The Lost Prince

It’s the fifth time today Sean finds himself lost on the academy’s hallways. Even if he’s one of the select few who’ve been students since primary, he’s never had to go anywhere but his homeroom and the sports fields. Nothing else mattered to him, apart from the path towards the nearest exit. Luckily, emergency protocols require that one to always be visibly highlighted. He pulls out a notebook from his pocket and opens it to the first page.

The little map he’s drawn is unintelligible to him now and reflects nothing of the reality. With a frustrated sigh, he rips out the paper and tosses it behind him. Turning his gaze towards the ceiling, he follows the green arrows. They’ll lead him back to the ground floor, from where he’ll just have to start over again.

Where did I go wrong? He was sure he had it this time, but the simple task of finding his way around school has eluded him so far. It’s not the least bit surprising, given how much time he’s spent being chauffeured everywhere at his mother’s behest. Even before he could walk, she’s made sure that he’ll never get lost. She never let the servants handle his stroller and whenever they walked, her hand gripped his like a leash, always holding him close and in her eyesight. She’s watched over every step he ever took.

He didn’t find it uncomfortable, rather he enjoyed it, not having to worry about anything because everything he’d need was one heartfelt plea away. Until it wasn’t. Passing by the Advisors Hall, he feels his chest rumbling with anger. Festival Organiser Office. That was meant to be his title, his room, his sign written not in some lowly cursive, but in a strong, virile font. Teeth clenched, he ups the pace and makes a sharp turn towards the stairs.

He’ll go to Mr Astella right now and ask him what happened. Why did the deal fall through and why, of all people, he’s chosen a commoner to be his replacement? He goes down one flight, two flights, three flights. All he sees before him is that mahogany door, those pathetic lions, the hard-set face of the man who’s snubbed him, Sean Murphy, of the opportunity to – earn his praise.

He snaps back to reality. Instead of the long corridor that leads to the headmaster’s office, Sean finds himself alone in the basement, staring at an endless string of doors. Why is he even doing all this? He hates the fete, it’s just a boring display of all the filth the academy has enrolled over the years. Does he even care that much about Edward? Or is it more about that beguiling witch of his daughter, who’s plagued his thoughts ever since their first meeting?

He shakes his head of the thought, then moves forward, hoping his duty would prevent him from further unwelcome insights. Though it’s a hard ask from the basement. He passes by each room with a scowl, jotting down details in his notebook. They’re all filled with inferior equipment and carry dubious names, but they’ll surely wow some commoner with no sense of quality. Even the doors are awful, they’re hard to budge and close with an obnoxious –

Click. Sean turns the corner to find someone exiting the Chemistry lab, the lights too dim to tell anything apart from their small stature.

“Who goes there?” he shouts. The silhouette flinches, then makes a run for it. Sean gives chase, an effortless jog from him. His athletic nature and large gait bring him within tackling distance without even raising his pulse. No one’s allowed to be here afterhours and fleeing is only more grounds for suspicion. He can already imagine Mr Astella congratulating him for bringing this bastard to justice. Maybe he’ll even give him a promotion, put him in charge because he’s just that good. A grin splits his lips as he reaches out for the intruder’s shoulder.

But he doesn’t even get to touch them. The intruder suddenly pivots, seizing his hand in theirs.

But he doesn’t even get to touch them. He feels the air move as the intruder pivots and seizes his hand in theirs. They force a sudden stop and Sean, carried by his own momentum, smashes against the wall. He gasps, then whimpers, but the intruder cares little for his bargaining pleas. They shove their elbow under Sean’s, grab his wrist, then lurch forward. Sean’s arm numbs, the tearing sound a sure sign of his tendons ripping apart. The ground cracks, covering the sound of his ribs breaking.

His ears fill up with the drumming of his own heartbeat, interrupted by panting breaths. Soft breaths. A knee pushes against his chest, the weight barely enough to secure him, even in his sorry state. He forces his eyes open, only for a piece of cloth to fall on his face. With a jerk of his head, he removes it, only to regret the sight.

Mia’s servant is on top of him, the lapel of her blazer shredded off, exposing the thin tatters of her shirt and the unmistakable outline of a bra. She leans down, moving one hand on his mouth and the other on his functioning arm. But while she’s anticipated he’d flail and shout, she’s failed to appreciate his violent rage. They toss around, Eline’s shirt stretching and stretching until it gives way with a terrifying tear.

