Chapter 3 Welcome, Girl Of Ivy

It’s only the first day of school. I’ve been bullied, went late to class, got embarrassed in front of everyone, and now I’m stuck with a punishment for an answer that wasn’t even that wrong.

Oh God, I miss Brimstone. By now, I would have been home, taking a refreshing bath, eating dinner, and sipping iced coffee in my room while arguing about a book with Aunt Harvey.

Instead, I’m here in this library, copying some strange old text as an apology to Professor Ashcroft. Or should I say punishment?

The book was bigger than I expected. The first page was dense with archaic English, the letters curling into elaborate shapes that seemed to twist if I stared too long. I dipped the quill into the inkpot and began to copy.

“All men are bound, yet not all chains are seen…”

My hand trembled as I wrote. Word for word. Line for line. Carefully. To make it neat that even the dead could read it. With each stroke of the quill, it felt less like I was writing the book, and more like the book was writing me.

I raised my head and froze. I was the only one in the library. The air smelled of dried ink and old paper, cold as snow and silent as a graveyard. Even the librarian had disappeared. My eyes flicked to the massive wall clock behind the librarian’s high desk.

7:57 p.m.

“What? Already?” I whispered. “Where is everyone? Did they all go to bed? That early? Don’t they study at night?”

My voice echoed back to me.

I scratched my head, chewing my lip. Maybe I should stop now, and give Professor Ashcroft an excuse tomorrow. No, that wouldn’t work. Not with him. I’d only end up in worse trouble.

I leaned back in the chair and tossed the quill on the table. “I wonder what my next punishment will be if I don’t submit this tonight. It's already past evening,” I muttered, dragging a hand through my hair before resting my cheek on my palm.

After a moment of restless thought, I stood up. “Fine. Let me take a quick tour of this library. Let the professor do his worst tomorrow.”

I wandered to the shelves behind me, the same shelf where the librarian had pulled The Meditations of the Damned. A brass plaque caught my eye:

Do not touch without librarian supervision.

I snorted. “Of course. Another rule. This school is drowning in them.”

I told Aunt Harvey this scholarship would be a bad idea. I only wanted the prize money, not the scholarship itself.

I turned to leave, then paused mid-step. Something strange… alive… stirred on that shelf. My skin prickled.

“Why is this section restricted?” I whispered.

I stepped closer, eyes falling on a book that looked older, different from the rest. Before I could touch it, it slid halfway out of the shelf on its own. My breath hitched.

The book was bound in cracked black leather, its pages yellowed and brittle, their edges charred as though burned. The ink had faded, but strange Latin words filled the margins, scrawled alongside grotesque drawings. A faint smell of mildew and iron clung to it.

The first two brittle pages of the book were torn out. Then I turned a few more brittle pages until I saw a heading: Actus I: Penicillius Tragicus

I didn’t know much Latin, but I knew that Actus I meant Act One.

A manuscript. A strange one. Who wrote this one? A philosopher or an author?

As I touched the page, a faint rasping whisper brushed past my ear, as though I had just awakened something.

Fascination tugged at me. I’d always wanted to learn Latin. And more than anything, I wanted to know what this book said.

I shut it quickly with a soft thud. “I’m going to keep you,” I whispered.

“Keep what?”

I jumped. A calm, gentle male voice came from behind. Slowly, I turned, hiding the book behind my back.

It was the boy from class, the one sketching furiously as if his drawings were life and death. He looked calm now, almost ordinary.

He arched a brow. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.” I forced a wide smile.

His gaze drifted past me to the shelf. “This section is restricted. Students caught here can be expelled. You shouldn’t risk it.”

“Oh… I didn’t know. Thanks for the warning.” I feigned innocence.

He sighed, clearly unconvinced, and turned to browse another row of books. Quickly, I slid the manuscript beneath The Meditations of the Damned.

“So, what are you doing here?” I asked, still shielding the book with my body.

“Same question for you.” His tone was dry.

I bit back a groan. “Punishment. Professor Ashcroft wants me to copy Meditations. Word for word.” I exaggerated the last part.

He turned sharply, pressing a finger to his lips. “Shh. This is a library.”

I rolled my eyes.

“So are you done?” he asked finally.

“Almost,” I lied.

“Then finish it quickly. Ashcroft doesn’t joke with his punishments.”

“Yeah, I noticed. He’s so strict.”

“No,” the boy corrected flatly, sliding a book from the shelf. “He just doesn’t tolerate stupidity. He gives impossible tasks to sharpen students. I’ve been there.”

My stomach sank. “So… he won’t be angry if I don’t finish tonight?”

“That depends,” the boy said, stepping toward the door. “On whether your fate speaks for you tomorrow.”

He opened the door and paused. “Don’t stay here past eleven. For safe sake.”

I hesitated, then called, “Wait! What’s your name?”

He turned, eyes unreadable. “Adrian.”

The door thudded softly shut behind him.

I pulled the manuscript out again, brushing the dust off the cover. This time, I noticed the title pressed faintly into the leather:

Cum Rosae Sanguinant.

“Cum Ros… what does that mean?” I murmured.

Maybe if I showed Professor Ashcroft this, he’d forget my punishment.

I closed the book, packed my things, and slipped into the corridor. The air was damp and cold, the silence pressing against me like water.

I reached my dormitory door and set my hand on the handle.

That was when I heard it, an ancient whisper curling through the hall, chilling my blood.

“Welcome, Girl of Ivy.”