Poison Rose of Avalon

*Chapter contains bullying.*

Liora could feel their eyes on her, their stares sharp and invasive. Their laughter echoed in her ears, but she kept her gaze fixed ahead as she made her way to her seat. The classroom felt like a cage, every corner watching, waiting.

She adjusted her glasses, took a slow, steadying breath, and focused on the lesson in front of her, willing herself to block out the noise.

The minutes dragged on, but throughout the entire lesson, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching her, studying her, but she couldn't bring herself to look. Fear of meeting someone's gaze kept her eyes glued to the teacher's words on the board, though it was not easy to read with one eye and the other covered with hair.

How do these brats expect students like her to focus in school? She was cursing at them.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of the lesson and the beginning of the lunch break. The cafeteria was bustling with activity, but it wasn't the lively chatter that filled the air, it was the dull hum of a place where unspoken rules governed every movement and every interaction.

Liora entered the cafeteria, her eyes scanning the room. The long line of students with thick, black-framed glasses stood near the food counter, their trays in hand, waiting for their turn at the food. It wasn't a place for eating; it was a place for serving.

The privileged students, those with wealth and influence, sat at the tables in groups, their laughter rich and full, as though the food and drinks were magically brought to them.

Their trays were empty, not because they hadn't eaten, but because they never had to fetch their own food. The task fell to students like Liora.

Her heart sank, but she took her place in line. Her hands trembled slightly as she balanced the tray, the weight of the meal somehow heavier than it should have been.

She dared a quick glance at the tables where the rich kids sat, their smug faces so familiar now that they barely even seemed human to her.

When her turn finally came, she quickly filled her tray with the standard cafeteria fare, a bland, unappetizing meal that hardly seemed worth the effort. Her stomach growled in protest, but she knew better than to stop for a moment's reprieve. She had a job to do.

One by one, the students with glasses delivered their meals to the privileged tables. The looks they received—disdain, indifference, or outright ignoring, were the same every day. Their task was never acknowledged, and their existence was barely even noticed.

As Liora approached Silvia's table, she fought the urge to cringe. Silvia, the undisputed queen of Elite School, sat there with her phone in hand, tapping away, oblivious to Liora's presence. Without lifting her gaze, she muttered, "About time."

The words were a sharp slap to Liora's senses, and she swallowed her frustration. She placed the tray in front of Silvia and turned to leave, but the knot in her stomach only tightened. She couldn't eat until her "service" was complete. Until every tray was delivered. Until every humiliation was endured.

Her stomach growled again, louder this time. But she knew that for someone like her, someone who didn't belong, hunger was the least of her problems.

"Hey, you! Bring me a soda," another girl called out, her voice sharp and commanding. She pointed directly at Liora.

She sighed inwardly but nodded, the weight of the school's unspoken rules pressing down on her shoulders. This was the routine, the endless cycle of servitude that defined their days. Liora turned and headed back to the counter to fetch the drink.

She returned to the table and handed the soda to the girl, who took it without even a glance of acknowledgement. No 'thank you.' No recognition. Just the cold exchange of one servant passing something to another.

The bullying, the ragging, was embedded deep within the culture of this school, starting in the fifth class and continuing all the way through to the twelfth standard.

Each year, the students learned the hard way: submit or suffer. There was no room for resistance, no space for defiance. Liora could see it in the eyes of the older students, and they were broken before they could even learn to stand on their own two feet.

Liora sought refuge. She had learned quickly that the safest place was in solitude, away from the buzzing hive of students who only seemed to want to tear each other down.

Liora secluded herself in a corner of the school grounds. The quiet was a relief, and the isolation was a small comfort.

She sat on the old rusted chair as she pulled out the phone that Caspian had given her. The glittering decoration caught the light of the sun, almost too bright against the dullness of everything around her. She flipped it open, the familiar click of the hinge echoing in the stillness. Her heart sank when she saw the empty inbox. Not a single message from Caspian.

Her mind began to spiral. Maybe he had forgotten about her already, just like everyone else had. Maybe she was just another passing moment for him, another face in a crowd of unfamiliar ones.

But before she could let herself fall deeper into that thought, her attention was pulled away by laughter, loud and taunting. The noise felt like nails scraping against her nerves.

Cautiously, she peeked around the corner of the wall, her eyes barely showing as she tried to remain unseen. What she saw made her blood run cold.

A tight circle had formed, and in the center, two boys were fighting. Their bare torsos glistened with sweat as they swung their fists at each other, struggling for dominance. The sounds of punches landing were sharp, like cracks of thunder in the tense air.

The boys themselves were easy to distinguish. One had neat hair, a strong physique, his movements purposeful as he landed a punch. The other, with a short, cropped haircut and a lean body, seemed to be fighting with more desperation.

The onlookers, students from elite families, their faces cold and entertained, cheered them on as though this spectacle was nothing more than a game.

They called out bets, laughing as the fight dragged on. To them, this was normal. The suffering of others was entertainment. The thrill of watching someone fall, someone weaker than themselves, made them feel stronger, superior.

Liora's stomach twisted. This was it—the way the school worked, the unspoken hierarchy. She wasn't even part of the fight, but she could feel the violence in the air. It was suffocating.

She slowly looked down at the phone in her hands, but the promise of communication, of comfort, felt distant. The glittering decoration, the small connection to Caspian, everything felt so far away. Even the phone, the one thing she had been holding onto, seemed to mock her now.

