Lyraea stood nervously before the door, her fingers twitching with anxiety as she glimpsed her classmates pointing at her. With a deep breath, she grasped the strap of her bag and clenched her other hand, her eyes fixed on the door handle. She pushed it open.
The creaking sound drew the attention of the teachers seated on the large table. Miss Jonathan's warm smile welcomed her.
"Lyraea, come take a seat."
The air seemed to thicken as Lyraea stepped forward. The room had its breath, every heartbeat echoed in her ears. She wandered if they could hear it too-the frantic rhythm that matched her racing thoughts. The mahogany chair felt cold against her legs as she lowered herself into it.
Her eyes held the clarity of a serene lake. They moved with the grace of a seasoned dancer, capturing the essence of the room in a single, sweeping glance. Her clutched hand on the strap of her bag relaxed. She set it down, her fingers trembling ever so slightly, .... her nerve inevident.
Mrs. Jonathan's eyes bore into hers, assessing, probing.
Feeling the weight of their gazes, she straightened her posture.... shoulders back, and head held high.
The room seemed to tilt and Lyraea's senses sharpen. The sense of books mixed with the faintest hint of lavender from Mrs. Jonathan's perfume.
The sunlight slanted through the window, casting elongated shadows on the polished floor. As Mrs. Jonathan leaned forward, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Lyraea, are you alright."
"Yes, ma'am." Lyraea nodded.
Miss Jonathan placed a reassuring hand on Lyraea's shoulder and gently squeezed her clenched hand with the other.
"Good." She said with a warm smile.
"Lyraea, I know that you've been troubled these past few months. You might think we don't understand, but we do. Your family, your friends, your teachers—we're all here for you."
Lyraea's wandering eyes, which had been darting around the room, drifted to Mrs. Jonathan's compassionate face, her words balm to her troubled soul. She nodded, her throat tightened with emotions.
"You're an exceptional student, Lyraea. You have a bright future ahead. We believe in you, and we know you can overcome this difficult phase." Miss Marlinda added, her eyes filled with empathy.
Miss Russo stood up and placed a hand on Lyraea's shoulder from behind, her voice filled with warmth
"Your aunt is worried about you, Lyraea. Please talk to her, and to us. We'll always be here to support you."
Lyraea's trance-like state was broken by Miss Jonathan's gentle nudge.
"Now, go, Lyraea. We'll see you soon after the vacations. I want to see the old Lyraea, the shining star of our university."
Lyraea nodded, her eyes still fixed on Miss Jonathan, and walked out of the staff room like a puppet on strings.
With each step she took, the weight of acceptance hung heavy in the air. She had been in the staff room before, but never had she felt this anxious.
Lyraea wondered if she was about to sore or plummet....
The teachers exchanged concerned glances watching her dwindling figure.
"Thank goodness that's over for now. Her aunt has been haunting my dreams, begging me to help Lyraea understand." Miss Vincenzo sighed in relief.
Miss Jonathan's expression turned stern.
"I hope she doesn't repeat this stunt again. Next time, it won't be so easy."
''Her grades haven't been impressive either."
Just then, a loud knock on the door made them turn towards it. Lyraea stood in the doorway, her face expressionless, her eyes fixed on the teachers.
Miss Jonathan's expression quickly transformed into a gentle one, her voice filled with concern.
"Lyraea, do you need something?"
Lyraea's gaze locked onto Miss Jonathan's.
"My bag."
Miss Jonathan's eyes softened, "Oh, Miss Russo, please pass Lyraea her bag."
''I'm deeply grateful for your support, professoressa.'' Lyraea took her bag and, without a glance at anyone, walked out of the staff room.
Miss Russo whispered, "I told you she was faking it. Where's the weak Lyraea now?" Miss Jonathan rolled her eyes, and the teachers returned to their work, their faces stern once more.
Lyraea walked briskly down the hallway, pushing through the students. Her bag was clutched tightly in hand.
"Hey, where were you?" One of her 'friends' grabbed her hand and asked.
"Hell. You wanna come..." Her voice was cold, each word a sharp, biting retort.
Lyraea yanked her hand free, before walking away. The students in the hallway stared at her, bewildered.
This Lyraea was different from the one they had known for the past nine months, but it was also the Lyraea they were most familiar with.
Ah, the air changes when the confidence walk in.....
Lyraea Pastorio had made it engraved to her bones.
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Lyraea stormed into the classroom, her face red with anger, her eyes blazing with fury. The room was empty, except for her footsteps echoing of the cold grey wall.
