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The girls' dormitory lay like a shrouded figure to the right of Lament's cold heart, its windows eyes peering into the souls that dared to enter. My boots whispered against the lush carpet as I made my way through the corridors, the sound muffled, as if the very walls sought to stifle any cry for help.
The door to my designated room creaked open, revealing a space caught between two worlds: one of comfort, with its inviting beds and warm, flickering lamps, and another of confinement, the cozy trappings a mere facade for the cage it truly was. The room, with its rich mahogany furniture and deep burgundy drapes, held an allure that was both welcoming and disquieting.
I was not alone. A figure stood by the window, her silhouette a dark stain against the waning light. Raven Blackwell, my roommate, turned from her contemplation of the gray skies to appraise me with eyes that held storms within their depths.
"Abigail, right?" Her voice was a melody wrapped in shadows, the kind that both entices and warns. "I'm Raven."
Her hair, a cascade of onyx waves, framed a face pale as moonlight, with lips the color of a bleeding heart. She extended a hand, her nails painted black as pitch, and I took it, feeling the cool touch of her skin against mine.
"Abby," I corrected softly, my own voice feeling like a trespasser in this intimate domain.
Raven's smile was a crescent moon in the dusk of her features. "Welcome to our little sanctuary, Abby. It's not much, but it's better than most."
She was right. The room, for all its undercurrent of captivity, had an air of lived-in warmth. Two beds with plush, velvet comforters promised rest, and each had a bedside table with a lamp that cast a honeyed glow. A shared desk was laden with books and parchment, the tools of our scholarly facade.
The walls were adorned with tapestries that depicted scenes both bucolic and arcane, their threads woven with a meticulousness that spoke of time-honored craft. A heavy rug lay underfoot, patterns of ivy and thorns twining in an intricate dance. It was a room that whispered tales of comfort and secrets in equal measure.
"Looks like we'll be sharing secrets and space," I said, attempting levity, though my heart felt like a stone in the river of my chest.
Raven's laughter was a chime in the stillness. "Only if you're willing to share yours, Abby. Lament is full of whispers, and some of them find their way into these very walls."
I glanced at the beds, wondering which secrets had been dreamt into their pillows, which confessions had been absorbed by their blankets.
"Are there really... rumors?" I asked, a thread of curiosity weaving through my trepidation.
Raven's gaze turned pensive, her eyes reflecting a knowledge beyond her years. "Every school has its ghost stories, Abby. Lament just happens to have more than most."
A chill traced the length of my spine, and I found myself both repelled and drawn to the enigma before me. Raven Blackwell, with her aura of mystery, seemed the perfect custodian of Lament's dark lore.
As twilight deepened, casting our room into the arms of night, Raven and I spoke of inconsequential things, skirting around the edges of the truths that lay curled like sleeping serpents in our souls. The comfort of the room, with its deceptive embrace, held us in a moment suspended between the past and the unknown future.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
In the silence that followed our tentative conversation, I lay on my bed, the fabric soft beneath me, and closed my eyes. But sleep, that elusive specter, danced just beyond my reach, chased away by the whispers that now filled my head, whispers that spoke of the sorrow and secrets embedded in the very stones of Lament.
Raven, my enigmatic roommate with her dark aura, already felt like an anchor in the turbulent seas of this new life. And as I drifted on the edges of dreams and darkness, I couldn't shake the feeling that our fates were intertwined.
In the oppressive silence of my first night at Lament, it was like the building was a living entity, an oppressive presence that hovered just beyond the reach of reason. Clad in my black silk pajamas, I lay motionless on the bed, my body taut with a sense of dread that seemed to seep from the very walls. Bereft of the stark lines of eyeliner that usually defined my gaze, I found myself confronting the darkness with a vulnerability I despised.
The scratching noise that had begun as a mere curiosity now clawed persistently at the edges of my sanity, a relentless whisper against the backdrop of Raven's steady breaths. I hesitated, a tangle of fear and intrigue compelling me to peel back the veil of night and peer into its secrets.
Rising from the bed, I approached the window, my bare feet brushing against the cold floor. The glass was cool to the touch, a barrier between me and the world of shadows that stretched out beneath Lament's imposing facade. I searched the landscape for the source of my unrest, but found only the whispering trees and the distant silhouette of the iron-wrought gates, standing like silent sentinels at the boundary of our confinement.
As I gazed out, the scratching grew fainter, retreating as though my attention had cast a light too harsh for whatever harbored such sounds. With a sigh, I turned back to the room, to the sleeping form of Raven, who seemed untouched by the nocturnal symphony that tormented me.
"Raven," I whispered, my voice threading through the dark. "Wake up, there's something strange..."
Her eyes fluttered open, revealing the glint of midnight within. "What is it, Abby?" she murmured, a note of concern lacing her words.
I gestured helplessly toward the walls. "The scratching, it's like something—or someone—is there."
Raven sat up, her gaze following my own. "It's Lament," she said. "The building breathes and lives in its own way."
Together, we held our breath, listening, but the sound had vanished, leaving us wrapped in a silence that was somehow more unsettling. We settled back into our beds, the comfort of the silk pajamas a stark contrast to the chill of fear that refused to subside.
Dawn crept upon us with the subtlety of a specter, casting a pale light that seemed too weak to chase away the shadows of the night. Reluctantly, I slipped from the bed and approached the uniform that awaited me. The grey skirt felt heavy in my hands, laden with the expectation of conformity. The black tie was a noose of decorum, each twist a reminder of the role I was to play.
And then there was the jacket, black as the night from which I had just emerged, the crest of Lament Boarding School emblazoned upon it—a shield bearing the marks of tradition and history. As I slid my arms into the sleeves, the fabric embraced me with a weight that was more than physical. It was the weight of a legacy, of countless others who had worn this crest before me.
I caught my reflection in the mirror, the pallor of my skin stark against the dark jacket. The absence of my usual makeup left me feeling exposed, as though I had shed a layer of armor that had once fortified me against the world.
Raven watched me dress, her own uniform a mirror image of my own. "They call it Phantom Hall, you know," she said, her voice a low hum that filled the room with a new sense of foreboding.
I turned to her, my curiosity piqued. "Phantom Hall?"
She nodded, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Because of the whispers, the rumors that haunt these halls. They say the spirits of the past never quite leave Lament. That they linger in the shadows, watching, waiting."
The name sent a shiver down my spine, weaving itself into the tapestry of unease that Lament had already spun around me. Phantom Hall—a moniker that promised more than just an education, but an encounter with the spectral remnants of a history as dark and enigmatic as the building itself.
As we made our way to our first day of classes, the scratching of the night before seemed like a distant memory, but the nickname, Phantom Hall, echoed in my mind, a refrain that suggested the scratching might not have been so distant after all.