Sean blanks out, a red flush on his cheeks and a tremble in his eyes. He only comes to when Eline lets go of his lips.

“Get off!” he barks, the familiar ring of his voice making Eline jump to her feet. Free and full of anger, Sean stands up, only for an alien feeling to capture him. His legs go soft and cold sweat beads on his brow. He turns around, the sight of her pale skin and her brazen, voluptuous chest unbearable. “Cover yourself!” he growls, taking off his blazer and tossing it back to her.

Velvety skin brushes against fabric. “You can look now,” she says.

“A-as if I wanted to!”

“No, as if you couldn’t before.”

He takes a deep breath, steeling his resolve. Only to hear her slowly walking away, no limp, no groans, not worse for wear in the slightest.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To get some new clothes.”

“I’m coming with you! Can’t have you sell my blazer for some pocket change.”

“O – kay? Suit yourself?”

A vein almost pops on his forehead. It’s all about how unfazed she is whereas he can’t even steady his pulse. He catches up to her, settling by her side. He’s never followed anyone, nor matched their pace before, but today’s just full of novelty.

He catches himself stealing glances at her. Why can’t he stop? She’s tiny. Her legs are ugly, slender, emaciated like two crooked twigs and her arms swim in his coat like a rat’s paws. She has a terrible gait, level, boring and silent, like every other servant of her ilk. And her face – her face is strange. She has round features, a small nose and mouth, tightly knit in a childlike expression of innocence. Her big, bright eyes and golden hair awaken a strange familiarity in him. They’re Astella.

He cringes at the thought, nipping that poisonous idea before it can blossom into anything. With a huff, he reminds himself of why he hates her.

“I let you,” Sean mutters.

“What?”

“Yeah, back there? I figured I’d let you try out your self-defence class on me.”

“Right.”

“Not bad, by the way. But not good either. Being so strong and self-reliant isn’t very ladylike. Not many guys will want to look at you.” Then why am I?

Eline pauses, her gaze filling up with a faraway memory. She blinks it away. “I’d rather people know not to mess with me and those I care about.”

Sean scoffs but stays silent. He’s learnt that lesson first hand.

They climb out of the basement. Sean follows Eline through a network of ever narrowing corridors, the floor below slowly losing its cleanliness to a thick layer of dust. Looking behind, they’ve left no trail of footsteps. It’s like this place has already forgotten them, much like everybody else forgot of its existence. A chilling thought; Sean shivers.

At last, they stop. Eline approaches a door tucked in the shadows the sunlight casts through the grimy windows. Sean hasn’t even noticed it. It’s an easy thing to overlook if you’re not specifically looking for it. She fiddles with the knob, pushes and meets more resistance than she expects. Reaching under his blazer, she pulls out a key. Does her skirt have pockets?

“Where did you get that?”

Her brow jumps, “Security duty.”

“Shouldn’t it be a keyring then?”

No answer. She turns the key in the lock and disappears inside the room, with Sean right on her tail. How did she see anything, though? Even with the door open, he can’t see a metre before him. He wants to call to her but quickly bites his tongue. A clattering rhythm comes from his left, then his right. An echo. The room sounds empty but feels cluttered, his breath stopping just as it leaves his lungs. He reaches his arms in front, proceeding with caution, feeling his way like the blind man he is.

Suddenly, he touches something. Cold, smooth, is it she? She’s stiff, unmoving. He tightens his grip and the skin gives no answer, save for a submissive tremble. He flashes a grim smile. With no light to see him and no ears to hear, he can do whatever he wants. He works his way up, until he reaches the weak curve of her shoulders. He presses down, locking her in place, then leans his head to her ears. What will he say, a curse, an insult, dog her down for what she did? But strangely, his lips don’t move. They’re dry. Hungry. He leans closer still, until his nose bumps into the back of her head.

And it falls off. A sharp inhale, then a shriek in a note that sopranos would envy. The lights turn on, finding him pantomiming a disabled inflatable tube man.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Her voice comes from behind. He looks ahead. The dead eyes of a mannequin stare at him from the floor. He shudders. ”Bitch,” he mutters under his breath, just as she passes by. Did she hear him?

She carries a girl’s uniform to a tailor’s bench, hidden between rows upon rows of Astella white clothes. He approaches, tripping on the lone cable slithering on the ground, supplying power to a sewing machine. She turns it on, letting the din fill the room with its dry, pathetic cadence.