She slammed her bag, heavy with textbooks and frustration, on her desk with a 'thud', the sound resonating off the walls. Lyraea kicked her chair, the legs scraping against the floor. She glared at nothing in particular, her eyes flashing with anger.
"You're so stupid, Lyraea!" She spat, her voice venomous, directed at herself.
"You're so weak! You can't even... UGH!"
She paced back and forth, her words tumbling out in a torrent of self-loathing.
"You're a failure! You're a disappointment! Sei... Sei patetica!"
She ranted, her anger seemed to consume her, her body trembling with rage.
But slowly, her words trailed off, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She stopped, her chest heaving, her eyes still flashing with anger.
As the tension slowly dissipated, Lyraea's words turned soft and gentle, a quiet mantra of self-compassion.
"It's okay, Lyraea. You're okay. You'll get through this." Jaws clenched, she took in the stillness of the room.
But it took her just a second to swirl her mind back to the staff room.
''Mrs. Jonathan....'' Lyraea spat out the name like a curse, her anger seeping out of her once again like a molten lava.
''Always hovering, ...always watching. Does she think I'm a child?'' Her voice cracked, revealing the raw edges of her emotions.
The classroom seemed to close in on her, it's walls pressing against her sanity. She turned to the empty seat next to her, where Miss Russo usually set during the lectures.
''And you, Miss Russo!'' She whispered, pointing her finger in the same direction.
''With your rigid rules and disapproving glances, you are no better than the shadows that hunt me.''
Her eyes blazed with anger and accusation, making it seem as though Miss Russo was sitting there, the invisible presence who had wronged her.
''And.... Miss Marlinda!''
She spun around to face the classroom, her eyes seething with fury, she was about to unleash a malediction at Miss Melinda that would make the walls tremble.
But she caught herself just in time, her lips snapping shut like a trap.
The room holding its breath for her wrathful execration, now exhaled in collective relief.....
The realization dawned on her like a storm cloud, and she slowly turned her head to scan the room, her eyes darting from desk to desk.
Fortunately, the classroom was empty!!
She let out a shaky breath and raised a trembling hand to her forehead, as if to calm the storm brewing inside. Her laser-focused gaze locked onto a bag perched precariously on the chair two seats away.
Her worried expression morphed into a sinister grin, her eyes gleaming with malice.
"Eleonora Romano." She whispered the name aloud, her voice dripping with disdain.
"Look who we have here... Miss Eleonora's bag, heh?" She sauntered towards the bag, the emptiness amplified the rhythm of her steps, turning them into a haunting melody.
Her hand reached out, and she softly caressed the back of the bag with her fingers, her touch almost tender. But her expression belied her actions, her smile twisting.
Her grip on the bag tightened. She hurled it to the floor with a force that made the chairs nearby rattle.
''Vai all'inferno!" Her words slithered out, her voice low, a whispered threat that hung in the air like a coiled serpent.
''May your cursed things rot in hell.'' She glared at the bag.
Lyraea's anger surged like a tempest, her words a storm that lashed against the walls.
But as the echoes faded, she stood there, her breath waned, the remnants of her fury dissipating like smoke.
The classroom, once a battleground, now cradled her in its silence. She closed her eyes, counted her breaths—one, two, three—and let the quiet seep into her bones.
Exhausted, she slumped into her chair, her head in her hands. Her body was relaxing, her eyes closing as she tried to calm herself. The room was silent, except for the sound of her own labored breathing.
Outside the window, rain tapped a gentle rhythm, a soothing lullaby....
Lyraea traced the grain of the wooden desk, feeling its solidity, its history etched by countless students before her.
The desks and chalk dust conspiring to comfort her—their collective wisdom as if whispering, "Breathe, dear student. We've seen storms and survived them all."
And so, she did.
''Inhale....Exhale....'' The anger ebbed slowly, wipping away the last vestiges of venom.
The classroom held its breath, cocooning Lyraea in a symphony of sounds, the voice of the wind whispering secrets to her. The raindrops trailing on the windowpan, seemed to smile—an old friend sharing tales of forgotten storms.
But the clock—the relentless heartbeat of time—was the true conductor, each of its second a metronome, counting down to something unknown.
Lyraea, laying on one of the desks, surrendered. her breaths syncing with the world around her, her consciousness slipping into slumber.
The classroom, once a sanctuary of quietude, embraced Lyraea in its comfort.
But then, like a shard of glass shattering the stillness, the sound of high heels pierced the air.
'Tak, Tak, Tak'