Old Clothes, New Person

~°°~

The world was whirling, eyelids heavy and the tips of their ears scorching. They faintly heard Boreas whispering as hands embraced them, "Hold on tightly!"

The green notebook, they thought in panic. Eris veered their head around, feeling their head pounded by bricks as they did. They were in the air, still, in the room of mirrors—boy, did they want to puke—and their hand still tightly grabbed the green notebook. Relief. They pocketed it.

"Lethe, write what I say while I can still remember the passages we went through—" Boreas blearily ordered.

"Oh, Goddess Yves." Eris heard the boy mutter under his breath. They were still in the room of mirrors. The necklace. Their bones throbbed, skin icy even as blood smoldered fervently underneath. A fever. They groaned. Endlessly training without proper sleep finally bit them in the ass.

"Left—right—" The endless haze of mirrors was reflected on Boreas' panicked irises. They curved in somewhere—their stomach turning upside down. "Can't we just take the necklace off them!? Considering the Unpasseds might be outside, we're just gonna squash against the Dome walls!"

"So, I might have dipped the chains with Binding Potions."

"Why the fu—"

A fuzzy thought sparked in Eris' mind. Sure, maybe they would crash on the walls and die but.. but, what if one mirror led them outside? Eris craned their head up, dismissing the pang of ache in their head. Ebony eyes broadened, eager and hopeful to see a mirror of bright blue, green grasses and trees painted in faint yellow of the daylight. The necklace turned, this time not to a corner, but a mirror. Faint excitement thrummed in their veins.

It was a mirror as dark as their eyes.

The world coiled and gravity left the earth for a bit when they dove into the glass.

They tumble and Eris felt a pile of clothes smashing against her face. Squinting, they were met with dingy floors sprinkled with canal water. Droplets came from the endless tubes hung on the ceiling, falling, prickling their burning skin rhythmically.

They heard weak groans behind. Glancing back, they discerned Boreas' pale face and the moles under his eyes, and Lethe's tanned, rather round face smudged in blemishes and freckles. The voice modifier and the face distortion, they thought in quiet horror, were gone.

Boreas and Lethe realized as well and hurriedly extinguished their light glyphs. Eris stared at the necklace clutched in their hand. The necklace had plunged itself into a clutter of clothes.

Lethe and Boreas rummaged through the mess, with urgency. Gaunt hands yanked a pant out; the necklace hung in its pockets then the clip plummeting out. "Okay," whispered Boreas as he took it both, gulping as his eyes darted at Lethe. "We got it. Now we should go back. Help me carry Eris."

The brunette did not move. "I think we should stay." She licked her lips, nervously. "Aren't these the clothes of the Unpassed?"

"That's more reason for us to go back, now," he snapped, urgently dragging her arm.

Lethe warily looked from the dim corridors paved by the tall shadows to the feverish girl. Sweat stuck on her dark skin and curly hair—they were heaving shallow breaths, eyes hazed. Lethe bit her lip. "Carry them back. I'll follow you guys later."

"What?" Boreas scowled, pulling her much more urgently. "No. I secretly read those terrible horror books you stole from the Professors. No."

"Look, this might be a way to find out—"

The mirror they had just gone through cluttered to the ground. The dark glass split into two, and sketches of silhouettes began to form in its midst. Boreas grunted, clambered to the pile of clothes, and hid. The other two got the idea as well and immediately began to pile the clothes to themselves.

Heavy footsteps began to patter the muddy floor. Dull blue lightened the room. Four light glyphs floated in the air, reflected on the metallic tubes, the falling water and on Eris' black eyes. They inched closer to Lethe and Boreas, hearing bated breaths.

The sound of creaking wheels on water arose, along with more footsteps and unfinished chatters. Hooded figures spoilt in her view, hauling cylindrical glass containers. Eris squinted; eyes widened, a dull pang as they realized eyeballs swam inside the first container, the next carried peeled skins—body parts.

So what came after the portal? Cold machinery meant to sip blood and butcher. Subconsciously knew that this was the conclusion, that they were hiding in the clothes of the dead.

"Grab. Clothes," gurgled the leading person, nudging his head in their direction. "To. Recyclers."

Eris wondered briefly if the clothes they wore were also recycled. Was there blood on it before—a hole when the kid struggled? Their skin itched all of the sudden. Maybe if they tore them all it'd stop. Eyes widened. Oh my gods they are coming this way—

"I can't believe she just left the clothes in here," muttered one as he began taking a portion, scooping near them. "She just expects us to do the work.." His twisted, deformed face turned to a snarl, revealing long fangs, red slitted eyes glowing, the white collar underneath his hood smeared with dried blood. His companions blurted out words Eris was unable comprehend.

