Private Tales Do or Die

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Heat Wave​

She didn’t cry out, even when Marianne pressed the needle further in than it needed to be. Wincing in private, or as privately as one could when their thoughts were monitored, Everleigh focused on counting the deck of cards in her head. She always started with King, sometimes it would be all of them, or sometimes she’d start with hearts and descending down to ace before doing clubs, then diamonds, and ending with her favorite: spades. In her mind she’d always linger on the Ace of Spades. Her favorite of favorites.

The strongest card. Power. Success. Good Fortune. Good luck. It also was seen as the card of—

“Death.” Marianne finished aloud. Everleigh winced as she felt the needle dig into her skin roughly once more. “Little morbid today, aren’t you? Or are you still in your bad mood?” Everleigh knew it was better not to think too hard when it came to Marianne, she could see it all anyways. It was far better to be quick if one was going to throw her off a senstive subject.

“You’ve lost your touch when it comes to tattoos.”

“Is that why you’re mad?” Marianne wasn’t seriously asking, even Everleigh could tell that much without having to look at her. She could picture that insufferable coy face the blonde was making. How she’d made her blue eyes go blank and harmless like a woman who had never harmed a fly. “Watch it.” She pressed the needle sloppily into Everleigh, a warning.

They weren’t equals. Everleigh still wasn’t sure why Marianne had given her such a recommendation or why she had somehow convinced Proctor Palahniuk to do the same. She was certain that there was some hidden plan as to why, but Everleigh had little information to make any assumptions. For all she knew, Marianne was here because the life of a housewife didn’t suit her. Sometimes the most simple reason tended to be the truth.

But calling Marianne simple was practically a insult.

After all, after agreeing to the terms of joining the guard as a proctor, Everleigh felt that something was off. Not just because she had zero respect from those that she was apparently in charge of educating, although that was irritating in itself. It also wasn’t the lack of respect from the proctors around her who, months before, had been her teachers. It was how Marianne looked at her, and it wasn’t because Marianne didn’t respect her.

Why did she feel like such a plaything? Why did she feel like this was a test? When was the ball going to drop?

“Relax.” Marianne said, stilling jamming the needle into skin now decorated with magic ink and gooseflesh. “You’re as anxious as ever.”

“The academy makes you anxious.”

“Only if you’re weak. I doubt Edric ever felt anxious around his classmates. Only with a certain proctor or two did he need to worry.” Everleigh frowned. “Ralene and Elias probably didn’t worry much, either. Or Kalix. Jaxan would’ve enjoyed someone trying to pick a fight with him.“

“I get it.” Everleigh waited for the jab of pain but none came.

“You’re tensing up.” Everleigh took a deep breath, thinking of her stack of playing cards. King of hearts, Queen of hearts— Everleigh sucked in a breath. The needle punctured her skin, down to her flesh. “Whoops.” Bitch. “WHOOPS.” Everleigh gritted her teeth, grinding them together. The shoulder blades hurt just as much as when Marianne was going over the hard curves of her spine. “Sometimes I think you’ve forgotten I know your every thought.”

Everleigh said nothing. Instead she pressed her nose to the cold stone of the table Marianne had put her on the last three days. Back in the dungeons. Marianne still had a key, somehow still retained access to this dark and dank depths. As long as Everleigh was here at least she knew no one else could be here. She was certain Marianne wasn’t a changed woman, having a child couldn’t change someone so quickly. The blonde hardly seemed to care that her child was far away. Everleigh’s mother had shed tears when she was given to—

“You don’t need to worry about my son.” Everleigh sighed, feeling the warmth of her breath quickly dissipate into the greedy stone. “You can also stop pretending that you’re doing this to protect some initiate. You’re here because you’re weak and you want to get stronger.” Marianne moved away from her. “You can get up now. We’ll continue this tomorrow.” Everleigh slowly pushed herself up from the stone that could only steal her body heat from her. She was careful to keep her violet braid over her shoulder. She turned just in time to capture the roll of bandages from Marianne.

Everleigh slid off the table, leaning forward. Her back was turned towards Marianne, wishing for a moment of privacy. Two years ago she wouldn’t have minded such a thing, when she was made of thin skin that was nearly translucent and the shape of her skeleton. Now, at nineteen, while the addition of more muscle and fat was most definitely welcomed, some things were not. It didn’t matter if Marianne was a woman or if she looked at Everleigh like she was a doll to manipulate.

