Page 17 of A Liar's Twisted Tongue

“You can take one,” Aralia says. She must have meant a slice of one, but before I clarify, I remember where I am. I pick up the pie greedily and am pleasantly surprised when my first bite is sweet and not savory.

I’ve never had a pie with fruit before, nor have I ever had this fruit before. It must be from Viridis, whose agricultural products don’t reach the septic anymore. Even the wheat crust is sweet, compared to the crusts at home that were always bland. I slow my bites and try not to look like a starved orphia from the septic, but I still finish the pie too quickly.

Pies aren’t a delicacy at home, just a way to stretch the meat when it’s meager.

She offers to help me unpack my stuff, and I make up some bullshit about trying to let go of my past, telling her I’m going to buy everything I need here. As if I have a single pence to my name. Then I lay on the bed—which is softer than even the thickest patch of grass—and sleep for the rest of the day.

When I wake up it’s night, and I carefully listen to Aralia’s breathing until I’m sure she’s asleep. I slip out of bed and stuff a pillow under the cover.

There’s a stack of clothes and green sheets on the dresser. I rub the glamour over my entire back, and to my surprise, every single one of my scars disappears. I can still feel the raised skin, but I can’t see it.

There’s a long-sleeved black shirt, plaid skirts, pants, and jackets, all the darkest blue I’ve ever seen. I think I like it better than the green. A silver emblem of what I assume are the gods is on the chest of every jacket.

I throw one on and walk the school halls like I have somewhere to be. The eyes of the busts seem to follow me all the way to a door that leads outside. Then I’m in a garden more beautiful than any of my old dreams.

In the center is a fountain with a woman whose hair is wrapped around her head like a tall crown. The walls of the school are covered in glowing, purple flowers, and the air is nothing like the muggy, humid air of the welders’ village. It feels sharp going down my throat, awakening my senses like a blade piercing skin.

The bushes lining the school walls are full of overripe berries, reminding me of the kinds of people this school houses.

It’s a shame my enemy is so beautiful.

When my eyes land on the glowing beam in the sky, I figure it’s a moon. And it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Dark blue and indigo shine with the whites and grays, and I decide I’ll miss it when I make it home.

The moon’s light shines down onto another faint blue glow. It’s within the fence that borders around woods that could almost be the septic. I follow the glow like it’s calling me. It leads to a lake, more iridescent than blue, and I take a silent step back when I see someone sitting on the edge.

I stop when they say, without turning around, “Leaving so soon?”

The voice is like a song I used to know but can’t remember. Before logic kicks in, I ask, “Do I know you?”

It’s a boy’s face I’m met by when he turns. Wavy, dark hair falls over his forehead but not into his eyes. Every angle of him is sharp enough to cut; his jaw and cheekbones are emphasized by the shadows the moonlight is casting over the planes of his face.

He’s perfection. The kind you could only attain by being pampered your entire life. Beautiful, yes, but I prefer the roguish beauty of Damien. It adds depth of character. This boy has none, I’m sure.

His eyes scan up and down my body. They’re so dark that at first I think they’re brown or gray, but when they meet me again, I realize I am mistaken.

They’re a blue as dark as midnight.

A far cry from the headmistress’s bright, almost white, eerie eyes.

His blue eyes glow like the lake, but still darker before he says, “I’d remember a Fire Folk.” Then he smirks. Slow and teasing, the kind that accompanies an enemy before they strike.

I sneer, only in an attempt to find some high ground. “Stay out of my head, Lucent.”

“On the contrary,” he stands, “your head seems like such a lovely place to be.”

I level my eyes on his, maintaining an unwavering and strong glare. I don’t allow my voice to fluctuate for a second. “Same with your memories.”

The boy scoffs with a smile, but I think I’ve made him nervous because he says, “Tell me, what do you see?”

“Nothing you’d want repeated.” Nothing, period. The Folk govern memories, but I’ve never been able to start so much as a measly fire.

Despite my still hoping that’s the case, I take the chance to walk in the opposite direction of him.

Then I think I might just survive here after all.

Chapter 4

All My Dreams Are Awake

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