The movement, or perhaps the alarm moments before, woke Noemi up. “I don’t know how you can do that everyday,” Her dorm-mate mumbled, throwing the blankets over her head.

              Angelique smiled and snatched them back off. “What would you do without me waking you every morning?”

              “I would be late—but well rested.” The answer was prepared, stated without even a moment of thought, as if Noemi often weighed these pros and cons.

              Angelique went to their shared wardrobe and took out her uniform while the other girl showered. Within minutes she’d prepared for her day. With her short brown bob brushed straight and the barest amount of foundation upon her cheeks. She’d dotted an amber eyeshadow over her lids which brought out the hazel in her eyes and complemented the green in her plaid skirt.

              Noemi was barely out of the shower with a towel wrapped around her head.

              Angelique pointedly looked at her watch.

              “hold on, hold on. I’m almost there.” She replied with the blatant lie as she shimmied into her skirt. Conditioner had tamed her long wild curls from when she had woken up—but to keep them from becoming a frenzied mess the girl used a noxious combination of detangling solutions and molding sprays as she blow-dried her flaming red hair, styling small braids as she worked.

              This is why I don’t take showers in the morning!” Angelique teased. Her friend hadn’t even started on her makeup yet. Worn heavier than Angeliques and pushing against the limits of what the school deemed as ‘proper.’ Noemi simply stuck her tongue out.

              The weather was mild, but she grabbed an umbrella just in case. Their light jackets flapped in the gentle breeze as they walked down the ill. More friends from school joined them on their way.

              Lectures were monotonous as usual and she and her friends passed the time exchanging small folded up notes back and forth. (vintage but necessary with the strict policies around phone use within the lessons)

              “I’m so hungry!” Noemi cried during passing break in the hallway.

              “Only one more class to get through before lunch.”

              “Yeah, and lucky you, get to spend a whole hour with Monsieur Behre.”

              “Oh hush, he’s a good teacher.”

              “Let’s see… first off he’s a weirdo! His suits are always wrinkled and patchy, probably not even washed at all. His hair is so long and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know what deodorant is.” Her friend was ticking down her fingers as she spoke. “Plus, private lessons must be such a bore!”

              “They’re not that bad! I rather enjoy his… quirky methods.” Mostly because they were free form and allowed Angelique to test her limits in creative expression. Said weirdo had been hired for his genius in music despite his youth. His enthusiasm put off most people, but it was one of the many reasons why Angelique loved his class. None of the other academics seemed to love their subjects quite like he did. And none of the classes were as much fun.

              As she pulled her flute from it’s case, it warmed to her touch as if greeting an old friend. Angelique supposed they were.

              She carried it down the few steps to the middle of the rehearsal hall. Past the empty chairs and instrument stands, where her sheet music was already propped. Glancing over the notes she could already hear the song in her head.

              The flute was placed against her lips, she positioned her body in a pose that felt most natural to her; as much apart of her life as breathing. Angelique’s fingers danced across the keys, making sure each depressed with ease , a smooth practiced motion. With one more peak at her song books, she wet her lips and closed her eyes.

              Angelique did not just hear the music as she created it, because it was not just sound to her. It was living swirling light and color. It tingled as sweet sensation across her skin. She lost herself in it, though she was not completely gone from the world. She remained vaguely aware of her surroundings. Just enough to know when Monsieur Behre walked into the room. She could feel his critical gaze upon her. She could tell when he moved around her, trying to find a flaw in her posture. Their lessons were not so much him teaching her, but him attempting to find a song that she could not play.

              Once she had finished he clapped, standing as she opened her eyes.

              “Exquisite as always.”

              “Thank you.”

              He held up a tablet for her inspection, a website featuring an article of advanced musical theory before her. “We are going to discuss this today.” She took the device from him, intrigued. “Really dive into the merits of the contemporaries and compare them to the historical basis…”

              By the time the lunch bell rang, she had been assigned an essay to write. When she met up with Noemi her head was swimming with names, dates and harmonies to songs. They waited in the cafeteria line together chatting idly. Another bell saw them onto the next period.

              They day continued on like this. Normal.

              Angelique sighed.

