It was one of the first nights of autumn, when the air began to cool, and shadows lengthened beneath the silver gaze of the moon. Leaves tinged by the changing season swayed to the rhythm of a gentle breeze. The nocturnal song of crickets and frogs wove a melancholic symphony that echoed in the twilight. Moonlight filtered through the majestic gothic window of Felicity’s room, its leaded glass creating ethereal patterns that danced across the stone floor, while the fireplace cast a warm and welcoming glow.
Felicity entered, closing the door behind her. Her trembling hands unfastened the golden brooch of her emerald green cloak, letting it fall to the floor with a whisper of fabric, as if all the day’s sadness had decided to anchor her to the ground. Her figure was a poem of ethereal proportions: her skin, like ancient marble, reflected the moonlight, highlighting an almost magical contrast with her silver-gold hair, which fell in disheveled cascades over her shoulders, framing her face with an otherworldly glow. Her eyes, deep green, rivaling the singular beauty of the magnificent emerald set in the ring hanging from the silver chain around her neck, closed for a moment, trying to hold back the tears that welled up as she remembered Connor’s cruel words.
“You’re a disaster, Felicity! No one expects you to succeed tomorrow. When you fail, because that’s all you know how to do, you’ll take your rightful place: out of here, an outcast, a nobody. You were born of a pure race and a human. You don’t think you can achieve our mastery, do you?”
The cutting mockery wasn’t new, but this time it had touched an even more fragile corner of her spirit. She walked slowly to the center of the room, stopping before the oval mirror that adorned the wall. Her hands trembled as she slowly loosened the golden laces of her corset, allowing the structured garment and skirt to slide to her feet. The academy uniform, symbol of all her struggles, formed a pool of dark green fabric around her. Her eyes traced her reflection, searching for something she couldn’t name.
Her light dress slipped from her body with an almost reverent motion, revealing her smooth skin, marked only by a faint blush that the betrayal of cold had left on her cheeks. Her shoulders, delicate and straight, carried an almost innate pride, though now they hunched under the weight of her anguish. Her chest, generous and harmonious, rose with a deep sigh as tears began to run silently down her cheeks, following the contour of an elegant jaw that spoke of her elven heritage.
With an automatic movement, she curled up on the bed, hugging her bare legs against her chest. Her slender yet strong body trembled from the contrast between the coldness of the night and the heat of her sorrow. Her long legs, sculpted with the grace that only elven and human blood could provide, were testament to a mixed lineage that her world had decided to repudiate. But Felicity had never felt so distant from her own being as she did now.
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In her trembling hands, she held the ring inherited from her ancestors, its cold metal seeming to steal the warmth from her fingers. She turned it gently, watching the green stone reflect the dim light. She had found this ring on her mother’s nightstand when she returned home after her first year at the academy, only to discover the house empty and her parents vanished without a trace. Since then, the ring and an old family portrait were all that connected her to a past that seemed as unreachable as her dreams.
“Why can’t I do it?” she thought, letting tears fall freely. Memories of her childhood hit her with relentless force: her mother, majestic and protective; her father, human, warm and full of stories that always made her laugh. They had sacrificed so much for her, and still, she felt she had failed.
She rose and walked toward the imposing gothic window, whose ogival arch rose majestically almost touching the vaulted ceiling. Through the leaded glass, the spires of the castle towers stood stark against the night sky, their dark silhouettes pointing toward the full moon. The central carpet muffled her steps while her white nightgown floated softly with each movement.
The fire crackled in the stone fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the ancient walls as flames licked the logs. Tears began to roll down her cheeks while her fingers played with the ring on her chain. With a final gesture of vulnerability and surrender, she let her nightgown slip from her shoulders, falling silently to the stone floor.
Her hands rested on the frame as her gaze lost itself in the starry sky. She closed her eyes and imagined what a successful invocation would be like: a majestic dragon that would lift her above contempt, or perhaps a phoenix that would burn with the intensity of all she wished to be. But deep in her heart, she knew she wasn’t seeking power, strength, or glory. She longed for understanding. Companionship. Someone who would see her true self, the one the world insisted on ignoring.
Standing on the central carpet, her naked silhouette was outlined against the moonlight streaming through the rose window. The contrast between the cold emanating from the stained glass and the warmth of the fireplace caressed her skin, while the shadows of the gothic columns created ethereal patterns on the floor, reminding her that she was alive, despite everything.
When she returned to her bed, the cold no longer affected her. She lay on her side, hugging a pillow against her chest, trying to contain her pain. “Just once,” she whispered to herself. “Just once I want to be enough.”
As sleep embraced her, moonlight caressed her face, like a silent promise that perhaps tomorrow everything could be different.
