by Tee, Marian
Confusion and fear persist in hounding me as I retrace my steps back to the entrance, and it's times like this that I'm reminded of how the Internet is a necessary evil.
The things that frighten us are often the things we're unfamiliar with, and it's become my coping mechanism to search for answers until my mind's convinced that I have nothing to fear. Google would have been my best friend right now, and oh, the questions I could ask...
What was that beast?
Was it just a beast...or the bestial form of a god?
Google, oh Google, where art thou when I need you?
So many questions, but actually, that last bit is the one question I can answer.
Agatha warned me from the onset that while the use of any electronic device is permitted on campus, Rosethorne has also been licensed to operate signal jammers that prevent everyone within its property from going online. I literally need to travel miles and miles before my phone can get a signal, and as freaked out as I am now, the memory of those black bears and coyotes makes me feel I'm no different from a man who finds himself trapped in the raging waters between Scylla and Charybdis.
Damned if leave, damned if I stay.
My fingers are still shaking a little as I pull my phone out, but I eventually manage to get the school app running. This time, I opt for the safest and quickest way to my dorm, and in less than ten minutes I'm already hurriedly dragging my suitcase up the steps of Dark Rose House.
Like all the other buildings in the campus, this one is also of brick and stone, and I see the same colorful stained glass panels adorning its windows. The doors are also big, heavy, rectangular blocks of wood, and I feel like I've completed an entire hour of a workout by the time I finally get them to open.
An elegant antechamber welcomes me once I'm inside, and at the center of it is a stone fountain, with water gently spouting out from the mouths of gargoyles while cherubic angels also sculpted from the same stone frolic around the center column. At the very top of it is a gray and glowing sphere, and it takes me a second to realize that it's actually a replica of the moon, and one digitally programmed to show real-time data on lunar phases.
The whole house feels quiet and empty, and I have to assume most of the students are still at Lavender Hall having dinner. Otherwise, it's a little too quiet, and after the scare I've just had in the labyrinth...I really, really need things to be normal, and a high school dorm that's silent as a tomb?
Not. Normal. At. All.
Past the antechamber are U-shaped stairs with steps made from the same stone as the exterior. The balusters of the railing are made of brass, and the polished wood of the handrail feels warm and smooth under my touch.
Suite 391 is on the third floor, and I'm short of breath by the time I slip my ornately carved room key into the lock. The door makes a slight creaking sound as it swings open, but once I step in, my spirits lift up, and memories of my close encounter with the beastly kind fade momentarily as I have my first look of my lovely, lovely room.
The room is huge. Colossal even. But it also feels cozy and inviting, and I find myself temporarily forgetting my time at the labyrinth as I soak in the lovely warmth of my surroundings.
There's a big bed on each side of the room, one for me and my roommate, who I see has already occupied the one on the right. The beds come with brass head boards and frames, and on the foot of each bed is a fancy-looking writing desk. Escritoires, I think it's called.
Next to our beds we have our own window nooks, and between them is an inviting-looking fireplace. There's no couch, but we do have a big thick rug as well as a built-in counter on the opposite wall with a little sink. There's also open shelving overhead and wooden drawers with brass handles under the counter.
I've always had this impression that student dorms, no matter how lavish, rarely ever come with en-suites, but when I see a door adjacent to my roommate's desk, I can't help but hope. Since the whole thing already looks like a hotel room, why not go all the way and...huh?
A walk-in closet?
I don't even know what to think as I take in the hers and hers vanities, both with three-paneled mirrors and matching brass lyre chairs. There's so much wardrobe space it feels like I've stepped into a dress boutique, and I can't help feeling a little embarrassed when everything in my luggage only ends up occupying a single shelf and two bottom drawers. This whole walk-in closet is making me feel totally lame, but...whatever. Sartorial paucity is the least of my problems, all things considered, and besides...I'm getting hungry.
I remember spying a couple of vendos on my way here, and after locking up, I'm relieved to see my memory hasn't failed me. Three vendos total, one for drinks, another for snacks, while the last machine has everything from pasta to cup noodles. I eventually settle for a sandwich and hot cappuccino in a bottle, and both taste surprisingly worth my money.
Freaky labyrinth episode aside, Rosethorne is turning out to be a lot more interesting than I expected, and maybe...maybe Vermont is far enough for no one to hear about what went down in my old school?
I know it's wishful thinking, but...oh.
My roommate's back from dinner, and she's gorgeous. Long pink hair, lilac eyes, and a petite frame that somehow looks even more fragile in her light academia getup: tweed blazer over a flesh-colored turtleneck, short plaid skirt matched with dark gray Chelsea boots.
I wait for her to send a look or maybe even a smile at my direction, and I start to worry when she doesn't. Does that mean she's the type to hate me just because?
I clear my throat, and she finally turns my way. But when I open my mouth to say hi, the other girl shakes her head at me, saying, "I don't want to be your friend yet."
Uh...what?
Prior to coming to Rosethorne, I've prepared myself for the possibility that my roommate can either be an angel or a devil, but...have I heard her right?