“Here you go,” she says, taking off his blazer and hanging it by the table’s corner. Its hem almost sweeps the dust off the floor, but he’s more unsettled by the black lace strung on her back. His eyes look far above her.

“Please, put it back on,” he whines.

“You can leave now. Or you can stop staring.”

“You’re indecent.”

“I’m not ashamed. There’s a difference.”

He grumbles at her indifference, until the sound of scissors ignites his curiosity. She’s working fast, with the assurance of an experienced seamstress. With a flick, she tosses a couple strips of fabric into a waiting bin.

“What are you doing?” he asks, fighting the urge to peek and near her. It’s too dangerous.

“Taking in the shirt and blazer. I can do yours too if you want.”

He chuckles, “Please. Why don’t you just wear them?”

“Because they don’t fit?”

“How? You must have all sizes here.”

He doesn’t know how, but he’s sure she’s smiling. Mocking him. “Have you ever stopped to look at anyone but yourself?”

“Of course not.”

“I figured. But if you do, you’ll notice that no boy is more than an inch taller or shorter than you. Same goes for girls and Mia.”

“What are you on about?’

Eline raises the shirt in the air, turning it towards the light. Sean blushes and hides his eyes. He does not want to see her front.

“Mr Astella likes perfection. You’re the two models for it. No one can be too different from you and that goes for everything. Hair, eyes, height, weight.”

Sean smirks, “Oh, really? I suppose it’s only natural; Mr Astella knows his students well,” he runs a hand through his hair, slicking it with sweat. But there’s something strange about her calm, something he can’t ignore. “But then… how did you get in? You’re a head shorter than Mia.”

Eline returns to her bench. The tremor in her voice almost fades under the machine’s awful noise, “My circumstances are special. Mr Astella appreciates them so long as I appreciate my place here.”

A bizarre pang hits Sean’s chest, sizzling with rage, but with no condescendence added to the mix. Almost like he’s disappointed.

“So that’s why you’re wearing those decrepit things?” he asks, low like a snarl. “So that you remember that you’re just a servant? Always running the risk of being humiliated if you stretch for more than you can reach?”

Eline’s finished. She puts on her shirt, tucks it under her skirt, then drapes the blazer over her. She pulls out a ribbon from its pocket and ties a little bow around her neck. She turns on the sewing machine, her hand lingering on it, like a caress towards an old friend.

“Do you know why I like sewing?” she says. “It’s an useful skill. With just a bit of fabric and thread you can become anyone. An Astella student, a Victorian housekeeper, a magical girl. And if you ever change and your clothes stop fitting you, you can always make them fit.”

She turns around, not looking the least bit sad and approaches with his blazer in hand. He backs away, jaw so clenched he feels it can snap at any moment and he wouldn’t know what to do with his open mouth after. It’s scary, barely clinging onto self-control when he suddenly freezes. She raises on his tiptoes and his arms turn to mush. She guides them through each sleeve and then his shoulder lift and straighten.

“Well, what do you know? Like a glove.”

“N-naturally! I’m the image of perfection after all.”

Eline laughs, “And yet, you’re scared by a pair of boobs.”

“I’m a g-gentleman. We don’t stare.”

“More like a prude. Mia wouldn’t have worn a swim shirt for a bathing suit, you know?”

“Do you servants only think about lewd matters?” Sean stutters.

“Not more than our masters.”

With a satisfied sigh she leaves, allowing Sean to catch his breath. Only he can’t. She’s touched him. She was that close to him again and before that she said all those things that made his insides churn, then she talked about her boobs. He really was scared of them, but by now he’s not sure if it was because they were boobs or because they were hers, a commoner’s. But even for a commoner… she’s… not too bad.

Hearing her too far for his comfort, he leaps out of the room and shouts after her. There’s one more thing he forgot to ask, a triviality, but if he's to remember today, he wants to remember how it all began.

“Ellie!” he yells after her. “What were you doing in the chemistry lab?”

Ellie smiles. It’s weird to hear that name from someone of Murphy’s standing, but she can’t fully enjoy it. She thinks back to the compound she’s left to bubble in that test tube and the various hazard signs on the instructions Mr Astella has given her. Turning away, her head slumps ever so slightly.

“My rounds. I’m security, remember?”