Chapter 3
THREE
RUELLA
“Please keep up Miss Griffith. We have a lot of ground to cover and not a lot of time to do it in,”
The short plump lady wearing a black pant suit grumbled while rolling her eyes when I entered the main building this morning, then proceeded to look me up and down with a frown before introducing herself to me.
Mrs. Owens is the head of admissions and informed me that I was annoyingly late which pushed everything in her day back an hour, I also couldn’t join in the first assembly of term, which I am not complaining about, but apparently being late didn’t affect my classes because they don’t start until tomorrow.
That was thirty minutes ago, and what feels like a thousand steps and a dozen staircases back. I thought the building was vast from the outside. I was wrong. It's enormous. A Labyrinthine. Like the Tardis, if it had been designed by a gothic architect with a taste for the theatrical.
The main structure forms a perfect square, its edges guarded by four soaring turrets that vanish into the mist above. At its heart, a vast courtyard stretches out, easily the size of two football fields, where smaller stone buildings squat like ancient relics, half-swallowed by ivy and shadow.
Inside, it’s nothing short of magnificent.
Vaulted ceilings soar overhead, held up by arches carved with intricate artistry.
Dark parquet floors gleam like glass beneath my feet, mirroring the low glow of candelabras that flicker against the stone walls.
Tapestries hang like whispers from the past, and oil paintings with cracked eyes track your every move.
Every detail feels deliberate, as if the building itself were alive and observing.
It’s beautiful in the way abandoned cathedrals are beautiful. Quiet, echoing, and full of ghosts.
The halls twist and fold back on themselves, each corridor indistinguishable from the next. I remind myself to ask Mrs. Owens if there’s a map, or if the school prefers its students slightly disoriented.
“The building is set in wings,” Mrs. Owens says while click clacking on the floors with her stilettos.
She might only be from the admissions department but her perfectly fitted black suit and red bottom heels scream money.
If this is how a low-level office worker dresses, then I am excited to see what the professors dress like.
“On each corner is the housing, there is Lancaster house, Ellington house, Devereux House and the one you will be in,” She pauses at a large wooden door in what I think is the west wing of the main building. She turns and lifts her hand gesturing towards the arched doorway. “Hastings House,”
Without another word, Mrs. Owens opens the door, revealing a vast open-plan room that feels like stepping into someone else’s dream. A wave of scent hits me all at once, coffee, lavender, cherry, vanilla, cloves, sweat… and oddly, Pot Noodle?
I pause, scanning the space, and for the first time since arriving, something in me settles. It feels lived in. Comforting. Human.
This must be the shared common room for the house.
The bones of the space are clearly as old as the main building, vaulted ceilings, blackwood beams, tall arched windows draped in heavy velvet.
The walls, still that deep, shadowy tone, are lined with dim brass sconces that cast a soft amber glow.
But it’s the small details that warm it: worn leather sofas with thick cushions and mismatched throws, a low wooden table covered in scattered mugs and an open chessboard, the enormous fireplace crackling beneath a mounted TV and far too much expensive gaming gear.
To my left, the kitchen catches my eye with dark cabinetry, matte black appliances, and aged brass fixtures.
Mrs. Owens had already taken me through the formal dining hall, apparently, our meals are prepared by a world-renowned chef, but this, this is what makes me exhale.
A place where I can cook toast in silence or drink tea in the middle of the night. I’m used to eating alone anyway.
The breakfast bar is long, lined with six black iron stools, and fitted with two deep sinks.
In the far corner, tucked beside one of the mullioned windows, are two towering, industrial-sized fridges.
I wander over, tug one open, and blink in surprise.
It’s fully stocked. No labelled containers, no colour-coded sections.
Just food, untouched, unclaimed, and oddly generous.
“If you have any requests then you can send an email to the house captain, and they will make sure the kitchen is stocked here for you,” Mrs. Owens voice is warm but there is no interest in it. She is just reciting a script to me before she can run away and do her job.