“Relax. I’m not going to stare at your breasts like a teenage boy.” Marianne said dismissively as she began to put her needles and inks away. Everleigh was silent as she began to gingerly wrap her torso, starting from the swell and her hips and going all the way up til the bandage was slightly chaffing her armpits. “You used to be more shameless. I suppose that’s the Republic telling you to think of yourself as more of a person.” Everleigh turned to pick up her tunic, making eye contact with Marianne.

“They’re undoing all my hard work.” She finished before gesturing for Everleigh to leave one of the many cells in one of the many corridors below Academy grounds. “Or maybe you’re just stubborn. Let’s get going. You have some review to do.”

---

Everleigh stared at her ceiling. She was no longer in the initiates dormitory. Now where many of the proctors resided, she stared hard at the ceiling. Orange drenched the barren walls. She had a much larger window now and a larger room. A desk and a chair, even a chest of drawers for clothes and a chest at the edge of her bed to store things. Everleigh closed her eyes, letting her mind wander.

Hours after her session with Marianne and she still felt cold. She could take the blanket— much thicker than what she had as a initiate— and drape it over her, but she felt too restless to do so. Marianne was right. She had been in a bad mood lately. Anger, betrayal, worry, regret— all of these took turns in distracting her. Alone in her room, before she slept, when she awake, whenever she ate; her thoughts were consumed with his whereabouts.

Others in her class had left, whether it was with Gilram or to go after him. Some left to make a life elsewhere. Few seemed to have joined the guard. And here she was: alone, playing proctor, at the place she despised the most. What was she even doing here?

Through the halls she heard those whispers again, could feel those stares on her again. The other proctors looked down at her, scoffed at her whether she spoke or stayed silent. The initiates were constantly rolling their eyes, begrudgingly listening to her just enough to not be reprimanded. More than once she had caught on to hearing conversations about one person in particular who they much would rather have.

Everleigh hadn’t realized that Zael was so popular. Not just with those in their class but in the class beneath them. And with other girls especially! Everleigh felt guilty when she felt that pang of jealousy in her heart and gut. Was she jealous that he was better liked than her or was she jealous for something else? Her mouth felt dry.

“Yeah we’re having a bit of a heatwave this week, aren’t we?” Everleigh rolled over to her side, hearing a passing conversation between Proctor Moshfegh and Proctor Brodkey.

“Even when I open my window I still feel like I’m broiling.”

“It’s because the airflow in here is shit. Really, you’d think they update this place a little more…”

Everleigh took her pillow— far nicer quality than the thin, flat one she had as a initiate— and hugged it tightly to her chest. Slowly, quietly, she brought her knees up. Clutching this pillow in fetal position, pressing her face into it so hard that all she could smell was the stale feathers. Everleigh tried to think of nothing else but these feathers, the mustiness, the lack of breath in her lungs. Her chest burned, matching the soreness of her back. And yet…

Sometimes all she could think about was him. The sun was setting but the night would remain warm. This paltry warmth could only remind her of their embrace.

From inside her pillow case slipped out a letter. She could hear it hit the floor. Everleigh knew she needed to burn it, hide it from the world and all those prying eyes she always felt. If he had broken his promise it was for a good reason, at least that was the only thing she could think to console herself.

Everleigh pulled away from the pillow, suffocation wasn’t going to cut it tonight. She got off from her bed, picking up the letter and stared hard at it. She hadn’t even addressed it to him. Looking to her left at the window, now drenched in the deep orange like her barren walls. Everleigh walked to her window, staring out the dirty glass. The sun continued to set, looking like a burning red as dull violet clouds continued to scare the light down the horizon. The color of dusk along academy grounds matched her eyes.

Soon enough, the sun was gone, leaving Everleigh in darkness. She opened up her window. With the rush of heat that greeted her she could pretend it was him. The letter in her hand grew damp from the sweat of her palms. Everleigh crushed it in her fist, crumpling it into a tight ball. She couldn’t throw it away just yet, but she wouldn’t need to send it to him. Zael would come back. He wasn’t a pretender or a liar like she was, he was honest. The sun always set but it never failed to rise the next day.

[credit]​

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

For Granted​

“What are you doing here?” Everleigh spun around to look back at Marianne. The proctor was standing in the doorway but had obviously snuck up on her. Everleigh kept a cool look about her, but could feel her heart beating in her chest. There was no point in lying, there never was, not with Marianne around.

“Why doesn’t Tinker have a file anymore?” Everleigh asked instead, backing away from the file cabinet she had been rifling through.

