Soul Fire

3.4

Bloom's heels echoed through the empty hallway as she walked, tears welling up in her eyes and obscuring her vision, and she turned the corner to go down the main stairway.

Stupid. Stupid, letting herself get riled like that, stupid for losing control of her magic like that.

She wanted to burn and burn and burn. Wanted them to see just how awful she truly was. How hateful she was inside, how lost, how utterly rudding broken.

The lights were dim in this part of the school, as the magnificent chandelier over the space remained unlit. Why it was dark, Bloom didn't know. But she was thankful to not have to see those hateful flames dancing along the chandelier. She hated them.

Small faerie lights bobbed around, barely illuminating the hallway, and Bloom slowed her pace before the stained glass mural of the dragon and faerie warriors.

The images seemed to move in the darkness, the whorls of red and greens and blues mixing together like a beautiful song. Bloom shook her head, blinking. She felt as if the images inside the glass were watching her.

Or maybe she hoped for it. Hoped for someone watching over her, protecting her.

"I'm afraid." She whispered out loud. Somehow, saying it made the dark hallway and unsettling mural feel less creepy. Made her feel less alone.

She blinked away the tears that threatened to spill over. When was the last time Bloom truly felt something? She'd stumbled into this well of nothingness, and she wasn't sure she would be able to claw herself out.

Bloom shook her head and turned, away from the mural, away from the beautiful colors, and walked down the stairway, her heels softly clicking against the stone steps. Her fingers trailed down the cool banister as she did so. She got to the bottom step and paused, turning to look at the mural one final time.

The images still stood out despite the darkness. Those fierce warriors. It would have been nice, she realized. She had let herself hope that she could be like them. To be fierce and heroic and brave. It would have been really, really nice.

But she wasn't like them. She was nothing.

"Stella wouldn't be stupid enough to leave it unattended." Bloom's head whorled towards the corridor to her right. Whoever was down there was out of her line of sight. The voice continued, "it's her favorite accessory."

"Are you doubting my visions?" Another voice snapped back.

The words were mumbled to the point where Bloom couldn't really make them out. But she recognized them. Those hateful voices, the lithe and timbre of their words. Bloom threw her hand over her mouth to stop herself from gasping. She looked around frantically, and took a small leap from the step onto the rug that led to the hallway to muffle her footsteps. Bloom crouched down as she slid over to the wall and pressed herself between a large curtain and the stone, holding her breath to keep still.

The voices that could only belong to the witches that had attacked her last week. But what were they doing here? And, assuming Bloom's weak mortal ears hadn't betrayed her, they had mentioned Stella. Bloom had to warn the girls. Three sets of footsteps echoed throughout the hall as the witches slunk up the stairs Bloom had just been standing on. She rubbed her broken arm and winced, waiting until they were out of sight.

Darcy hated carrying people through the folds between spaces. It was bulky and strenuous, but she was thankful in this moment to be able to appear beside the hiding faerie and transport her instantly to the grass outside. Darcy threw her down, Bloom skidding on the grass as she tumbled. The Earthling turned so the impact would be on her left side instead of her broken arm, causing her shoulder to absorb a majority of the impact.