed break, I might come back to my bag brimmed with presents and flowers. Also some prominently hostile emotions from general population of youthful boys.
Morally, I could either be disgusted at the outcome of my lies or I could devour the ripe apple a senior girl approached me with this morning. This is my preceding to evil or madness. After what had happened at valutare three days ago- the lines of care and disregard had burred into a mush of what I am in present. I look around- a distilled observation of people here, so unsafe from me, a touch and I would waltz into their spirit with the qualities of termite that I bear.
Perhaps the thought would be treacherous in past, but Arran has made it a lot harder to be oneself. Not when I perilously kept convincing myself of it to be a lie. Of him to be a lie. The events of valutare are imprinted on my head and I can't escape, I can't tell and I cannot fathom. but I bask in the little glory of being left alone after that night.
It's been three days since Ezdan hauled me back to his chambers in his arms, too weak to protest, too strained to keep my eyes open I had let him take my shoes off, undo my hair and help me out of the coat. He sat by the foot of my bed, arguing with me to eat the food that was tasteless on my tongue. I felt like my body was drained to the fatal inch of my blood. He offered me his shoulder when remaining seated became a chore.
The last I felt of him was his hand on the back of my neck, cupped. Caressing the tense spine with a delicate tinge that should be illegalized. I had moaned with a sob at how painful the whole experience was. I had stared voluntarily at his steely eyes, they overflowed with emotions and he made no effort to repress them within.
