CHAPTER II
The next day at breakfast, the room is crowded with several new spirits. I know this because new spirits are very loud. It must be the people who passed away in that train crash yesterday, I think as I butter my toast. It makes me pause—it’s unusual for that many deaths to turn into spirits. Usually it’s just spirits with unfinished business in the realm of the living who stick around. Ultimately, though, I push it out of my mind. After all, there do seem to be a lot more ghosts around Voltamare University than anywhere else I’ve been (not that that’s very many places). Maybe they just like the dreary weather and gloomy ambience of the place.
I’m enjoying my toast and some coffee with a truly indulgent amount of sugar, reading a book for one of my classes, and doing an excellent job at ignoring everyone around me when I’m interrupted from my peaceful morning meal. Salia sits down next to me, as she sometimes is wont to do, but today she isn’t alone. This is one major difference between us: Salia doesn’t mind being around other human beings, whereas I would pay money to never have to speak to anyone living ever again. There was only ever one person I really wanted to talk to. I’m pulled from both my book and my thoughts as Salia starts speaking.
“This is Rayley. They’re a first-year student just like us, but they’re studying physics,” Salia says, gesturing towards her friend.
“Dawn, right?” Rayley asks, smiling. Despite their icy blue eyes, their gaze is warm.
I nod, and they hold out their hand. What is this, a networking event?
“Pleased to meet you, Rayley,” I say, reluctantly shaking their hand. I find myself idly wondering what shampoo they use, and if I can afford it. Their long blond hair is perfectly shiny and straight. “Physics sounds challenging,” I add.
“It is, but it’s a fun challenge. You’re one of the literature students, right?”
“I am,” I say.
“How do you like it?”
“I really enjoy the coursework, but Kolyra Hall is probably the farthest building away from the center of campus. It’s practically in the woods.”
This makes Rayley crack a smile. Salia is too busy assembling breakfast for herself to notice.
I check my watch. “I really should get going,” I say, then hurriedly drink the remains of my coffee. “Early lecture.” I gather my dishes, and then hastily add, “It was nice to meet you, Rayley.”
“Likewise,” Rayley responds.
“See you later, Dawn,” Salia says through bites of her croissant. I wave goodbye as I drop off my dishes and head out to make the trek to my lecture.
— ✦ —
That night, the insomnia visits me again. It drags its fingers across my face and pushes me out of bed. I know I won’t be able to find any respite in sleep if I stay here—I need to go somewhere calming. While I am a temporary occupant here, my name is on the door, and this room is mine, even if only for a year. But a part of me doesn’t even feel welcome here. It makes me feel like I’m a ghost myself. I start adding layers over the worn clothes I wear to bed as quiet as physically possible. I pull on my knitted hat, grab my key, and head outside into the cold.
I relish in the freezing air. I know a lot of people don’t like the cold, and while I don’t necessarily look forward to my frigid walks from my room to Kolyra Hall every day, I wouldn’t trade the cold weather of Veitis for anything. My walk is peaceful—unlike the bustle of campus during the day. I breathe deeply—really breathe—in a way I can’t when the bright sun is beating down on me and so many people are walking around me and they’re all talking.
The cold, dark night is so deeply comforting. Before I know it, I’ve arrived at the library. I found out a few weeks ago that they leave it unlocked at night, probably just because they don’t want to have to pay a staff member to stay there late at night when a few students are still lingering. I immediately head to my favorite spot. It’s in a little alcove in the corner, with towering bookshelves surrounding it on three sides. There’s a tiny heater that whirrs all day and night so that the pipes don’t freeze, a small table with two chairs, and an armchair against one wall. If I settle into the comfortable chair, close my eyes, and concentrate very hard, then I can almost perfectly imagine what it would be like if he was here with me; the way things used to be, and the way things should be now.
He always found reading harder than I did, and one day he told me that the words moved around on the page. He liked to read out loud. He would speak softly and evenly, pausing occasionally as he went along. I loved listening to him read. It never mattered to me how fast or slow he went, or even what book he was reading. I just wanted to put my head in his lap and hear his voice. We would read together all the time. We would make the long walk to the library on the weekends. I would pick up a book from each aisle, then go find him in the architecture section. We would sit in a corner and he would run his hands through my hair and I would pick a book at random for him to read. And we would stay like that for a long time.
I’m dreaming before I’m even asleep.
I always dream of him.
— ✦ —
I open my eyes with a shudder as a frigid breeze suddenly washes over me. It feels like I’ve had cold water poured over me. I rub my eyes and sit up, trying to kickstart my brain into remembering who I am, where I am, and what century it is. I’m startled to see a spirit hovering over me.
“Uh, good morning?” I mumble.
“About time! It’s morning now, don’t you have somewhere to be, young lady?” The ghost of an elegantly dressed middle-aged man says, crossing his arms like I personally ruined his day. I realize that the ghost must have moved through me—personal space much?—and that’s what woke me up. I glance at the window, and see that day is breaking. I realize with a sinking feeling that I need to walk all the way back to the dormitories.
“Uh, thanks for doing your duty as an alarm clock, sir,” I mutter as I run my hands through my hair, trying to prepare myself to see and be seen by other people.
“Let it be known henceforth that Lord Ellison is no stranger to the needy,” the spirit says.
I don’t think I’d classify myself as particularly needy, but I just incline my head in thanks before heading out into the cold.
My lectures that day are uneventful, though I struggle to stay awake as the day wears on. Only falling asleep in the early hours of the morning combined with my very early wakeup via Lord Ellison makes it extraordinarily difficult to pay attention in my lectures. I keep myself going by daydreaming about what I’ll do once I get back to my room: I’ll make some tea and climb into bed with a book. Personally, I don’t think there’s anything that could be better than that. As soon as my last lecture ends, I begin to briskly walk down the lanes that lead to the dormitories, eagerly anticipating my relaxing evening. It’s already getting dark.
