1,238Welcome, Dear Readers, to The Sixteen.
This one is quite different from anything I've written before, and I'm so so excited to share it with you.
Thank you to Gemma and Jill for prereading.
This story unfolds in three parts, though all three parts will be included in this same story link. Prepare yourselves, my dears, for the journey ahead is long and difficult and twisted beyond imagination.
Welcome to part one: The Academy.
I
THE ACADEMY
...
PROLOGUE
Pulvis et umbra sumus.
— Horace
The bronze baroque clock that sat upon the mantle above an equally elaborate fireplace, kept perfect time.
The clock had been crafted in the early nineteenth century, and it had been claimed on a number of occasions by a variety of historians to have once been a personal belonging of Napoleon Bonaparte. The clock was serviced frequently, and every morning an attendant who had been specially trained in its maintenance would come to gently clean every gilded surface free of dust so that the clock shone just as brightly in the twenty-first century as it did in the nineteenth.
The clock, which was produced by none other than Jean-François Denière of Denière et Matelin, was one of the most impressive and well-preserved examples of French Mantle Clocks of the Napoleonic Empire.
All of this meant absolutely nothing to the teenager gazing at the clock at this very moment.
She did not know anything about Napoleon's France, nor did she have any interest in clocks. In fact, it wasn't the display of expert craftsmanship that caught her eye.
Rather, it was that one of the cherubs that sat near the top of the impressive specimen looked… well… evil. She'd been staring at the cherub for the better part of twenty minutes now and had come to the conclusion that if the clock were to suddenly burst to life—or if her knowledge of statues provided by Doctor Who was anything to stand on—the cherub on the top left of the clock would certainly be the one to not take her eye off.
There was malice in its dimples, she decided, and no amount of angelic imagery could diminish it.
Staring at the demonic cherub helped take her mind off why she was there at all. In her lap, at the mercy of her anxiously pinching fingers, sat a file—her file. It was a file containing her life story; from birth in a tiny hospital where she frequented again later in life as an unbearably clumsy child, to every report card she'd ever received. She'd even included a flash drive with her one and only atrocious performance on stage, along with her school paper's review of her horrendous performance.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, could be left out. She was fully prepared for everything that could be thrown her way.
Everything, except perhaps, that tiny gold baby.
The clock continued to tick, echoing in her ears, forcing her heart into a new rhythm as it marched on. She felt it in her veins, the course of her blood changing, her body willing to be a part of the institution so desperately that it would do whatever it had to do to conform.
The clock continued to tick, and her hands picked anxiously at the edges of the file, beginning to fray the paper.
Beyond the clock, outside the impressive arched windows that framed the fireplace, a blustery February morning raged.
She was early in her application, so early that no school in all of North America had even formally announced an open enrollment. The Academy didn't offer enrollment options. You had to be selected.
Never in the history of the Academy had anyone shown up for a meeting without going through the selection process. She had defied every odd in the book, but her hardships were only just beginning. Finding out about the Academy without an inside scoop required leaps of faith and luck that most people simply didn't have.
But she'd been patient; talking to the right people, following up at the opportune times, and ceaselessly preparing. She knew she had but one chance, and she wouldn't miss it for anything.
There was nothing else for her outside of this opportunity. No home to go back to, no life to continue. Her life boiled down to this moment, and this moment alone. It would define her—or destroy her.
Tick… tick… tick…
Finally, a door opened, and she looked up, her heart in her throat, blocking much-needed oxygen to answer when her name was called.
She stood from the stiff wooden chair, smoothing a hand over her skirt and tugging her bag onto her shoulder. She made sure the file was firmly in her grasp as she stepped forward.
"Aren't your parents here?" The headmaster asked, a frown creasing his aged face.
"No, sir," she said, forcing her voice to be as level and calm as she could. "I'm applying alone."
The headmaster gave her a firm once over before nodding.
"Right. Well, let's get started. Please enter, Miss Brandon."
My goal is to post weekly on Saturdays. And don't worry, for those who have been reading most of my stuff lately, this story is not a drabble form. Chapters will be full length and worth the week-long wait.
Thank you my dears for sticking around. I shall see you anon.