Did she just say she doesn't want to be my friend...yet?
I'm about to ask her to explain, but I've only just started to open my mouth again when my roommate gives me another shake of her pretty pink head.
"You're new, you're gorg, and you don't seem stupid. All of that can only mean one thing: you're absolutely guaranteed to be bullied—-"
Okaaay.
"And I don't want to waste time being friends with someone who might not even last a week."
My mouth opens and closes.
Well...
At least she's honest, and the more I think about it, the more I realize I like it better that way, and so I stick my hand out and say easily, "It's a deal."
She hesitates for a second, and then she gives my hand a quick shake.
We don't talk after that, but the silence between us isn't hostile, and that's more than enough for me. I finish the rest of my vendo-supplied dinner, and afterwards I use the school's app to find where the shower stalls in our floor are located.
By the time I return to our suite, my roommate has already turned in for the night, and I try my best to make as little noise as possible as I tiptoe to my bed and pull the sheets up to my neck. The heater's on full blast, but I still feel like I'm about to freeze to death.
The cold eventually lulls me into sleep...and I start to dream.
I'M ALONE IN THE WOODS, and the trees around me are but towering scraggly shadows under the silvery stream of moonlight. There are butterflies everywhere, and they're like nothing I've ever seen, with bodies that glow incandescently and wings that seem to change from purple to red, blue to green, yellow to orange.
I hear footsteps behind me, but before I can turn, I feel myself suddenly being pulled back, and a gasp escapes me when I realize I'm now held captive by a man.
Also: a man who is completely naked, and I don't even have to look over my shoulder to know this.
I can't be mistaken, with the rough, hard wall of the man's chest pressed intimately against my back, and it's only at this moment does it dawn on me that I am the same.
I am naked as he is, and my senses spi
ral at the thought of how every inch of our bodies are now in burning-hot contact.
I have never been this close to a man before. Never ever wanted to. And though I don't even know who it is that's holding me, I find myself choosing to stay.
Something about this man whose face I've yet to see...
Something about this man whom I can only feel...
Something about him feels right.
My soul seems to know him, and my body seems to have found its master, with the way every inch of me is already trembling in thrilling awareness of his masculinity.
Time dances past, but we remain as we are, a captor holding his captive. There's something between us that's ablaze, and with every thunderous beat of my heart I can feel its flames burning hotter, an unseen swirl of heat that moves wildly over our bodies.
We only have to move away from each other to extinguish it, but because we don't, it's as if both of us want to fan the flames of our desire, prolonging the tormenting pleasure of holding each other without actually touching any part that's private and precious.
The idea of intercourse has always been something I've shied away from, but because of this man, it's suddenly all I can think about.
I have never wondered how it would feel to be possessed by a man.
But now I do.
And now I also know...that I do not want to be taken gently and carefully.
The arm wrapped around me just under my breast is hewn with muscles, and my heart skips a beat when I think of how this arm can keep me imprisoned no matter how much I struggle. Everything about this man is so different from me. He's large where I'm small. Rigid where I'm malleable. And when I suddenly feel his breath against my ear, I can't help but cry out because even the sounds we make are so deliciously contradicting of each other. His is rough and harsh, and mine is soft and tremulous.
I'm tempted to turn around, but before I can seriously think of it, that's when I feel him moving, his other arm going around me, and my breath catches anew as his hands...oh, his large, strong hands—-
They're suddenly covering my breasts, and my chest swells at his first touch.
I slowly look down, and the sight of his hands completely covering the pale globes of my flesh make me feel light-headed.
He starts palming my breasts, and my knees quake as a battery of sensations ravage my body. I feel hot in a way I've never felt before. Restless like I've never been restless before. I feel so many indescribable things, and all of it is making my body react in a way it has never done—-
My nipples...I can't remember them being so proudly erect, and my breasts...I can't remember them feeling so acutely swollen.
There's this ache inside of me that's growing more unbearable the longer his hands stay on my flesh, and I find myself biting down hard on my lip as a cry threatens to rush out of my throat.
Oh please, please, please—-
That's all I want to say.
That's all I want to do.
I want to beg him when I've never begged before. I want to beg even though I'm not sure what I'm begging him for, and oh, when I feel his fingers start squeezing my breasts, that's when the ache inside of me deepens into something more. I'm now throbbing from within, and as my body starts to writhe, that's when I feel it—-
Something long and hard that's throbbing just as hard, sliding and rubbing itself between the cheeks of my ass, and I can no longer keep my cries to myself.
I moan and cry out, and the thick length of his manhood starts moving even faster.
It's one thing to know the man you desire wants you back, but it's another thing entirely to feel it. When desire becomes tangible, when the hardness you feel against your skin is unmistakable, your own need grows—-
Just like mine is now growing more and more—-
And when I feel his fingers tighten around my breasts, tightening to the point that pleasure sharpens with pain—-
My head falls back, and that's when I see...the bestial features of a god.
Chapter Three
A cry is still lodged in my throat when I wake, and I quickly cover my mouth, not wanting to accidentally make any noise and cause my roommate to wake.