I reach my building and relish in the warm air that greets me as I step inside. I can hear voices drifting down the hall. As I keep walking, I realize with a sinking feeling that the voices are coming from Salia and I’s room—she must have company. For spirits’ sake, I think as I scramble to mentally prepare myself to walk into a room with people in it. I most certainly didn’t plan for this to happen. I take a deep breath before opening the door.
“Oh, Dawn! Hey!” Salia’s enthusiastic voice greets me.
“Hello everyone,” I mumble.
Rayley, the physics student who I was introduced to this morning, is sitting against the far wall. There’s a new person as well, someone I don’t recognize.
“Hello, I’m Emerson.”
“She’s in my journalism classes, that’s how we met,” Salia interjects. “And then she introduced me to Rayley.”
“Nice to meet you, Emerson,” I say.
“Your side of the room is so much neater than your roommate’s,” Emerson says, which makes me smile. She has warm brown eyes, brown skin, and curly black hair tied up. She’s wearing a pink skirt with a white shirt, which makes me feel underdressed in the trousers that I borrowed from someone years ago and then never gave back, and the same shirt I’ve worn for the past two days. I also don’t think my side of the room is particularly tidy—I have a few piles of books lying around unorganized, and my bed is unmade. But directly compared to Salia’s absolute mess, I suppose my area looks decent.
“Well, I’ll leave you all to it—” I say as I grab a random book off my desk, pretending like that’s what I came to the room for, but Salia interrupts me.
“No, Dawn, stay! You’re so antisocial. You really need to talk to more people,” she pleads. I’m not sure if I like the fact that the first adjective out of Salia’s mouth is “antisocial” in regards to my nature, but now I have no choice but to stay.
“Would you like some tea?” Emerson asks me. Well, at least we have tea. This could still be a pleasant evening. I awkwardly put the book I had picked up and my bag on my bed, and then join the group on the floor.
“So, Dawn, tell us more about you,” Rayley says. Okay, nevermind, there’s no way this evening can be pleasant now. Emerson hands me a teacup, and I grip it tightly for moral support.
“There’s really not that much to tell. I’m eighteen, I’m from a small town in the middle of nowhere in rural Veitis, I’m pursuing a concentration in world literature, uh, I like tea…” I trail off after I’ve officially and immediately exhausted my safe list of fun facts I have about myself. I pray that they won’t ask for more—I have nothing else I can readily share with them.
“World literature makes sense. I was wondering why there were so many books in Salia’s room,” Rayley says.
“I read sometimes,” Salia protests.
“No you don’t,” I say automatically. This makes everyone laugh, which makes me feel pleased.
“Okay, maybe I’ll take inspiration from Dawn and start reading more,” Salia says.
“A journalist who doesn’t read. I feel as though that’s somewhat contradictory,” Emerson offers.
“Not particularly. I care about the story, about the people and the places. A newspaper or a magazine or even a book is just the medium through which I can convey it.”
“Hmm, I suppose,” Emerson muses.
“All this talk of reading and writing isn’t particularly interesting,” Rayley comments in a lighthearted tone.
“Sorry that we silly humanities students are ruining your day with idle talk about non-sciency topics,” Salia says, though there’s a smile on her face. “Speaking of, do you really think you’ll be able to get the kind of intense job you’re aiming for? I feel like there’s not a ton of demand for physics research these days. Though obviously it’s not my area of expertise.”
Rayley shrugs. “I don’t know, and honestly, I try not to think about it. I’d get insanely depressed if I did. Maybe I should start thinking of a backup plan, though.” Their gaze slides to Emerson. “What’s your backup plan? You’re so organized that I know you must have one.”
“I can’t say it out loud, you’d all laugh at it,” Emerson says.
“Nonsense. It can’t be that bad,” I say.
“Well, my dad owns a jewelry store…” she starts. “I’ve picked up a thing or two.”
Salia nods thoughtfully. “Not bad. I’d probably just try my hand at turning my painting into a career, but realistically I’d starve if I tried that.”
Rayley giggles. “Okay, so Emerson’s backup plan is to become a jeweler. That’s probably the most realistic option—I don’t think any of us can top that. Salia’s prospects certainly aren’t looking good, if the whole journalism thing doesn’t work out. Dawn, what’s your alternative?”
“I guess I’ve never really thought about it, to be honest,” I say, which isn’t a lie.
Rayley takes a sip of tea. “Me neither. I’m going to be a physicist one way or another. I just don’t like thinking too much about the specifics. It’s so…daunting. I just want to focus on my studies, that’s all.”
“Same,” I say, and it’s true. “I never even considered that Plan A wouldn’t work out. Now I don’t know what to do.” Wrong wording, Dawn. They’re thinking in the future, and you’re thinking in the present. You need to focus.
But no one seems to notice my slip up, and Rayley simply nods in agreement.
“You’ll both figure it out, I’m sure of it,” Emerson reassures us.
“Enough of this worrying,” Salia cuts in, dramatically gesturing with her hands. “We’re still young, we have time. Rayely, please tell me you did something fun last weekend.”
We spent the rest of the evening chatting about so many unimportant and random things—the little robotic models that Rayley was working on, Emerson’s favorite class, the train trip that Salia took before the start of the academic year. By the end of it, I’m almost having fun.
But late that night, after I get into bed and everything is quiet and dark, I can’t ignore the feeling of guilt that has rooted itself in my chest.
