Page 4 of Self Studies

Metal clunked again and spurred me into action. I pulled the paper-thin garment off my body.

I dreaded looking where my piercing should be, but I forced my eyes down. Smooth, unblemished skin stretched across my hip bone. Completely void of coloring and scars. My fingers trembled. I traced the space, now missing the tattoo my master had grafted onto my skin with his magic.

Only death could take that away.

Blood rushed to my ears.

Even with my eyes open, all I could see was Damon. His red-rimmed gaze took on an accusatory glare as the life left his eyes and his body went limp across our work table—the table he’d used to change my diapers. The same table I’d mixed my first potion on. The very same table he’d pinned me against as he brought me into the world of adult pleasures.

This final proof of his death destroyed my remaining denial.

I bit my lip to keep from crying out. My grip on the bed was the only thing keeping me standing. The ache in my chest burned. I’d failed him, and in failing him, I’d doomed myself.

“We can not let her leave dressed in this!” The sound of Norah’s voice gave me something to cling to, jerking me out of my memories.

I opened my eyes and focused on the nurse. Her frown deepened as she eyed each piece of my clothing.

One breath in, hold and release. Once more. I couldn’t fall apart. Not here, not in front of others.

‘Never let your emotions control you. Magic needs control. I need control. Your tears help no one.’

Although Norah didn’t speak, judgment filled her eyes. Judgment Damon had spent countless hours warning me about and protecting me from. Judgment that rooted itself in the Magical Authorities and their rules. I’d spent my life hiding from the MA. Damon said if they found me, it would be the end. And now I stood here, alone.

I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or scream.

“She has a uniform waiting in her dorm room.” Advisor Crowe’s voice came through the curtain. “If she’s not out here and dressed in the next two minutes. I’ll come in there and do it myself.”

The thought disgusted me, and I snatched my clothing out of Norah’s hands. With the nurse’s cleaning spell completed, even the smell of Damon was gone from the cotton and leather material.

Another unwanted tear slid down my cheek, followed by a hint of inappropriate joy before my mental haze muted everything once more.

The complicated dressing process soothed me, a repetitive motion which felt normal despite my surroundings. Fishnet stockings rolled up my legs. A small hole from the bullet marred the left thigh. My small black and white pleated mini skirt barely covered my butt. The clunky silver hardware of my steel-boned medieval corset clicked into place, low enough my shoulder wound hadn’t touched the material. My small breasts lifted into Damon’s favorite position.

‘You’ve blossomed into something extraordinary, my Aphrodite.’ Damon’s voice had been thick and low with something I’d soon learned about: lust. I feared him the first time his touches changed from fatherly to something more. I hadn’t wanted any of them. But I trusted him. His magic sliding into me had lit a fire I hadn’t known existed. Pleasure had bowed my body with his attention and soothed the well of power simmering under my skin. I craved the thoughtless euphoria my release gave me, my escape from everything.

‘Your will is my will. Your body, your very thoughts, echo only my needs. If I’m happy, you’re happy.’ The fog blanketing my emotions seemed to double with the memory of his voice.

Numbly, I finished dressing.

“My jewelry?” Steeped in blood magic, my earring and piercing were my only real possessions.

“The Magical Authorities have your things.” Norah smiled as if the words would reassure me, but they didn’t. “Everything that survived the fire will be returned to you. Let the MA finish their investigation. Their funding runs this Institute. They know where to find you.”

A shiver ran up my spine. Once again, I pictured the MA agents who had destroyed my world.

‘Their minds are closed; their rules tied to societal norms that will take away our very lives.'

Oddly calm, despite my master’s warning, I studied the gray and white patterning on the shiny floor. My fur-lined brown leather slippers caught my eye. Ignoring the blood still staining the toes, I slid my feet into them. “My master’s dead, and I’m in an MA prison camp?”

“The Charbon Institute,” Norah corrected. “It’s a school, but essentially, yes.”

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck under my thick hair. I attempted to manage the wavy locks and grimaced at their tangled oily texture.

For a moment, I just stood, waiting for Damon to tell me what to do. But he didn’t. He’d never tell me what to do again.

I paused. Damon liked my hair loose, but the heat of it on my neck always made me uncomfortable. “Ah, do you have a hair tie?”

The look on Norah’s face was unreadable as she pulled a colorful band out of her hair and handed it to me. I flushed, embarrassed I’d asked. Now this stranger was going to have to go without. I made a mental note to be more careful with my questions.

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