Chapter 2 Things I Thought But Never Said #3
At the end of the day, I return to Ms. Ferner’s classroom.
Her dark brown curls are frizzier than usual, barely contained as she carefully imbues a bottle of herbs with her power.
Her frazzled state could be on account of the harsh realities of today, though she’s probably long been aware of the volunteer groups.
She looks up when I enter, gesturing toward my usual seat. I slide into it as she finishes her work.
“How was it today?” she asks, setting the bottle down.
I pick at the wood around the desk, staring at every crevice. “Difficult.”
“I’d imagine.” Ms. Ferner approaches, sitting next to me.
She can imagine, but she doesn’t. This is the way of the worlds.
I drop my hands, pressing my palms flat against the wooden table. “How do you watch and do nothing?” I ask, unable to keep my voice steady.
Ms. Ferner shakes her head, as if she doesn’t know what I’m referring to. “Watch what?”
“The abuse of the Nepenthes,” I say, assuming that my question was obvious enough, especially for another Eunoia. She can feel me.
She knows what I’m talking about.
Her eyes find mine, severe. “You know what they did.”
“One war doesn’t give us the right to abuse their children—”
“Ms. Estridon,” she hisses, silencing me. “Three battles, and against the Folk.”
“Perhaps they had a reason,” I press on.
“This is not the Eunoias’ universe. We are here because the Lyrians decided we are allowed to be.” Her gaze drills into mine, her voice dangerously quiet. “There is no space for revolution.”
I look down, breaking eye contact when I feel her conviction. She’s more emotionally grounded than me and could easily win a game of wills, despite her being wrong.
“I don’t want a revolution,” I mutter as I tug at the fingers of my gloves. “I only want people to be treated fairly.”
The words hang between the four marble walls of Ms. Ferner’s classroom, until finally, she cuts them down. “You like history, don’t you?”
I lift a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Some of it.”
“Then you should know there isn’t space in the universe for fair.” She gestures to my seat. “Sit down.”
I consider not doing as she asks, to take a stand. But she doesn’t need to teach me magic. I’m here because I need her to.
So, I sit, and in that seat, I put up my shields. I envision myself surrounded by a barrier—like a blanket of green smothering me. It’s meant to hold my power in, trapping a piece of me behind a mental cage of my own making.
It doesn’t always work.
“Whenever you’re ready, Estridon.”
With her, I don’t hold back. The whole point is to try and fail—to look her in the eye, tell her to feel something, and have nothing happen.
But it always works. I can always bend her emotions.
I’ve spent years trying to control this. Yet every time I command someone, they obey.
One day, when I finally fail—when my power is no longer stronger than my will—we’ll move on to my hands and their deadly nature. I’ll find a way to get rid of the gloves.
“Shields up, Estridon,” she demands.
I visualize my shields, closed and locked around me. I feel my power pushing against them, clawing for freedom.
“Command me.”
“You will not look away from me.” I meet her gaze, my power pressing behind my words. Ms. Ferner fights, but the magic is too strong.
Even stronger than my own will.
It always works. I can always bend her emotions—anyone’s emotions—no matter how hard I fight.
A tree is stronger than a piece of paper.
“Shields up, Estridon—”
“Quiet,” I cut her off, and her lips seal shut.
Slowly, her pupils grow, nearly covering her entire eye.
I sigh. I failed. She is entirely under my control. A tear slides down my cheek, my bottom lip wobbling.
“You don’t care for my reaction,” I mutter, wiping the tear away. I don’t know why I thought it’d be different, this time.
I’m always waiting for it to be different.
Ms. Ferner frowns, but she can’t speak. Not yet.
Sometimes I wonder if I want to fail—if I’m scared to touch her. If I know, deep down, that I will fail that, too.
Kill her, too.
“You feel normal,” I sigh. “I release you from my command.”
It happens instantaneously; Ms. Ferner’s green eyes return to normal. Her frustration trickles down my throat like poison—impossible to stop. I reach for them, but it’s her words I’m trying to free.
The leather of my gloves is harsh against my skin. The poison only grows harsher. There’s no way to rid myself of her emotion.
“You failed,” she spits.
“I know.”
“There’s no reason you should still be unable to contain it, Wendy.” My name on her lips shocks me; she hardly uses it. “You’re more powerful than the rest.”
“Isn’t that the problem?”
“Only if you think it’s one.”
Ms. Ferner is always mean on the outside. It’s a facade, an over-compensation. She knows she can’t hide how she truly feels, how she truly cares.
Not from me.
No one can.
She wants me better. Her annoyance has become personal.
A knock at the door sounds through the room, and Ms. Ferner fumbles out of the desk just before the door creaks open.
Emotional manipulation has long been banned at Visnatus, which is why I need Ms. Ferner more than she needs me. I don’t have anyone else who could help.
One day, somehow, I would like to be able to touch someone.
This is my single hope.
My heart races with the student’s fear as he stands in the doorway. Something’s wrong—something urgent.
“You’re needed in the combat room,” he says.
Someone’s hurt. If Ms. Ferner is needed, then many people are injured, and soon, I’ll be the one healing them.
It scares me.
“Wendy?” Ms. Ferner says, and I look back at her. “Return when you’re able to heal a self-inflicted wound.” She smiles sweetly before leaving.
Eunoia make the best liars.