              English was her last class of the day, and it passed quickly enough. With their teacher informing them of a new project; pen pals from America! Though not many in the class seemed too excited about the archaic concept—after all this is what smart phones and laptops and the internet were for! But Angelique enjoyed the vintage feeling of writing letters by hand. She had the perfect stationary waiting at home for such things as well!

              Each student only received a name and nothing more to start out on their letters.

              It began to rain on their short walk back tot eh dorms; she and Noemi huddled beneath her single umbrella.

              Right away Angelique began her homework. She pulled out a pencil and the cute, flowered paper, ignoring the sound of soft chatter as girls passed by sporadically in the hallway. Aiva was her partner’s name; it was beautiful in its simplicity.

              My dearest Aiva, she started out. She tapped the eraser against her lips, thinking of the best way to get to know the other girl from across the ocean, and what would be the best way for her to get to know Angelique.

              She placed the lead upon the page and a darkness spread from the tip as if it had been a bleeding pen. Startled she pulled her hand back, but the blackness extended over the entirety of the incomplete letter.

              Standing Angelique tried to retreat, but her legs wouldn’t move. Each shift felt exaggerated and slow. Her body weighted down as she watched this obscurity pool over her desk, oozing onto the floor.

              It rippled and pulsed around her like a living thing, writhing as it rose, until four shadowed figures stood in her room. They faced away from her. Suddenly a blade of gold protruded from ones back; it fell from the wound which did not bleed. A swift emptiness enveloped her, banishing the other three figures.

              It was then that Angelique allowed fear to overtake her. Until that moment curiosity and caution had been her only thoughts. She felt the Nothing peel away at her flesh and she wished to call upon her light, but without her flute it was useless. A more terrible fear filled her heart as the vast Nothing unraveled her. It felt that if the Nothing were too reach her core, it would eat away at her and the light would be gone forever—as if it had never existed.

              She fought against it now and the sensation of many hands snatching at her tore into her awareness. She was being grabbed, pulled in every direction. Someone was shaking her.

              Angelique lashed out and turned.

              She was still sitting at her desk. Drool blurred her greeting across the parchment and her pencil had rolled to the floor.

              Noemi stood next to her, a look of surprise adorning her features. “Are you okay?” The look of shock was replaced by one of concern.

              “Yeah…” Angelique replied, distracted as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

              “Could you let me go now then?”

              Angelique hadn’t even realized the grip she had on her friend’s arm.

              Her roommate seemed unperturbed and she fell back onto her bed. “That must have been a good dream, you sure were moaning.” She laughed. “But you’re really okay right? You don’t usually fall asleep at your desk.”

              “I’m fine silly.” Angelique joined in the giggling, trying to ignore the cold sweat as it rolled down her back.

              Noemi shrugged. “Well you better hop in the shower. It’s almost lights out and I’m not gonna share in the morning—even if you beg.” She winked in Angelique’s direction and they both tittered as she grabbed her towel.

              The warmth of the water did not help to drive away the chill that settled into her, just beneath the skin. The dream lingered like a rotten smell. She could not shake the fresh memory of it.

              Noemi was already under her covers when Angelique stepped out of the steaming bathroom. As Angelique slipped into her pajamas the other girl spoke.

              “I wish I had a cute little birthmark like yours.” She lifted up her shirt to look at her own stomach, tracing her finger lightly across the tanned flesh of her belly button. “It’s such a perfect circle.”

              Angelique looked mildly over at her topless reflection. “it’s not a birthmark.”

              “Lights out girls!” The matron’s throaty voice echoed in the halls. The sound of soft laughter and people shushing each other rippled through the gloom until sleep began to creep upon them.

              A cheery jingle slashed through the silence. Startled from her state of encroaching slumber, Angelique fumbled with the glowing green button on her phone’s surface. Noemi hissed curses from the floor where she’d fallen.

              “Bonjur.” Her voice cracked with fatigue and she rubbed at her stinging eyes.

              “Moshi moshi Hikaru-sama!” Laughter which sounded on the brink of hysteria emulated across the line. The woman’s voice was rich and held an Asian lilt to it. “Just called to make sure you’re not dead yet! Fuwa fuwa—"