[A Fractured Song] - Chapter 9 - Fantasy, Isekai (Portal Fantasy), Adventure

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The next day passed rather uneventfully, as did the next.

And that wouldn’t be odd, but considering that she was learning actual magic— as in, how to move objects by singing magic—Frances found it a bit crazy that she could describe the passing time as “uneventful.”

Two days after the conversation she and Edana had had, Frances found herself in the bed she made on the floor of her room, examining the bruises on her arms. She continued to think about her master’s words. In fact, she couldn’t stop thinking about them. It preoccupied her so much that she’d nearly slipped up and missed some of her teacher’s instructions yesterday.

Just how was she supposed to react when Edana entrusted her with something so personal? Her parents had never trusted her with anything! She was exactly what they said she was: a useless waste-of-space.

And yet, Edana’s trust simultaneously brought forth a terrifying feeling that gnawed at the back of her mind, and one of happiness? Joy? Frances cringed and wondered how much of a freak she had to be that someone trusting her with something made her happy?

She looked at her arms and winced. Then there was this disgusting habit of hers—looking at herself and counting her bruises. Even when there were no new ones to add, she couldn’t help but check how the old ones were doing. The ugly purple marks still marred her tawny brown skin, but at least the swelling was starting to go down. There were still two large ugly black circles on her forearms, but even they were starting to fade.

It was a good thing—is what Frances told herself. She was no longer so hungry that she had to steal from the school garbage cans when nobody was looking. She wasn’t getting hit. She had no new bruises to count. She had looked herself in the mirror earlier and she liked that her eyes didn’t look so sunken and that she seemed to look better. This Cinderella story was everything she dreamed of. Sure, she would have to fight a Demon King, but she was being trained to do so!

But why did she feel like she didn’t deserve it? Why did her skin recoil at the new, far harder mattress her mentor had got for her? Why was she so damn afraid of her mentor trying to touch her?

Frances sat up, wiping tears from her eyes. She didn’t want to think anymore. She had to do something. Anything.

She lit a candle in the candleholder at her bedside with a whispered trill and carried it down. The candle’s warm light cast strange shadows across the banister and tables. She didn’t mind. She slept in a lightless walk-in closet for the longest time after all.

Frances yawned, stifling her tiredness. If she could just do a bit of light reading… maybe that would help her sleep. Setting her candle down by her favorite corner, she reached up and yanked a book from one of the shelves and tucked herself in.

Oddly enough, the book’s title only composed of strange symbols, but sleep-addled Frances didn’t think much of it. The title was probably on the inside. She flipped the page over.

And was so intrigued that she read the title out loud.

“On the Performance of Shield Magic and its Dangers.” Frances’s bitter thoughts flew from her mind as she recalled the invisible shield that her mentor had surrounded herself with on their first lesson. This book might explain how to make one like it! So she flipped the page and read on.

The language was hard, and there were some words she didn’t know, but the author was very to the point. It was like an instruction manual, warning the reader the dangers of making magical shields, and then going on to how to cast them.

It was dense, though, and by the end of chapter 2, Frances could feel her eyes drooping, and her mind going thankfully blank. She bit back a yawn and stood to put the book back on its shelf.

A shelf that seemed taller than the other library shelves.

A shelf where all of the books had symbols on their spines instead of letters.

A shelf that her sleep-addled mind finally recalled held books that her mentor had told her not to read and not to even touch.

The book nearly slipped out from her numb fingers. The silent library seemed to swell with the sound of her desperate, hoarse, breaths.

She needed to replace the book, so her eyes scanned the backs of the leather-backed spines. But in the dim light, with none of them having English spines, they all looked too similar. There were gaps between the books, though. Maybe she could slip one in? But what if her master had an organizational system?

What if she hid the book? But what if Edana noticed it was missing? Then she’d punish her. Punishment meant pain. It meant no more good food. Or the feeling of a cane scouring her back. It meant bruises that would never heal.

What if Edana used her magic on her? Burned her? Tossed her into the cold stream? Those fears shuddered like the onset of a hurricane Frances and she nearly collapsed to her knees.

But would Edana… would she hurt her? Her teacher had been nothing but kind and understanding. Even when Frances knew she didn’t deserve any of it, she’d been fed well, taught magic and trusted.

Trust… Edana trusted her—so shouldn’t she trust Edana?

That particular thought dropped into her stomach and weighed there like an anchor stone.

But the chilling fear that played across her skin like a thousand stinging needles, forced her arms up and slotted the book into a gap in the shelf.

She could not test her mentor’s temper. Even Edana couldn’t tolerate this disobedience. How could she? The one thing she said not to do, she did. And Frances knew that if her mentor hit her with her staff, it would hurt far more than when her parents had hit her.

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Author's Note: Pardon me, you have finally met evil vren55, but nervous vren55 is close beside him. Mostly because I'm wondering if this chapter seems a bit too intense or painfully in character? What are your thoughts? Because yes, I'm building to something with Frances and Edana's mentor-student relationship, but do you have any guesses as to where I'm going?