The insistent rap of knuckles against the wooden door shattered Habondia's sleep, leaving her gasping for air and drenched in a sheen of cold sweat. "Who is it?" she called out.

"It's Sophie, the class president of classroom 18. Headmaster Emrys asked me to come and look for you; they're worried that no one has seen you during breakfast," Sophie's voice carried a note of concern that echoed in the recesses of Habondia's weary mind.

As Habondia rose from the tangle of sheets, her eyes sought out the familiar form of the wall clock. It was almost 11:00.

With a heavy sigh, she made her way to the door. "I'm sorry! I was working until late, and I did not sleep much. Can you wait while I get ready?"

Sophie, the red-haired girl who had read Habondia’s biography to her classmates, nodded. She settled herself on the couch.

The blue dress that clung to Sophie's slender frame, the black pantyhose that covered her legs, and the school's coat of arms pinned at her coat; told Habondia that the girl had come after finishing a class.

“Let me take a shower first.”

Sophie sat on the couch, her fingers tracing the delicate lines of the notebook that lay open before her. Habondia's annotations, a labyrinth of words that spoke of ancient truths and hidden mysteries, drew her attention. With a deep breath, she turned the pages, as she snooped at her teacher’s work.

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The first tale, a recounting of the Saxons' arrival in old Britain, failed to capture Sophie's interest. She turned the pages with growing impatience until she reached the story of the seven-year-old Celtic girl, who along with her tribe wandered all over the British islands. The appearance of a foreign traveler marked the end of the translated text, leaving a sense of unease lingering in the air.

A spark of realization flickered in Sophie's mind. "The story doesn’t feel right," she murmured to herself.

Habondia stepped out of the bathroom covering herself with a towel.

Sophie's breath caught in her throat as her eyes fell upon the hideous scar that marred Habondia's back.

As Habondia grabbed her clothing from the wardrobe and began to change behind the partition, Sophie's hands trembled with unspoken emotions. She felt the phantom ache of Habondia's wounds mirrored in her own flesh.

Sophie's gaze, fraught with guilt, locked onto Habondia's as she finished adjusting her garments.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sophie's voice trembled and her hands fluttered nervously. "I was reading your notes on your desk."

Habondia's smile. "Don't worry about it," she reassured, her voice a gentle murmur that soothed Sophie's guilt.

"I’m sorry for asking this," Sophie's voice wavered. "I don't want to sound rude, but what happened? How did you get that scar?"

In that fleeting moment, the world seemed to hold its breath as Habondia's movements stilled.

"It happened when I was in prison after an afternoon I refused to eat."