Page 5 of Savage Hope

My daisy-patterned pajamas are still in place, and my toes are cold from the lack of a blanket. A shadow casts over me from my left and I tilt my face to find a woman sitting poised beside me.

She instantly reminds me of the headmaster from school. Her hair is combed back, curling into a bun at her nape, with not a strand out of place. Her nose is pointed and narrow and her eyes are practically slits as she glares at me. Her cheeks are hollow and her collar bone pokes out beneath a white, silk shirt that cuffs at her wrists. She laces her manicured fingers together in her lap as she clears her throat.

“Name.”

I blink at her. No answer comes, and her eyes somehow manage to narrow further.

“Name,” she repeats expectantly, but I can only gape at her.

Name? I don’t remember.

“Excellent,” she breathes, more to herself than anything. “Welcome, P. This is where you will be staying now. My name is Mrs. Bealish, and I am the owner of the Florentine School for Blood Kins.”

“Staying?” The word rasps from my lips as she stands.

Florentine School for Blood Kins? None of this makes any sense.

She nods, leaning over me to grasp my wrists. The bite of my new bangles dig into my flesh, growing warm as she mutters a few words under her breath. I gasp, the heat growing hotter and hotter, before she releases her hold on me and takes a step back.

“W-what was that?” I ask, peering down at the bangles, but they don’t look any different.

Slow, measured steps clink around the room as she makes her way to the bottom of my bed. “I will be frank with you, P. There is no use for lies in these walls.” She glances at the window behind me before she fixes her eyes on me again. “You are here because good money has been paid for it to be so. Your blood kin has parents who are more than well off. Parents who are willing to do whatever is necessary to protect their child, and that means ensuring you are safe from harm.”

I was already safe from harm…wasn’t I?

“This is your new home now. You will learn here, you will eat here, you will sleep here.”

“But my parents,” I whisper, my face heating with emotion as tears brim in my eyes.

“We leave this world alone, P; we might as well live in it alone too,” she retorts, completely dismissing my concern for my parents. The pain in my chest grows tighter than ever and I can’t breathe.

Nothing makes sense. Not a single ounce of it. Is this the bad dream I was frightened of? Is this the answer to my birthday wish? Because it definitely doesn’t feel like it.

“I want to go home,” I say, my voice tight with urgency as I try to shuffle off the bed, but I’m pinned in place and unable to move. My arms feel heavy at my sides and my legs are straight and frozen. Her eyes bore into mine, showing not an ounce of sympathy, empathy, or sorrow.

A sigh parts her lips as she shakes her head. “It will be easier for all of us if you figure it out sooner rather than later. This is your home. The quicker you get used to it, the better.”

I shake my head from side to side, irritated that this is the only thing I seem able to do. “Please, I just want to go home,” I beg, tears streaking down my face once again as despair settles in my gut.

“It seems you’re opting to take the challenging route. I understand. We will sedate you for the remainder of the day, and tomorrow, we will begin again. Classes take place with or without you. The education we offer is not mandatory, but a kindness despite the harsh reality of your future.”

The coin in my hand burns against my palm as I cling to the thought of my parents, of my home, but the more I think about them, the more blurred my vision becomes.

Not from tears of pain but lack of memory.

A scowl etches between my eyes as I stare at Mrs. Bealish. “M-my parents?”

The corner of her mouth lifts in amusement as she nods, but instead of leaning closer to comfort me, she steps back toward the door. “Your memories are fading. Eventually, all you will know is Florentine.” Her hand curls around the door handle and the sound of the latch echoes around the room a moment later. I brace for the impact of it closing behind her, but it’s her final words that make me flinch instead. “It’s for the best, really, because even if you did remember, it’s not like they could come and find you. Death tends to be the obstacle even the most devoted parents can’t overcome.”

3

P

TWELVE YEARS OLD

The cold chill in the air brings no promise or hope for what the day may bring.

It’s dark, eery, and full of sadness that seeps deep into the bone, leaving you helpless to the sensation. I wish I wasn't familiar with this feeling that now ripples through my veins, holding me captive, just like it always does.

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