Eris grabbed two hands tightly—they needed to go, escape, escape, their mind thundered. They glanced at the split mirror that was still spewing hooded figures into the room. If they could get to that. Boreas could teleport them but twenty meters only! That won't be enough for the corridors they went through earlier—their forehead burned moreover, mind chanting, whirring; to the mirror, the mirror, go, go—they shrank, finding it hard to inhale air, and why couldn't they move? They tried to blink. They couldn't.

The Rules of Peculiar. There was a voice, mocking, amused and ancient. It echoed through their mind. Paid by blood. Ringing, ringing.

1) Things that have life are not transformable and;

They heard the rustle of clothes, a small gasp, and an outcry; "Students here!"

2) User could only transform on things they had seen.

Eris Heindell was no more.

Eris was the mirror. Lethe and Boreas jumped in. The world shattered into pieces and reformed in seconds; lifted them in space and brought them back to the ground—saw the outline of the glaring clock above, knees and elbows tumbling against the mismatched tiles of the Dining Hall. They heard thick breaths, small voices beside them asking what the heck happened.

"I finally used my Peculiar correctly," Eris said, dazed. Blood gushed from their nose. Worried eyes met theirs. Eris swatted them away.

"We're gonna escape, right?" A voice that sounded like Boreas'. The world was too liquefied to be sure.

"We are," Eris mumbled surely.

They blacked out.

~°°~

Eris woke up to the whiff of sharp condiments, wood and warm pillows. Healing Lodge. Burning warmth tickled their skin. Worried murmurs crowded them. Their eyes flickered open then sealed immediately in reflex as they realized their glasses were gone.

"My glasses, please," they croaked out, flexing their hand.

Collective voices spoke out. Lethe. Boreas. "They're awake!"

"Duh," said another voice, coloured with a heavy scowl. Eris' stomach dropped, recognizing the voice. "It is just a fever, a bit of dehydration, strained muscles—basically overworking. They'd be fine, I told you. Also, can you please not approach my patient in such a loud—"

"My glasses. Please," Eris said much more loudly, head throbbing.

The wobbly spectacle was handed to them in haste. Eris plopped it above their nose and through it, they hazily discerned Rycella Gullerva shoving Lethe and Boreas out of the Healing Lodge.

"—as you can see, Heindell is fine. Please let me do my job in peace." Her green eyes were tired and glazed, ladened with heavy eye bags underneath. Before Boreas could even open his mouth to speak, she slammed the door right on his face.

Eris snarked. "They're my friends, you know."

"Well, they are not mine." The redhead bit back, glaring as she angrily tied her hair up into a low ponytail. "Walth made twenty dad jokes in a minute while Poitraz stared at the clock and counted each second like an obsessed freak."

"Hey!" Eris furrowed their eyebrows, taking offense. "They're not that bad."

"Indeed," Rycella replied, flatly. "Compared to you atleast." She sat down near and continued the healing process, soft green spilling out of her hands.

The dark-haired girl perched up, ignoring the stab of pain passing through their head. "I'm okay. I—Why are you healing me? Where's the nurse?"

Rycella ignored their first statement and continued healing, anyway. Fucking annoying. "There are no more medicines. The nurse is brewing some potions in her office but that won't be sufficient for long because we don't have enough stocks."

"Oh."

Rycella sneered. "Yes, 'oh.' Some clowns then decided to see who can win an arm wrestle against a disfigured chair." She cocked her head to the dozen occupied beds. "Huine, being the responsible secretary he is, decided to join them." Her usually neat hair was unkempt, the scowl sketched on her face becoming deeper and deeper. "Now, I have to spend the whole—"

"Krowan Huine is the secretary?" Eris owlishly blinked. "I never knew that."

The redhead did not answer her question. "And you—" Her nose flared and the warm green light turned cruel, burning. "Apparently, you snuck out to train. Again. Walth had noticed you were gone and instead of going to me—the president of the student council that is bunking with her—she decides to also sneak out and call out Poitraz!" she spat out furiously. "Did my patrols and noticed you three fumbling like complete ludicrous idiots in the halls."

Eris parted their lips to say something but words died on their way to their throat and they just raised their head in acknowledgement instead. There's that scent of mint again, but it's heavily overwhelmed by other spices.

"—giving potions that'd make you want to eat your toes—Heindell with a fever—clowns with broken bones—some boy goaded a bookshelf and got dunked on. No medicines or potions." Rycella let out a mirthless laugh before she continued her rant. "I have not slept a wink." She stopped, closing her eyes as she exhaled out. "And now... I'm ranting to you." A flush of embarrassment made its way to her stoic face as she squeaked out; "I'll shut up now."

