Phantasia

The students of Sapphire Second found themselves confronted with their second new arrival in the space of three weeks. Standing in her prim uniform with back straight and hands clasped behind her, Faye looked as ill-placed as Phantasia had felt on her own arrival.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said, curtsying to the class as if they were royalty. Phantasia resisted a giggle at her handmaiden’s awkward interpretation of human etiquette – all the knowledge in the world didn’t make up for a lack of wisdom, as Queen Thetis always said, and right now Faye was a perfect demonstration of this.

Lysander and Angelo were the first to introduce themselves to the new girl, just as they had been with Phantasia. Lysander, who was even shorter than Faye, wasn’t daunted by her odd appearance and held out his hand.

“Yo, I’m Lysander and this here is—“

“Lysander Goodfellow and Angelo Foley,” said Faye, allowing the crimson-haired boy to shake her hand with such force Phantasia was worried it might phase away, “I am already fully acquainted with my fellow students. I have also digested your guide to Torsten Academy. I found it filled with non sequiturs and illogical reasonings,”

“It’s like you’ve seen into me soul,” said Lysander with a big grin.

Faye’s commentary reached Phantasia’s mind. I am unable to ‘see into his soul’. Indeed, I cannot even read his casual thoughts.

“I assure you that I have no such power,” she said aloud.

Angelo weaved around her, eyes rolling as he studied every nook and cranny of her appearance. “I perhaps wonder if we have encountered a robotic life form,” he said to Lysander, who crossed his arms and nodded his head in mock seriousness.

“You might be on to something there, Dr Foley,”

“I am not a mechanical construct,” said Faye.

Angelo Foley’s thoughts are riddled with non sequiturs, she said to Phantasia, and he has clothed himself to resemble the historical figure of Napoleon Bonaparte, an emperor from approximately thirteen-hundred years ago.

Before the scene could descend into further anarchy – as it would if Lysander and Angelo had their way – Doyle swaggered over and slipped his arm around Faye’s shoulder.

“Don’t be wasting your time with these kids,” he said.

“Yeah, you don’t wanna waste time with us,” retorted Lysander, “Not when you’ve got Doyle Kennedy, breaker of a hundred young hearts, all of them thirteen, around!”

“Yeah, whatever you say, kid,” replied Doyle, his lips curling into a brief sneer as he steered Faye away from the grinning duo.

“Lysander Goodfellow’s statement was not intended as an insult,” said Faye.

“They’re just jealous,” he mumbled, “Don’t listen to them. I’m just trying to be friendly. Can’t say I’ve ever met a lady with hair like yours before. It looks like a flowing waterfall plucked from a moonlight vista….”

Doyle had tried that charm on with Phantasia when she first arrived, but now she realised it for what it really way: a feeble attempt to impress by replicating his friend Byron’s poetic verse. Faye must have unnerved him, though, because his aura wasn’t trying to wrap itself around her as it had done with Phantasia. He pulled out a chair and attempted to guide Faye into it, but she slipped away from his grasp.

“Doyle Kennedy, I can assure you that your act will not succeed,”

Doyle, who had been flashing his white teeth, blinked confusion and his eyes scanned the rest of the room as he noticed he was the centre of attention.

Chapter 43
Previous / Continue
(page 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8)