"Are you really going to be there for me?" she whispered to herself, unsure of the answer.

Liora's breath caught in her throat. She recognized one of the boys in the fight—the boy with a not-so-strong physique and an unconfident grin. He was from her class.

"Get him! Knock him down!" one of the privileged boys shouted, his voice filled with malicious glee.

"Twenty bucks says he goes down in the next two minutes!" another sneered, waving a bill high in the air, the smell of wealth and entitlement wafting around him.

Liora's heart raced, her stomach twisting. She couldn't look away, but she couldn't intervene either, not without consequences.

A knot formed in her chest. Why is it always the weak who have to suffer? she thought bitterly.

Desperation flooded her mind, and before she could think it through, she snapped a few photos. Then, her fingers fumbled as she hit the record button. The video was shaky, her hands trembling as she captured the faces of the boys involved—the cruelty, the laughter, the indifference.

The evidence might be useful someday, somehow. Liora wasn't sure how or when, but she knew she had to hold onto it.

When she shoved her phone back into her pocket, the fight ended abruptly with a vicious punch that sent the smaller boy sprawling to the ground, blood dripping from his nose and lips. The crowd erupted into cheers, as though they had witnessed the climax of some sick game.

She forced herself to keep her eyes on the scene, waiting for the bullies to scatter. They didn't even spare a glance for the boy they had just demolished. Slowly, as the last of the taunts faded into the distance, she approached the fallen boy.

He was kneeling on the ground, his eyes wide with shock, his body trembling from the pain and humiliation.

Liora's heart ached for him. She wasn't going to look the other way.

With a quiet resolve, she extended her hand to the boy. He hesitated for a moment, but when he saw the sincerity in her eyes, he placed his trembling hand in hers. Together, they stood.

"Come on," Liora murmured, leading him toward the old rusted chair. There was a water tap nearby. She turned it on, her fingers numbing from the cold as the faucet sputtered. The muddy water burst forth, then gradually cleared up, offering a brief moment of relief amidst the ugliness.

"Here," she said softly, guiding him to the water as he cupped his hands to wash his face. His breath was ragged, and she could hear the slight tremble in his voice when he spoke.

"Thank you...Liora," he whispered, still dazed from the beating.

He knows her name. Liora thought to herself. Liora gave him a small nod while Liora handed him her handkerchief to pat dry.

She didn't know if she could fix the world around her. She didn't know if she could change the way things were, but she had learned something at that moment. She would help others.

"What's your name?" Liora asked.

"Daran," he said while tapping Liora's handkerchief on his face.

"Nice to meet you, Daran." She then took out a peanut snack bar from her pocket and offered it to him, knowing he likely hadn't had a chance to eat his lunch, having been dragged into the fight by the bullies.

Seeing such kindness, he lifted his head to meet her hazel eyes. His eyes reflected a deep, soul-crushing defeat as he looked up at Liora; however, a hint of a smile on his lips expressed gratitude to her. It was the first time anyone had ever helped him during his time in school.

"If you are feeling any better, I will leave first." Daran nodded his head and took the bar Liora offered before she left.

As Liora walked back towards her class, her phone vibrated. She paused and immediately reached into her pocket, flipping open the phone without wasting any moment. In her inbox, she saw one unread message.

Liora's heart skipped a beat as she read the message, the excitement in her chest growing. The photo of Caspian smiling in front of a new school building brought a sense of warmth and comfort from her newly found friendship.

She stared at the image for a few moments, taking in the sight of him.

Her fingers hovered over the screen as she read the next message. "Save this number as Caspian Glacier." Her smile widened, and for the first time since she had stepped into the school, a sense of calm washed over her.

Caspian Glacier. The name sounded almost as regal, and Liora felt a small spark of hope rekindle inside her.

She quickly added the number to her phone, her fingers flying over the keys. As she did, she thought about the significance of that moment. It was proof that someone, at least one person, was willing to stay connected, no matter the distance.

Liora clutched the phone tightly in her hand for a moment as if holding onto that small, precious lifeline that Caspian had offered her. She needed this. She needed to know that she wasn't entirely alone, that someone in this cruel world cared.

She tucked the phone back into her pocket, her chest feeling lighter than before, and continued walking toward her class. Her mind kept drifting back to Caspian's message.

'He hasn't forgotten about me!'

****

Liora's transformation over the years was nothing short of remarkable. Days turned into months, and months turned into years. Despite the harsh treatment from the students from elite backgrounds, she began to find her own place as a helper.

When Liora turned 15, something else had shifted in her. The reflection in the mirror no longer just mirrored her spitting grandmother's features, Suzi, but also her strength, resilience, and quiet beauty.

Liora's friendship with Caspian also grew stronger with time. Despite the physical distance between them, their bond deepened through their regular messages.

Caspian made it a point to send her a good morning and good night message every day, a ritual that became a comforting routine for Liora.

Liora did the same, waking up early each morning to send him messages before heading out for her daily run. Twice a week, she would go to her special fairytale room to clean it and spend time there.

She had just gotten home, drenched in sweat from the exhausting day, when her phone buzzed. It was a picture of Caspian, standing by a lake, his hand resting against a tree, a slight smile on his face.

"I was thinking about you today, Ora. I hope you're doing okay."

She looked at the message for a long time, her finger hovering over the screen. Then, with a small smile, she typed back, her response simple:

"I am waiting for you!" That was her reply.