side chapter Shadows and People

I walked the halls of the school as if I were a ghost, invisible yet omnipresent, a spectator to the absurd theater of human vanity. The fluorescent lights flickered, harsh and sterile, but I paid them no mind. Everything around me—every scream, every overplayed gesture, every desperate attempt to be noticed—was the same. Human beings, in their perpetual arrogance, never fail to disappoint.

Sometimes I wonder why I even bother pretending to be among them. Their gestures, their words, their shallow competitions—all meaningless. I am better off in silence, in shadow, with those who understand the value of calm, of thought, of beauty untouched by superficiality.

At home, the world is perfect. Beckett, with his masked, gentle presence, sits quietly at his designs, headphones on, utterly absorbed in his own ordered universe. The twins of ours hades and peresphone, already miniature aristocrats of intellect and poise, hover silently, their sharp little eyes catching every detail, their stoic demeanor a reflection of our shared disdain for the foolish. Malcolm and Analise my siblings, while younger, are my co-conspirators, quietly aiding in maintaining a haven from the chaos of the outside world.

Out there, people stumble through life like moths, burning themselves on every pointless flame society offers. They overvalue noise, attention, and power, and they fail to see the quiet mastery in shadows. I am not like them. I have never been like them. And I will never be.

The students I tolerate—the club, the select few introverts who actually possess wit or taste—are a balm. They are not infected by the virus of thoughtless self-importance. They are the rare exceptions, and I treat them accordingly: gently, yet firmly, always aware of the thin line between indulgence and corruption.

And yet… even now, I cannot help but marvel at how utterly predictable they all are. Their hubris is exquisite in its stupidity. I watch, silently amused, as the world orchestrates its own failures, as if the universe itself were mocking the collective foolishness of humankind. It is… almost beautiful, in a grotesque sort of way.

I am better off alone. Better off with Beckett, with our children, with our familes, in the sanctuary we have built. The world outside may burn in its chaos, but we remain untouched. Perfect. Still. Gothic. Eternal.

Alone, yet never lonely. Surrounded by those who understand. Surrounded by shadows, by silence, by quiet intellect. I have no need for the noise of humanity, for the shallow masquerade of society. I have what matters. I have everything that truly matters.

And so, I walk these halls, a shadow among fools, brooding, cynical, yet serenely satisfied. Let the world outside rot in its arrogance. Let it trip over its own hubris, as it always does. I will remain here, in quiet, with my perfect life, perfectly curated, perfectly protected.

Better off alone.

Better off with my own kind of people.

Better off with perfection