Page 19 of Crown of Thorns
Why is he chasingme? I have nothing to offer.
Nothing.
Emotionally, I’m a mess. Constantly on edge. Terrified that someone somehowknowswhat happened that night in the club. What I did.
The past few months have been so much. The reunion with my sister, the burial of Mom and Granddad. The job opportunity of a lifetime.
Teaching here at Saint-Laurent is a dream come true. I am grateful that they found my profile and contacted me. I studied for years to be here, and want to give them my best possible version. The self-sacrificing version that gave up everything for education. No social life. No hobbies. No nothing. Just studying.
The air in my office is thick, the scent of old books and polished wood a constant reminder of the legacy I’m trying to uphold. But beneath that veneer, I feel a cold creep along my spine, a whisper of doubt that threatens to unravel me.
Because now, everything depends on this job. My reputation, my career. Everything I’ve worked for. Everything Iown. Money. Melody. I’ve got her now to take care of, my twenty-one-year-old ray-of-sunshine-baby-sister. If I lose this job, I lose her too. I’ve given up everything in my life to be where I am today. And I won’t let it be taken from me by somekid.
The pressure coils inside me like a serpent ready to strike. Every text, every look from Louis, tightens the noose a little more. I’m balancing on the edge, and one wrong move could send everything crashing down.
In class, he pressed every boundary, pushed me until I snapped. I sent him out—firm, final. Thought I’d reclaimed control. But then came the photo. Explicit. Brazen. Taken right after he came all over my bed. No message. Just the image—him, spent, satisfied, and victorious. My silence afterward? It wasn’t strength. It was panic.
In the end, I choose the coward’s route. I send him an email. A sterile, official-sounding warning about his behaviour. It’s not enough. It’s not even close. What he did deserves a formal report, a disciplinary board, hell, even legal action. But I don’t go there. Because if I do, Louis will open his mouth. And when hedoes, it will be my word against his. And that’s a risk I can’t take. Not with everything I’ve worked for, not with Melody depending on me.
That night, nightmares infiltrate my mind. I haven’t had those for years. They take me deeper into the castle, take me underground to dark rooms that smother me. Venetian masks and cloaked figures chase me through time, smothering my fear and leaving me beat up until I wake with a shout, skin slick with sweat.
I wake with my heart pounding like a drum, the echo of laughter—hislaughter—haunting my ears long after the nightmare fades. It’s a cruel reminder that the battle isn’t just outside; it’s inside me, too.
I consider heading back to the castle on Saturday morning, but reasoning kicks in as usual. It might soothe my brain, but it does nothing to calm my heart. The cawing sound of the crow from the painting I saw follows me during the entire weekend, despite my best efforts to live like normal people do. I visit the local market, but the lack of sleep makes my survival instincts kick in. I feel on edge.
I spend my entire Sunday working out and reading. Sports clear my head, and information is safe.
Slowly, I come down from my frenzy, but when the sun sets and the night kicks in, the nightmares are back, reminding me how much of an emotional failure I am.
Melody gifted me with a painting of the full formula of Pythagoras, and her artistic interpretation will look pretty in my office. Dragging the piece through the corridors on Monday morning, I pass students with a curt nod. The damn thing isn’t heavy, but the shape makes it difficult to carry. Putting the painting next to my door, I gaze down the other side, noticing more Christmas decorations have been put up over the weekend.
What happens hereaftereight?
Recollections are a bitch. They alter your mind, solely offering fractions of your own fear, regardless of whether they happened or not. The Venetian mask I saw has changed colors countless times in my mind, shifting from black to dark red, dripping with blood.
And sometimes, just briefly, I see a mouth behind it. Smirking. Like his. Like Louis at the club. Coincidence, maybe. Or something more. My mind won’t let it go.
I force myself to follow the trail toward the source of last night’s nightmares. During the day, the corridor doesn’t look terrifying. Still narrow, its walls still adorned with countless framed old photos, but nothing you wouldn’t find in a castle. The corridor is quiet when I get there. Too quiet. It makes my skin itch with anticipation, like the silence itself is watching.
Turning the corner, I fist my hands and slowly walk toward the creepy artwork. I imagine the light flickering like it did last Friday, imagine seeing what Itrulysaw. At least the painting is real, the forest dark, and the portrayed bird terrifying. Unless you’re into that sort of gothic art, which I’m not.
The corridor ends at a dead end, and the painting is stuck to the wall, not leaving a single bit of friction. There’s no way that cloaked person could have vanished. I kick a few times against the white baseboard, but nothing happens. It’s a solid wall. I must be losing my mind. There’s a mark under the frame. Barely visible, carved into the stone. A single crow etched into the baseboard. It makes my skin prickle. That wasn’t there before, right? Or maybe I just never noticed.Taking in a deep breath, I look around. There are no other doors here. There was no other way out for whoever I was chasing.
WasI chasing someone?
Or is this yet another spin on my thoughts?
Granddad used to say knowledge was a shield. But I’m starting to think he knew more than he let on. About this place, and what it does to people.
This corridor is a maze. Louis is a storm. These nightmares are poison. And it’s very probable that this cloaked, masked person is just a creation of my fears. That it’s only in my head.
Stop it.
The truth hurts.
Slightly defeated, I amble back to my office. Unlocking the door, I switch on the light, grab the painting, and then…
I pause. Blink. And blink again.