I've gone mad.
Certifiably insane.
Or worse—-
I've become a god-awful pervert, to actually have wet dreams over a beast.
Even now, my body is still shamefully on fire, and I hate how every second of my dream is still vivid in my mind.
I've had crushes here and there, but never to the point that I've started having wet dreams about a guy. I've never even been tempted to ask for a guy's socials, for crying out loud.
But now this.
The beast in the labyrinth had filled me with fear when I saw it for the first time. So why has that terror turned into something sordid and forbidden?
Outside my window, the skies remain dark and cloudless. A quick check on my phone tells me it's just a quarter past five in the morning. I should probably go back to sleep, but when I think about the possibility of dreaming the same dream again...
Nope, nope, nope.
I get out of bed and grab my toiletry bag from the walk-in closet. Rosethorne's library is supposedly open 24/7, and it's my best bet to get the answers I need. I'm not expecting much, but surely...surely there has to be a book about unwanted gods showing up in people's dreams?
The shower room is empty as I expected, and I allow myself to take my time and enjoy the hot water streaming down my body. It's when I start soaping myself that my mind suddenly betrays me, and I find myself recalling the phantom pleasure I experienced under the mysterious shroud of my dreams.
Shit.
I quickly open my eyes, but it's now my body that betrays me, with my nipples turning rigid with unwelcomed arousal. I want to touch myself. Badly. But I don't. I can't. I mustn't.
Because in this world that I was born to, you never know when and where a god is watching you. You never know what that god would do if you revealed your weakness to their eyes. You're always better off not trusting a god, and as I'm more determined than ever to keep my life normal and divineless as possible—-
Shiiiiiiit!
A quick flip of the controls has the water turning from steaming hot to cold, and it's like suddenly being dunked in the icy waters of the Arctic Ocean. My teeth start chattering, and I feel like my fingers and toes are about to fall off at any second. Even so, I just grit my teeth and wait until the freezing-cold water does its job.
Most girls might sell their souls just to date a god, but I'd rather die a virgin. The divine is for the divine, humans are for humans, and anyone who thinks otherwise is just damning themselves with inevitable heartbreak.
AFTER BREAKFAST a la vendo, I make my way to the library, which - according to my handy dandy app-based map, is just three blocks away.
The streets are just as empty as they were last night, and now that I think of it, I haven't bumped into anyone either in Dark Rose House. Considering how weekends are the only times students are allowed to go off campus, maybe that's why Rosethorne seemed like a ghost town ever since I arrived?
The thought that it's just me and a few students in this huge, huge place makes me shiver, and the morning breeze that suddenly sweeps past me at that moment only makes things worse. I already have an oversized cardigan over my turtleneck and dress pants, but I still feel painfully underdressed for the weather.
If this is already how it is in late summer, I'll be one frozen duck come winter, and lesson truly learned: when crowdsourcing online for winter wear in Vermont, make sure to also mention you were born and raised in California. I've bought and brought everything I was advised to, but the East Coast folks I chatted to clearly have a different understanding of what's "suitable" defense against the cold.
By the time I reach Rosethorne's library, I'm practically hugging myself to death just to keep my body temp from dropping. On any other day, I would've spent more than a few moments just to feast my eyes on its arc
hitectural magnificence. But right now, all I care about is keeping myself from turning into an icicle, and I sigh in relief when room-temp air welcomes me as soon as I'm past its front doors.
The librarian working behind the counter looks friendly enough, and so I take my chances and ask rather awkwardly if they've any books about dreams and gods.
"Dream interpretation or dream crafting?"
"Uh..." Her words throw me off for a sec (dream crafting???), and I have to give myself a mental shake before telling her I'd appreciate a beginner's guide to dream interpretation.
"Are you sure?" The librarian's tone is dubious. "Because we do have such books, but they're written for young readers."
"Um..." I'm starting to feel a little out of my depth. I had no idea kids these days were so divine-savvy.
"Would that work?"
I shake my head. "What I need is something more like a...well..." I clear my throat. "An idiot's guide?"
Five minutes later, and I'm carrying a pile of books to the nearest desk. With just the first one alone - 10,000 Most Asked Questions about Dreams and the Divine - I already have a good-slash-bad inkling of the workings behind my dream.
So, the good news: gods have no power to kill humans in the dream world.
The bad news: other than that, anything else goes, and it's why the dream world has become the favorite playground of the divine.
I move on to the second book, and this, too, sheds more light on my subconscious activities. There are only three reasons why a god may appear in a human's dream: to deliver a message, to curse or bless the dreamer...or, in very rare cases, the fates of both human and god are entwined by destiny, and what the Crones weave, no one can untangle.
MY ALARM GOES OFF AT exactly fifteen minutes before seven, and I reluctantly take the books back to the counter. Although today's Halyna is a lot more smarter than yesterday's Halyna divine-wise, the information I've collected has only made me more anxious. I'd really rather not think that my fate is tied to a god, but if it is...what then?
