Archive of Our Own ^beta

She could barely remember her life before. Nothing came to her when she tried to recall the face of her saviour, not even their voice or their clothes. How else, other than by a stranger's hand, was she still alive?

Truly, the last thing she recalled was running from an explosion, and the wall rushing to meet her at dizzying speeds. There was no pain when she awoke. Only the remnants of fear.

She reached to touch her face, but felt nothing. Panic consumed her as she scrambled to make sense of her surroundings. Sepia hues bathed infirmary walls as she studied the familiar room. Something about their placement didn't make sense, although for the life of her, she couldn't determine what.

It wasn't until her gaze landed on a pile of sheets, stained in patches of brown, that she realised why.

She was floating. Not above her body, like she had anticipated, but embedded in the wall.

Gwenora screamed, but all that echoed off the bricks was a gravelly, guttural cry. Only the tune of it was her own, the voice like mountains moving distinctly not hers.

Perhaps, had fate been kind to her, she would have cried. Despite the welling of bitterness and despair, she could not feel her tears. She heard them, though, skittering across the ground where her feet once stood. Pebbles of loss in a colourless world.

More than anything, she wanted to be far, far away from here. Dizzying claustrophobia spiked as the walls began to bury her. Another grating scream split the air before they peeled away, a new landscape enough to shock her into silence.

Startled students peered up at her from the pale floor. Pillars and dummies littered the area, ominous ghosts of what she once loved. Before she could react, high-pitched laughter rang out, and a chunk of brick hurtled towards her. Agony blossomed across her cheek. Too stunned to cry, dust and earthen shards rustling in place of tears, the wall around her trembled with rage.

“Just who the hell do you think you are?! That hurt, you know!”

She lurched as she tried to escape her prison, to rip herself from the bricks and pummel the brat, but just as she felt she might almost succeed, someone stepped in the way. Sturdy, impassive, calm. An unusual hush befell the boisterous room as a quiet voice broke through.

“Gwenora.”

Radegund lay a hand over the wound, as reassuring as her voice. Already it barely stung, more a memory than true pain, but a knife twisted in Gwenora's heart at the kindness.

“What she did wasn't right, but there's no need to act like that. I'm sure she's sorry.” Her professor glared over her shoulder at the disgruntled student. “Aren't you?”

The student pouted, arms crossed over her chest, and reluctantly grumbled an apology, never once looking her way. Since Radegund's coddling did nothing for Gwenora's anger, she moved elsewhere before she could antagonise her favourite teacher.

Gwenora only learned the face of her 'saviour' when his body was laid to rest. From the notes of brown and silver, he must have once been regal indeed. From the Northern Dorms, no doubt. Yet, when she regarded him, glanced at the handful of weeping teachers and what were probably his parents, she felt numb. Unlike like the blows that dripped from her skin without fail, it gripped what little remained of her emotions.

What right do I have to be here? I don't know him. I wouldn't be stuck like this if it weren't for him, so why do I stay? This accursed existence is all his fault!

Despite her disquiet, she remained silent throughout the proceedings. His parents knelt to clutch his bloodless hand. Aeldra droned on and on about a 'great tragedy' and 'insurmountable loss'. Sadio explained that the explosion was an alchemical fluke, then recounted his selfless efforts to save other students. Apparently, all of those he helped had either lived or died, never to experience Gwenora's fate. Had she the heart, Gwenora may have even felt lonely.

She stayed long after his body had been given to earth and stone, forgotten as the attendees left. Not even Radegund spared her a glance.

Grim certainty set in when she was alone: no one cared. Or, rather, the only one that did could no longer prove it. Why should she play nice when nobody even wanted her around?

For many years, the library had been her sanctuary, a place few students cared to go. So, when a young interloper encroached on her haven, she had a mind to scare him away.

“Don't you have somewhere elseto be alone with your thoughts?”

Nose buried in his book, his reply was immediate. “Don't you have anything better to do than bother students minding their own business?”

Who does this punk think he is?

“You could stand to be nicer.” Slivers of satisfaction tugged at her rugged lips as his eyebrow twitched. “Maybe learn some manners.”

Powerful thuds drifted across the room as he slammed his book shut. With a glare, he rose smoothly to his feet. “You should take your own advice: Some people around here know a lot of nasty spells.”

