Necromancy In D Minor ✔️

Firelight Fermata

Octavia opened her journal and flipped through the pages. Each had a name of a villager at the top, and everything she knew about them below. Which, at this stage, was almost nothing. Day had passed since Quintus left and she had yet to find any leads. It wasn't until she was actively seeking out people she realized she'd met nearly every person in the village through the virtue of teaching their children.

When she spoke to them after class, they were nothing but pleasant and neighbourly. Not a shred of suspicion showed in their demeanor, not even when she asked about the scourge. Or they did and she was too incompetent to notice, but she was a necromancer for sin's sake, not a detective.

With a sigh,Octavia tucked the journal away and pushed open the schoolhouse door. The front desk was empty, save for a book she'd loaned Pilar. While she enjoyed small talk with the elder woman, today she found comfort in the silence and solitude. It felt as though someone had replaced her brain with wool and the pricking under her skin had gotten worse.

How long would it be before everyone learned the truth? Before she could no longer conceal who she was. The thought of it made her heart freeze over and shrivel like the plants outside. They'd tie rocks to her feet and toss her into the lake to drown. They'd tie her to a pyre and—

No. Octavia dashed the thoughts away from her mind. It wasn't uncommon for the netherborne to drive necromancers into madness, but she couldn't afford to lose her nerve at this stage or to lose sight of her purpose. Find the anchor, get rid of it, end the scourge. She'd rather focus on the suppositions when they became real problems instead of nagging, pessimistic thoughts.

And so, with renewed focus, Octavia tucked away her coat and headed to class.

Winslet alone occupied the room. She sat behind the front desk, one foot braced against the edge as she tipped the chair on its hind legs. She held a stack of papers in one hand while the other sifted through them, her lips moving soundlessly as she counted.

Octavia's eyes moved to the line of empty desks on the other side of the room.

"Oh, hi," Winslet said. "Are you all right? You look a little off."

Was her discomfort that obvious? She hadn't looked in the mirror before leaving home. Her clothes could be on backwards for all she knew. "I'm fine, really." She gave Winslet what she hoped was a convincing smile.

"Well, the kids went out back with Pilar to put their art projects out to dry." Winslet righted the chair and stood. "Make sure they bring them in before they leave." And with that, she shouldered her bag and headed out.

At least there was time to gather herself before class. She set her flute case on the desk and pulled out her lesson plan for the day. The words blurred into an inky amalgamation of lines that made her head spin.

Octavia set aside the notes and picked up the chalk, cursing her hand for shaking. The black slate towered over her, growing and stretching like a gaping mouth about to swallow her whole.

Get it together. She balled her fist and slammed it against the wall. The pain that shot through her hand jolted the tension from her mind and body, and grounded her in reality. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a few deep breaths. There had to be a way to guard herself against the netherborne, to combat the negative effects they were having on her.

"M-miss Octavia?"

She startled, stumbling back against the desk and placing a hand over her fluttering heart.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Arietta was standing beside her, but Octavia had no idea when she or the other children had come in. The rest of them were at their desks, clearing away the materials they'd used for their art projects.