“I don’t think you understand your position right now, Evie.” The blonde stepped forward with measured steps, a sickly sweet smile on her face. “You can’t ask questions right now.” She leaned down and forward, staring right into Everleigh’s violet eyes. “You don’t have access to these files. How’d you get in here?”

“A key.” Everleigh answered with a half-truth. Marianne raised a blonde brow. “And I watched Proctor Brodkey clear the runes within the doorframe, knowing that the second day of every month is when a new rune pattern would be placed, so I had to wait for Brodkey to enter it once before it changed, which was today. Then it was just a matter of channeling my magic through the doorknob to the exact degree it needed without taking too long and alerting others.” Three-way activation was a bitch, but it was needed. Files of the initiates were kept here, and only certain proctors had access.

Proctor Marianne Goestch did not have access. It didn’t take a genius, which Everleigh supposed she was in some aspects, to realize that Marianne had came because she was already suspecting Everleigh of doing this.

But of course she did. She could read minds.

Everleigh didn’t break eye contact.

“Shouldn’t you be worrying about Castomir?”

“Why? Doesn’t matter how much I worry, I can’t go to the infirmary.”

“You could sneak in.”

“I’m supposed to be a proctor now, not an initiate.”

“And yet,” Marianne purred, “here you are. Sneaking around like you did as an initiate.” The soft laughter from the proctor caused Everleigh’s skin to react with a series of gooseflesh along her arms and the back of her flesh. “My, my, I wonder why you’d risk losing such a position. Don’t you think this makes me look bad?” Marianne’s hand raised up, caressing along Everleigh’s neck.

Everleigh could feel it. Attached to the proctor’s nails was a weapon. Hidden with invisibility or something along those lines. She could feel her skin slice open so effortlessly, feel blood spilling out in warm crimson rivulets. The neck-line of her tunic was sullied without much issue.

“Why should I care how you look? Because—“ those razor-sharp claws were along her neck again, dipping deep into her skin as Marianne’s hand went around Everleigh’s throat.

“Because?” Marianne wasn’t asking. She knew what Everleigh was going to say next. Because Marianne had tortured plenty of initiates, because she had forced them to play cruel and unusual games until they all dropped one by one. She had forced them to explore their magic, pushing them farther and harder in it.

So many of Everleigh’s early years were spent in the dungeons. Without the sun, without warmth, without—

“You may be a dreadlord now, but don’t forget, I made you into what you are today.” Everleigh stayed still, holding in her breath. More fresh blood was spilling down her neck. “You being in the initiate files is suspicious. Why if I said you were collecting intel for Gilram….” Checkmate. If Everleigh ended up dead, all Marianne had to do was lie and say that she read her mind and saw malicious intent. The only one who could disagree with her was Harkenov but….

“I’m glad you understand your position.” Everleigh could only submit if she wanted to live. Marianne let go of her. “You’re a reflection of me, so try not to turn yourself into some fool.” Marianne shut the file cabinet, placed a hand on Everleigh’s shoulder and began pushing her out of the initiate archives. “Especially for some initiate that’s probably dead.”

Everleigh kept her back and shoulders straight, managed to keep her head disrespectfully high and jutted out her chin.

Tinker couldn’t be dead. If he was then—

A squeeze on her shoulder, this time, Everleigh felt her flesh tear about as the skin was split wide.

“I’m protecting you.” The door shut behind them. “Even you should be able to sense when you’re in the jaws of a bigger snake. Or have you become reckless from hanging around Castomir?” Everleigh did her best to keep her thoughts blank, but she knew that Marianne could feel the prickle of anxiety.

Three people. There were only three people that the poison eater would risk her life for. How unfortunate that Marianne knew exactly who they were, and how unfortunate that only one could be safe due to her blood and magic.

 

[Everleigh Ebersol]

Bad Apple​

Everleigh slapped a fifth year, Initiate Evan, across his small face. Her face indifferent despite the insult he had just thrown a second before.

“Do you know, Initiate,” Everleigh said, as he held a hand to his cheek and did his best to keep from crying. “That that was me being kind to you?” She hated repeating the words a proctor once told her. A punishment that hurt was punishment enough, wasn’t it? But some were far worse than others.

He was quiet.

“Address me again.” Everleigh prompted. Behind her, she could feel Proctor Goetsch’s blue eyes behind her. Evan paused, hesitant, looking to the left before looking back at Everleigh. She saw that determination in his eyes, a look she had seen plenty of times before.