None nastier than what happened to me .

“Your empty threats mean nothing to me. Better luck next time.”

Defiant arms folded firmly over his chest, but nothing about the gesture suggested lack of confidence. In fact, he seemed so sure of himself, it was almost infuriating. What could she do to take him down a few pegs?

“True, you have no reason to believe me, but I know a spell that can cut through stone. It was developed as a failsafe for if a golem ever went rogue, but I'm sure it could hurt you just fine. You should find a better hobby than annoying people if you don't want me to teach it to someone much more bloodthirsty than I.”

Gwenora smirked, her very being bursting with a devilish glee. “Oh, I'd love to see you try. You probably don't even have friends. None that exist beyond these pages, anyway.”

With a slow shake of his head, his sigh almost regretful, he gathered his things into his arms. “If you keep that up, you'll be lonely for the rest of your life. No one will listen to you, and when one day, you finally ask for help? It'll be too late.” And with that, he left her to her thoughts.

Tsk, I'll show him! Surely if a spell like that existed, someone would've already tried it on me. Who is he to lecture me, anyway? Nothing can hurt me like this!

Doubtlessly after learning of Petronella's most recent breakdown, Safina stood before her, stance wide. Fingers twitched around a sizeable knife, and the force of her glare spoke ill of her intentions. Still, what could a little knife do, when students had tried everything over the years to hurt her?

“That's the last straw!” Safina surged towards her, a golden light focused into the blade. “I'm sick of you harassing my friends!”

She was wrong - Pain like she had never felt in this form seared across her eye. Gwenora howled as the sensation spread throughout her face, a pool of magma bubbling beneath her stony skin. Had she her wits about her, she may have thought she would finally be free of her tomb. As it stood, however, the all-consuming blaze was all she could ever know. Even when she phased to a safer place, the sting did not lessen.

No blood dripped from her, no altered fluid at all, but the void of what was lost loomed amidst her senses. Her eye refused to open. She had no desire to look into a mirror just yet, angry enough to want the world to burn. How could she fix herself without hands or her old magic, anyway?

Menacing slabs of stone grated as she bore her teeth at the world.

“Why are you here, Cinders?” Her eye narrowed as Maritte drew closer. As she observed the girl's journey, bore witness to the awakening of her true self, she had grown almost fond of her. “Shouldn't you be off solving problems?”

“That is why I'm here.”

Before now, Gwenora had only heard her use that tone to comfort her friends. Stunned, she said nothing to halt the advance. As footsteps fell to silence, the girl slowly reached towards her, a plea for permission in her two-toned gaze. Gwenora's eyelid gradually fell closed.

“Who hurt you?” Maritte's hand came to rest tenderly on her cheek. Although the kindest touch pulled at her emotions much like a blow, she did not flinch. “Other than my sister, of course.”

When was the last time anyone had stopped to listen? Even stranger than this girl's ashen scent, and her magic that could melt stone, was her heart. Really, who was Gwenora to deny her what she sought?

“Everyone did! They... they all abandoned me! Forgot about me... I needed to make them remember.”

Careful fingers traced the well-worn scar as her mouth twitched into a fine line, accented by a determined stare. “This isn't the way to do that. You should take the time to really think about things, somewhere without distractions. Is what you're doing really what you want?”

Those words shocked Gwenora, pointed and meaningful as she fought to consider them. Was she really living her best unlife as she was now? Even without her kindness, it was easy to know that she was miserable.

“...No.”

“Then it's settled.” Maritte's sunshine warmth washed over her as her lips drew back in a hopeful smile. “Good luck, Gwenora. I know you'll find yourself again.”

Although Gwenora scoffed, gravel heaved as her mouth followed suit. Despite her form, she felt... lighter. As though Maritte's fate was to unburden those around her. Had she the hands, she would've returned the favour by ruffling her hair, or perhaps even a hug. For now, all she could do was lean further into her palm.

“Maritte... Thank you. Perhaps I don't deserve your compassion, but I'll consider what you ask. I hope that your future is much kinder than mine ever was.”

She watched the girl's bright face for a few moments longer, before finally, she melted effortlessly into the wall. Maybe she did have a future after all. She let this thought carry her as she drifted somewhere far, far away from the harrowing halls of Ikenfell.