I nod. “Okay,”
She turns and heads for another door next to a small sitting area with a collection of tall bookcases around it. The cozy nook looks so inviting, I can’t wait to curl up with a good book and a Horlicks on a dreary day like this when I am settled in.
You have a job to do dumbass.
I remind myself of the real reason I am here, and my slightly improved mood comes crashing down.
“This way. Chop chop,” Mrs. Owens shouts as it echo’s from beyond the doorway.
A circling set of stone stairs winds its way up to the tip of the turret and I suddenly feel like I am at a wizarding school.
On each floor is two doorways leading to what I assume are the bedrooms and I find myself begging the stars for a single.
I would hate my life even more than I already do if I had to room with a stranger.
“This is you,” Mrs. Owens finally says after climbing way too many floors that I forgot to count. It’s not like I won’t be able to find it however, the door that leads to my room happens to be the last doorway at the top of the turret.
I won’t ever be behind on my steps at least.
The older woman takes a card from her pocket and scans it against the smart lock, and when the green light flashes the door clicks open.
“Please take good care of this. I know you all seem to think I am here to serve you, but I have better things to do with my time then replace all the lost room keys,” I take the card she holds out before me and again without waiting on a reply from me, she makes her way down the stairs.
“Your schedule is on the desk, along with your login for the student portal. Goodluck Miss Griffith,” Then she is gone.
I turn back towards my bedroom door that is ajar and take a deep breath before pushing it open all the way.
“Oh, thank fuck for that,” I whisper as I enter the room.
To my absolute delight, there’s only one bed, and it’s enormous.
A king-sized expanse of charcoal velvet and crisp linen tucked beneath a tall, arched window.
The crisscross of black leaded glass cuts the view into jagged shards of grey sky and forest shadows, a quiet reminder that I’ll be sleeping in what is, by all reasonable accounts, a haunted castle.
Why Marlowe ever wanted to come here is beyond me. Sure, it’s the sort of place money builds when it wants to show off, but she never struck me as the academic type. More champagne and curated selfies than classical literature and crumbling stone. Still, here I am. Here we are.
My suitcases have already made it to the room, thanks to one of the silent caretakers we passed on the way to the dining hall.
I drag the largest one toward the wardrobe, not exactly vast, but enough to hold the basics.
There’s a matching tallboy, and a pair of heavy bedside tables carved with strange, curling patterns that seem more decorative than practical.
Curious, I pad across the creaking floorboards to the bathroom and freeze, a slow grin tugging at my lips.
A freestanding clawfoot tub sits directly in front of a high, narrow window carved into the turret wall.
The view casts out across a sea of dark trees and creeping mist, the forest pressing in close like it’s watching.
I can already imagine myself there, soaking in steaming water, alone, gazing out at a world that feels half-forgotten.
Creepy, yes. But darkly beautiful.
And entirely mine.
My stomach growls and I take a quick glance at my watch. Twelve thirty.
“Jeez that tour went on for two bloody hours,” I say to myself.
It’s not a new trait, talking like a crazy person.
It was one I decided on doing deliberately so I didn’t lose my mind with my loneliness.
If Marlowe or Silas didn’t seek me out, I could go weeks without talking to anyone, so I decided to be my own company.
I open my bag and quickly grab my redbull plus a bag of salt and vinegar crisps.
I quickly demolish them while reading through the welcome pack that was left on my desk.
I have an iPad that I have to take practically everywhere, a lanyard with a card passes on it for the different wings and buildings, then finally my schedule.
I sigh. “Not too bad,” I lay myself backwards onto the bed and close my eyes.
There is a long list of degrees I could have been signed up for at Marrowton academy, at least with English Literature, I enjoy the topic. Not that it matters if I enjoy it, I’m not really here for me.
Okay time to stop sulking and make a move.
I decide to unpack my things to pass the time between now and dinner time, hopefully everyone will be in the dining hall, and I can sneak down and make something while its quiet.
I know I will eventually have to speak to people and try and make some friends, but I just need one night.
One night to prepare myself for the unknown I am about to walk into.
***
ASHER