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Stories
91
Chapters
819
Words
1.5 M
Comments
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Reading
5 d, 3 h
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The rare collections reading room of the Sainte Aurelia library smells of decaying paper, lemon oil, and secrets. It is a smell I used to find comforting, back when I believed the history of this conservatory was a sacred thing to be studied. Now, sitting at a scarred oak table in the deepest corner of the stacks, the scent makes me nauseous. I keep my hands flat on the table, staring at the scrap of vellum I peeled from beneath the piano. They buried me. Beside it lies an open volume of The Musical…-
23.0 K • Completed
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By nine o'clock the next morning, the physical architecture of my ruin has been carefully, brilliantly redesigned. I stand in the arched doorway of Rehearsal Hall 104, staring at the stage. Overnight, the seating schematic of the Sainte Aurelia graduate symphony has been entirely reconfigured. The strings, woodwinds, and brass have been pushed back and elevated on the acoustic risers, forming a towering, imposing semi-circle of power. And the Steinway grand piano—my piano—has been moved off the main…
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23.0 K • Completed
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The donor supper moves from the suffocating heat of the courtyard to the air-conditioned, gilded drawing rooms of the Laurent estate by eleven o'clock. Waiters in crisp white jackets circulate with silver trays of snifters, pouring fifty-year-old bourbon for board members whose faces are flushed with alcohol and institutional power. The heavy, syncopated rhythm of a jazz quartet playing in the parlor bleeds through the mahogany walls, a sterilized, polite version of the music that beats in the real veins…
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23.0 K • Completed
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— The Final Club Voted Her a Liar ROWAN The fluorescent lights of the Bellwether Ledger newsroom emit a low, wasp-like hum that vibrates right into the marrow of my jaw. It’s 11:42 PM on a Tuesday, and it is happening right in front of my eyes. I press my palms flat against the scarred veneer of the editor’s desk, my twenty-two-year-old heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs. I am staring at the main monitor of our Content Management System. Ten minutes ago, my byline sat atop a…-
22.5 K • Completed
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ROWAN The fluorescent lights of the Bellwether Ledger newsroom emit a low, wasp-like hum that vibrates right into the marrow of my jaw. It’s 11:42 PM on a Tuesday, and it is happening right in front of my eyes. I press my palms flat against the scarred veneer of the editor’s desk, my twenty-two-year-old heart hammering a frantic, uneven rhythm against my ribs. I am staring at the main monitor of our Content Management System. Ten minutes ago, my byline sat atop a ten-thousand-word investigative…
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22.5 K • Completed
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SEBASTIAN The flames reflect in the dark, wide pupils of Rowan Price’s eyes. She looks like Joan of Arc realizing the very church she fought for is the one tying her to the pyre. "I decide what the truth is," I repeat, my voice a low, even murmur that barely disturbs the heavy, dust-moted air of the underground archive. I step away from the incinerator bin, leaving the last of the physical debt pages to curl and blacken into ash. The heavy iron grate of the archive door is ten feet away. I…
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22.5 K • Completed
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SEBASTIAN The red text bleeds across my encrypted terminal, casting a violent, crimson glow over the dark cedar walls of the boathouse. I stare at the monitor, the algorithmic perfection of my own system hijacked, twisted into a weapon I can no longer control. CRITICAL OVERRIDE. Algorithm Protocol: Debt Recovery. Target Adjusted. Check her mother's pension accounts. The Saint Aldwyn donor board doesn't just suspend students. They collect their debts. I hear a sharp intake of breath beside me. Rowan is…
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22.5 K • Completed
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SEBASTIAN The Saint Aldwyn clubhouse on Commonwealth Avenue has been transformed into an empire of shadows and velvet. It is the night of the Masquerade, the most guarded and grotesque tradition in Bellwether University’s history. The air in the grand foyer is thick with the scent of burning beeswax candles, expensive French perfume, and the metallic tang of cold champagne. A string quartet plays a haunting, minor-key arrangement of Vivaldi from the mezzanine, their notes floating down over the masked…
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22.5 K • Completed
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SEBASTIAN The pale, sickly light of the Somerville streetlamp bleeds through the vinyl blinds, illuminating the digital death warrant glowing on the phone screen. Immediate Suspension of the Saint Aldwyn Charter. Rowan’s breathing, previously a soft, even rhythm against my chest, turns shallow and jagged. She stares at the email from the university president, her mind struggling to reconcile the text with the reality of the titanium drive sitting untouched on her kitchen counter. "If we didn't…
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22.5 K • Completed
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ROWAN The Bellwether Ledger building sits on the northernmost edge of the campus, a converted nineteenth-century chapel of blackened stone and narrow, arched windows. Usually, it is my sanctuary. Today, it is a fortress that I am locked out of. I sprint across the icy pavement of the faculty parking lot, my breath tearing through my throat in ragged, freezing gasps. Behind me, the heavy footfalls of Sebastian’s boots hit the snow with relentless precision. The wail of campus security sirens is growing…
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22.5 K • Completed
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