Chapter 25 | Lyrics Are Not The Only One With A Story To Tell

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Elena's P.O.V.

It has been a month since I discovered the portal in the tree, and it has been a week since I heard the odd conversation between the two unknown men. I haven't found out who they were and what their words meant, and it bothered me to the bone.

Last time I put my guard down, I was chased, cornered and stuck in a tree with His Highness. So, no, I'm not going to make that mistake again.

Either you learn from it, or you act with experience in hand.

Running around the empty halls, I looked down at my half-broken watch, minutes passing like seconds.

God, Ms. Foster is going to kill me.

How was I supposed to know that the rooms had been changed?

Our school was huge, it consisted of dozens and dozens of classrooms where many of them held expensive and modern equipment, depending on the subject.

I have almost been at every inch of this place, but I would still, sometimes, get lost. But luckily for me, I have Hazel, and she knew the place like the back of her hand.

It's such an unfortunate that she's not here now.

A sigh of frustration left my lips as I could not find my way to the drama classroom where my death would take place. I know where it's located, I just don't know how to get there. Before there are any snarky comments thrown around, you should know that I have not been here in forever, so forgive me for not having a photographic memory.

"Oh, God, please don't kill me, please don't kill me. . ." I mumbled when I finally found the red, steel double-doors where an angry teacher would be waiting for me. I quickly trotted towards it and pushed the door open, the angry hinges barking and signalizing my arrival.

I'm dead.

"Ms. Foster, I am so sorry for coming so late, but I took my cast off, and-" My sentence took an abrupt turn when I met Ms. Foster's students instead of an angry teacher. "What's happening?"

Mayumi, a nice and sweet Asian girl I have spoken to a couple of times, put her cello down and shrugged her shoulders. "We don't know," she looked around the empty room with only us, merely a dozen of students, filling it. "We all got the same message to meet here, and. . . that's it."

I arched an eyebrow, "Ms. Foster would never let us have a lesson together, let alone a meet-up."

"That's what I said," Kenneth, the guy with the violin, pointed at me with his finger that matched the deep shade of mahogany. "This is ridiculous, I canceled all my plans for nothing."

"But it is not for nothing," a voice echoed with a soft tone in his words, and within a second, all heads were turned to the man standing on the stage. "I sent that message."

I squinted my eyes at the familiar features that radiated from the salt and pepper haired man, and the more I looked, the quicker the pieces fell to its place.

Then, the brick of realization finally kicked in. "Francis?" My lips did not work as a barrier anymore due to the punch from my dumbstruck state.

The man smiled kindly and shook his head. "Close enough, but not quite," he walked down the stage and made his way towards us. "My name is Franny O'Dannell. Yes, I know, it is a very funny name, laugh all you want. However, you will have to get used to it because I will be your music and singing teacher until Ms. Yvonne Foster returns to her rightful place."

Francis O'Donner and Franny O'Dannell. . . I can't be the only one seeing the similarity, right? Even the names sound alike, and the only difference that slightly severs the strong connection between them is the age. Franny looks like a younger version of Francis -probably in his mid-forties whereas the monk is in his sixties.

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