𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐚¹- hp.

𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐱. what a cruel, cruel world.

"Thank you, Miss Wilson." Charlie interrupts, tiredly rubbing her temples with a soft sigh. "Miss Vinke, if you would?"

Be honest, she thinks, Charlie values your honesty.

Or she would. If she knew just when exactly Lavinia was being honest with her.

Lavinia flexes her fingers against her thigh, focuses on the pain that shoots throughout her knuckles to steady her. She'll be honest if it means she's allowed to cry wolf in the future. If it means that when she's landed herself in some sort of trouble she can not pull herself out of — nails dug into the dirt when she hangs off the cliff that threatens to crumble and drop her into the void of shame that seems to want to swallow her whole, then so be it — her honesty over a small fight she's started is as good as she's got. And when she hangs off that cliff, there will be a part of her ( albeit how small ) that will pray no one comes to help her. That they'll laugh and taunt her from the safety of solid ground and allow her to drop the endless miles until she's taken her last breath and the void swallows her like some sort of undeniable creature — she's never craved her death, but there are days where she wonders if the dolor of it all will allow her one last mercy; no more shame, no more guilt, and no more soul crushing grief.

"I did call for Della Rocca." Lavinia finally says, flexes her fingers once more. "She'd promise to put a stop to Wilsons vile rumours — but I've never trusted the lot of them. Why would I? They seem to care no less about a fly than they do about me — and Wilson started to become vile. Who am I to deny myself the right to hit her, if she's spouting pure utter shit out of her mouth?"

"Miss Vinke, watch your language." Charlie rubs her forehead. Lavinia can tell she's starting to form a headache. "Please try again. Without the curses."

Lavinia nods and bites the inside of her cheek to fight a snicker, "Right, so — she was taunting me about my father, Headmistress, and we all know that's a very sensitive subject — so I hit her. Multiple times, really — and I broke her nose. But I think it looks better like this, so..."

"You think it looks better like this?" Sophia harshly spat. "You attacked me, Vinke! I should tell my father about this — you've no right to hit me when you were threatening to start rumours about my father! I said nothing against yours! You attacked me and it was completely uncalled for! You're a bully, and I seem to be your victim of choice and —"

Sophia rambles, but she always has; when they were eight and she'd convinced their peers that Lavinia was nothing more than a speck of dirt on their shoes. When they were ten and she'd informed everyone that Lavinia had threatened to strangle her in her sleep ( and, well, she'd still want to do it ). When they were thirteen and she'd cried her way to Charlie's office to tell her that Lavinia had broken her nose unprompted — Sophia rambles and she spins the truth. She paints herself a victim against a blank and untouched canvas. It's all blues and blacks and shades of grey that swirl together to cover the reasons for Lavinia's retaliation, and impasto edges that chip away at the touch to consume the truth of her words. But she is not a victim. Lavinia knows that. She's a bully who cannot stand when things don't go her way, and exaggerates the reasons behind what happens to her to appear as the victim. Lavinia thinks that should anyone be a victim ( and she would surely never admit this to anyone else, even less to herself, because she deserves all that she's got ) that it's her — but she's a survivor thrown into the palms of a cruel master. A chess piece long forgotten on the side of the board, the disposable part of someone's cruel, cruel plans — simply, she's the bait. She always has been, and she always will be.

"Miss Wilson, if you please." Charlie interrupts once again, glancing between the two of them. "This is unacceptable behaviour, and I pray that you both know that. We have, I hope, covered this long enough in religion to know the difference between our rights and our wrongs."