“Ever—“ This time he wasn’t granted time to even finish her name. She struck up with a open palm, with such force that he stumbled back and fell onto his ass. Tears fell. “Ever—“ He cried out as she twisted her fingers into his dark hair, pulling him up until he was on his feet and then slapped him again at full might. “EVERLEIGH!!” He cried out insistently, even as he fell down to the ground onto his side.

If this was before the revolution, Everleigh would have stomped on him with the heavy cleated boots she wore. The stupid fool that he was, saying her first name. Not only was he disrespecting her without using proctor or her last name, but he even had the gall to pronounce her name incorrectly!

Stupid idiot, making her—

“That’s enough.” Proctor Goetsch stepped in, walking past the two lines of fifth years that had watched on as Everleigh struggled to get respect and Initiate Evan deciding that he’d rather get slapped around instead of give the respect to her. “Initiate Evan, you’re coming with me.” The blonde woman looked at Everleigh. “Show them the spell for the day. I’ll be back.”

Everleigh could see Marianne take hold of Initiate Evan’s arm and see the fear in his eyes. He wouldn’t call Marianne by her first name, would he? Everleigh was only given a moment to reflect on this. She had a class to teach. She turned around to look at the two dozen fifth years that were supposed to practice the accuracy spell. She cleared her throat.

“Pick up a throwing knife,” She gestured to the table nearby, “throw a knife at the targets and then recite the accuracy incantation and throw another knife. Do you all remember it? Let me repeat it just in case….”

---

Everleigh found herself often watching over the dining hall during lunch time. It was clear that while this should be through a rotation, it seemed only newer proctors, or substitute proctors like Everleigh, were repeatedly on this duty every day of the week.

Everleigh had let the incident early this morning slide off her back. She was used to the disrespect from her peers during her time as an initiate. Now, this stung in a different way. She thought having a title of dreadlord would bring her some respect. It didn’t. She wasn’t sure if it was because of her magic that others didn’t respect or if it was because it had only been sixteen weeks since the fake graduation.

She was grateful that those a year under her didn’t test her patience too much, but then, that would be awkward, wouldn’t it? Two to three years older than them and she was supposed to give them instructions? It wasn’t like she had graduated as a first-level like Ein had. Why on Arethil did it seem like the young kids were the ones who wanted to push her patience?

Her dull violet gaze traveled over to the table that the earlier class she had taught all seemed to be sitting out. All twenty-four of them sat at one of the long tables…

It should be twenty-five. Where was Initiate Evan? Her gimlet gaze instantly went to the serving tables. Initiate Evan wasn’t serving. Was he in the kitchens? Everleigh left her post, which was just leaning against the wall closest to the wide window on the eastern wall, and made her way to the kitchen, poking her head in.

She didn’t see Initiate Evan in there either. Strange. Was he in detention? A few proctors had attempted these detentions, usually pulling a initiate out from their free period or one of the dining hours to have them write an essay on their transgressions or to perform drills for the hour.

Everleigh went to the table where the class was. The fifth-year initiates grew quiet as she approached, looking at her with wary eyes.

“Where’s Initiate Evan?” She asked them. They looked amongst themselves.

“I don’t know, Proctor.” Initiate Lina answered. Malory pinched Lina’s arm, and looked at Everleigh right in the eye.

“Evan hasn’t returned, he’s missed all his morning classes, is what Lina meant to say, Proctor Ebersol.” Initiate Malory interjected, clearly showing Initiate Lina the proper way to address a proctor’s question. Initiate Lina had came to the Academy only a month ago. She was still, unfortunately, dripping in naivety and purity that would surely be erased sooner rather than later.

Although, it seemed Malory had taken a liking to her. The two were rarely seen separate from each other. Everleigh could sense it: Malory had been an older sister before she came to the Academy.

“I see.” Everleigh made to step away from the table, but paused. “Initiate Malory, stop hiding your spinach underneath your potatoes and eat it. You’re too old to be a picky eater.” Everleigh stepped away, letting her lips dip into a small frown as the initiates behind her giggled amongst themselves for Malory getting scolded. Everleigh couldn’t leave her assigned duty, and went back to her spot on the wall, staring at all the initiates inside.

Regardless, she shivered as if the room had gotten cold. What were the chances he was sulking in his room? What were the chances that Marianne had him in her cruel clutches? Was he in the dungeons? In the box— no, no, no, they had gotten rid of the box. Or had they? She wasn’t supposed to participate in the graduation that belonged to the bloody past but she had anyways, hadn’t she?

Everleigh’s gaze drifted to the clock. In thirty minutes she could leave her post. In thirty minutes she could check up on the Initiate. Or, in thirty minutes, she could witness something she shouldn’t see.