Page 34 of The Souls Harvest
“Don’t be afraid, July,” he addresses me. “After all, we are here for you today.”
For or because of?
The room quickly fills with the sounds of complaining. Some are only muttered through yawns. Some—intentionally louder.
Ignoring their reactions, Roden marches towards nobody in particular, but instead to a display of coffee and fruit, beautifully arranged on a table by the wall opposite the door.
I linger by the entrance for a little longer, studying sleepy, all familiar faces and hands holding steaming mugs of coffee.
Alphonse Tydell is staring at me, sitting at the very end of a long table in the middle of the room. He is wearing what appears to be expensive mustard silk pyjamas, with his hair wet but elegantly combed back. His lips close and open, like those of a fish out of breath, as he squints and massages his eyes, seemingly shocked to seemehere instead of any other student.
My chest shrinks a little at his baffled and disappointed expression, even though I’m unsure what I should feel guilty for.
Standing by Mr. Tydell’s right, Amelia Kram glares at me from over a pair of shades large enough to cover her smooth-skinned face. She’s one of the youngest teachers, an expert in Horigos regional idioms. Her classes are optional, and I’ve never found learning Vinenzia’s long-lost dialect useful other than to sound annoyingly pompous. Removing her glasses and pulling out a chairwith manicured fingers - a gold ring shining on each one - she sits without taking her lilac eyes off me. Her brows arch slightly, as she stares at me like I’m an insignificant insect that has sneaked inside the room without invitation.
The other Chapter members have gathered around the little banquet table to refill their cups and exchange some words with Roden, but his mouth seems to move only to drink coffee and nibble on a strawberry.
Ignored by the person they unquestionably adore more than their own lives, Nikrah Skell - expert in Horigos’ history - and Master Donatori, Proja Dryb’He, stalk back to their chairs in silence.
“I don’t know if I should be congratulating you or be upset.” A voice sparks over my shoulders, pushing me further inside the room like a gust of wind.
I instinctively turn around, forgetting the other people in the room, and stare at Evelyn Popplewish, clapping as if marking the end of an outstanding performance.
From the moment I woke up in the room full of screens to my meeting with Roden, to later when we stepped inside the lift, nothing made much sense to me; like the pages of a book full of pictures being flipped too fast before my eyes.
But, now, all I can remember of that book is its last page—Evelyn Popplewish’s face. Well, one of her faces. One which I’ve never seen before. Heavy, concerned, but also veiled by an inexplicable hint of pride.
She drove me here.
No. That is not a proper thought. Better forget about it and shove it under the rug of things I’m not supposed to know.
“Why am I here?” I mumble instead. My gaze rests on her face and tight lips, pressed together as if keeping her words at bay. “Miss Popplewish, have I done something wrong?”
When she holds her hands up and lets them fall to her side with a sigh, confusion and a touch of worry rush through me.
“Roden, is she stilloblivious?” A pressing edge marks her tone.
In response, a high-pitched, little cry comes from behind me, and I cast a curious look in its direction, only to witness Tydell looking down at the table and shrinking in his chair.
Clearing his throat, Nikrah cuts short his exchange of words with Amelia, brushing biscuit crumbs from his black shirt. “She wouldn’t be ifsomeonehad arrived on time—like the rest of us.” He leans over the table, resting his chin in his hands, shooting a rigid smirk at Popplewish.
“At least some of us had the decency to make it on timeandlook presentable.” A petite silhouette steps out of a dark corner. Like shards of broken crystal in a sea of black sclera, her eyes cut through me with such an intensity that I couldn’t look anywhere else, even if I wanted to.
I fully turn towards her, my jaw drops a little as Lily Drestall, the very first female Master Writer in our history, flashes a smile at me before moving her attention to Professor Skell.
“Have you forgotten to shower after your gym session, Nikrah?”She looks him up, and wrinkles her nose in disgust and, tucking behind her ear a curly lock of shiny, black hair that’s escaped from her immaculate bun, she aims for a chair as far from him as possible.
Proja Dryb’He, the Donatore, famous for his impeccable art of allocating new souls to their new bodies whilst leaving no memories of their past lives, runs a hand through his dark hair, slumping back in his chair. His purple pupils shrink, almost swallowed by the total black of his eyes, when he comments, annoyed, “Can you two take your former not-so-former lovers’ arguments somewhere else? Don’t forget there’s a young mind in the room—”
“Debatable. When did you become such a prude, Projjy?” Nikrah stands up, squares his large shoulders and broad chest, picks up his chair, and moves to sit between Amelia and Tydell, whose face shows all his unspoken discomfort when Nikrah pushes him aside to make space.
Nikrah offers Tydell a smirk, then continues, “Besides, Evelyn said it—Miss Crimson’s mind is still sleeping in whatever lavender field Roden sent her to. And,” he inflates his chest, tapping a finger on his right bicep, “Don’t act annoyed when you, and lovely Amelia here, would have also loved to share a piece of this.”
“Pompous buffoons,” I hear Amelia muttering while lifting a cup of coffee to her overly plumped lips.
This is not normal… These are my teachers… this…“Wait..” I voice my train of thought without realising it, surprised when I’m finallyallowed to grasp my own words and memories—myself.
But Roden has other plans. “Enough,” he hits the floor twice with the end of his walking stick.