Oh, so it was her who found them. Not a Professor. Thank goodness. Eris let out a silent sigh of relief. But, the green notebook in their pockets was gone. "I—Have you found a notebook?" they said in alarm.

"A notebook?" Rycella's eyes didn't break contact. "No."

Eris pursed their lips into a thin line. "I see."

A stilted silence followed hereafter. The fever and the mild bruises on their skin were gone in seconds.

"Done." Rycella primly pushed up her wry glasses.

The Eris stood up and curtly nodded, stifling once again that small, familiar pang of jealousy at the redhead's Peculiar. "Thanks."

"It is my duty." And there went back the cold, polite Gullerva.

Eris tied their boots tightly and proceeded to reach for the door.

"Cool glasses, by the way."

Their hand froze at the doorknob. They hesitantly replied. "I—thanks."

"How does—why does it scream?" Rycella fidgeted with the tips of her necktie. "It helps your Peculiar, I heard?"

Eris blinked, gobsmacked. "Yes. Uh—" they scratched their head, thinking how to articulately explain it. "—there are some items I can't turn to. 'Alive,'" they air quoted, "things. The flying candles are one. So I borrowed Lethe's old fake glasses and put some of the flying candles' waxes. Forcefully, if I must add."

"Oh. Cool." Rycella pursed her lips. "No wonder it looks rather blurry." She suddenly grimaced, the last part registering. "No wonder it screams."

"Well, it quiets down at night. It actually sleeps too, I guess." Eris' eyes darted at the doorknob. "Yeah."

"That's a rather ingenious idea," murmured the redhead. Eris wondered who held her at gunpoint. There was another silence before Rycella spoke again. "You three are acting off. Did something happen?"

Eris gulped, their heart roaring as they averted their eyes. "No. And if there was, it's not your business." Then they blurted out, "Do you hear random voices sometimes?"

"No?" Rycella looked extremely concerned.

Eris backtracked. "Me neither."

"I—Okay..." Rycella shook her head as if waking up from a daydream. "I should be healing them." Her lips twisted into a sneer at the last word. "Um. Farewell."

The door of the Healing Lodge closed.

~°°~

Detention. Of course. They glumly plumped down to the floor. They were locked on the solitary confinement. Boreas and Lethe were confined as well.

There wasn't anything much in here—this was solitary confinement after all; a metal door with a small peephole, the lone, flickering candle floating in the cramped space, a small timer in the door's midst with a rundown of eight hours. Eight hours.

Sneaking out in curfew would give five hours, insubordination would be just one and skipping meals would add two. Rycella babbled about Eris' past ventures.

Following the rules was of huge importance in the school. Misbehaving was punished severely; not following curfews, schedules, forgetting schoolwork, not attending mealtimes, not sleeping in time, etc.

Eris had always wondered why the last two were counted as misbehavior. Turned out they were just making sure the cattle would grow fat and delicious. Hissing, Eris banged their fist against the tiles. Dark eyes watched their knuckles redden and bled. They curled their fist again, nails scraping the skin as they bit back a snarl. Eris slumped their head against the wall as they caressed the small bruises on the knuckles.

Students couldn't sleep in solitary confinement. It would shake, rattle; usually, it wanted to make students stare agonizingly at the timer, to count each second, anxious and eager to get out. Darkness seeped in this small space. Flashes of peeled, bleeding skins and organs—of red seeping into glass containers reverberated in their mind. Those furious, frantic emotions flared back in vengeance. Eris began their count, pacing furiously.

One, two, three. Four, five, six and—

The red in the timer beeped, the red of the professor's head as it exploded, the dried blood in the corpses.

Palm coiled into a fist, they gathered their strength and smashed it against the timer. Glasses shattered and pieces of it spliced their skin. The timer continued its countdown, either way.

Gritting their teeth, they sprawled back to the floor, staring at the ceiling. They thought of blue; the skies in the paintings, the depths of the oceans told in the book. Seven strokes. It takes seven strokes, Eris reminded to themselves harshly, trying to redo their count. Eris drooped their head to the floor and saw blood gleaming on shattered glass. The image burned into her mind, carving a solemn promise as the timer tick-tocked.

Eris would burn this whole school to the ground. If they had to burn with it, then so be it.

The red light was reflected in her eyes.

They plumped down, back against the walls, staring at nothing. Something blue flickered on the corner of their eyes. The red blood on the broken pieces of glasses had turned dark blue.

~°°~