A Failure of a High Elf (Book One)

1.1

"Haaaaaa," I sighed, turning yet another page without bothering to wait for the previous one to dry first. What was the point, anyway? They were all failures. "This is pointless. Pointless. I haven't been able to do a proper seashell that doesn't look like a damn monster in over a year. Agh, I just can't." I finished with a slap, pushing my sketchpad off my lap and letting its pages ruffle through the open air, their sides painted black and curled from all the times I'd been out staining in the rain.

It landed right on the puddle of ink peeking through the grass with a guilt-inducing thud.

"Yew—naga!"

Pushing a leafy branch out of my immediate sight, I peered down to the base of the elm, wondering if I'd lost it enough for my sketchpad to start talking to me. If I really had crossed that line, why did a pad of paper sound like an Elf-Ham? One of those fellas who walked around with shining teeth, loudly proclaiming their family's status, knowing all the elvas would flock to them. The ones who tried to overdose on spirits and were probably high on Elfsbane at all times. Especially during finals, if the sounds of near-retching echoing through the quiet classrooms had any lesson to give.

I poured my heart and soul—well, not much of either, really, but still, how could you do this to me, sketchpad? I thought we were friends!

Friends wouldn't throw their friend out of a tree to crash-land on the ground.

"Ugh!" I placed those ink-stained hands straight on my brow, a pulse resounding at my temples, its beat-beat-beat insistent, desperate.

"Uh, Beckett?" The Elf-Ham was back.

I sighed again, this one choked with the beginning tremble of tears. "What?" I asked my sketchpad, snottily. "What the hell do you want, sketchbook?"

"Sketch...book?" The Elf-Ham's tone took on the overly-ridiculous coloring of a Ham in the midst of confusion. The moment a pretty girl turned them down. The moment a professor close to their parents gave them a brutally-honest grade.

Something crunched beneath my sight, my ears twitching in instant alarm. Skitters shivered down my spine, those hell-wrathed, elven instincts kicking in of their own accord. My hearing adjusted outward, extending way, way too far. My head pounded harder as more Elf-Hams filtered into my ears, frolicking through the fields over a game of Pickleven.

I swallowed, nervously, even as my vision dimmed and my pounding head warned me implosion was imminent. Just how many Elf-Hams were on campus grounds today? We've been infiltrated by the worst dates an elf could ask for, all just roaming like little fireball traps out on the fluffy fields of Elmhurst!

Quick, someone, grab an elva with an actual brain to defeat them! Just start talking about the answers to our latest Theology test! They'll dissipate like webs under a torrential downpour!

"Beckett...Swanmere. Uh, you...good?"

Quiet, reinforced breaths resounded down my spine. A bit raspy, a bit hollow. Deeper. Go deeper. Straining my stomach to fill up with extra air, I let it stay inside of me. Forced it, rather. Once I could breathe evenly, I condensed my hearing range, dialing it closer, closer, closer. It was like dismissing the pointed stares as I walked through the hallways. Toss off each one like a stuck ring, then fling it right back at them. The mental walls inside my mind could only be reinforced by this violent series of images.

It was the exact opposite of what any elvancy teacher would tell you.

Embracing the wind and all that sounded nice, but when I needed to block everything out, right now, before my head actually imploded, there was no time to make friends with the squirrels and accept their noises in a catalog to be stored inside my soul. Please.

"Who..." I wet my lips, my tongue lagging more behind than I'd like, "...are you?"

"I'm Vincent," Vincent said, like that was all the information that was needed. He was Vincent, so of course I would realize which Vincent was here to see me and why.

I rolled my eyes, the action forcing a sharp spike of pain behind them. No, not my vision! Don't enhance my vision, you stupid instincts!

"What do you want?" I prompted the Elf-Ham, face still covered by my inky hands.

"Uhh..." Vincent floundered, as if he'd forgotten why he'd walked halfway off campus to a secluded, dying tree surrounded by nothing but livelier trees with healthier leaves. Not the only one with graying bark, the leaves leached of almost all colors, like this one. "The Headmaster wants to see you."