Agatha felt as if she were drowning, and she might as well be. The weight of the academy was slowly dragging her down to the depths, step by step, centimeter by centimeter, hair by hair. She knew that the Skyscraper Academy would be hard, even her mother had told her that she would end up crawling and holding on by her teeth, yet… this was not the kind of difficulty she had imagined.

  It was so gradual that it wasn’t different from a poison. Each day classes got ever-so-slightly more difficult. Nothing noticeable, but each day she spent more time going over her notes and reviewing the previous syllabus. It was so infuriating how whenever she thought she had assimilated a thing, another thing would escape her. It wasn’t… infuriating, it was just… sad.

  It brought her infinite sadness to see how all her efforts were in vain, that no matter how hard she tried, knowledge would always elude her. It was like a growing pile of dirty clothes. Yes, you knew that you had to wash them, but you also didn’t want to make several trips to the stream, so just let them pile up. And at some point, the pile grew too tall, and it inevitably collapsed.

  That was how her lessons were: they kept piling up on top of one another without having enough time to be digested, and before she knew it, they spilled out of her mind and all that information was lost.

  It wasn’t infuriating; it was sad. So, stupidly, cruelly, and childishly sad. It was to cry about!

  Which she did.

  Several times.

  Sometimes she would wake up in the middle of the night from a lesson-bound, classroom-caged, book-laden nightmare in cold sweat. It was those moments that Agatha was thankful that students slept in different rooms, and sometimes, she even wished that Christie had never stepped in and that the noble girl had gotten what she had desired and the villager was bound to the closet of a room. That felt like a more appropriate place to cry to sleep.

  She couldn’t be too noisy; she didn’t want Christie to know. The walls helped, but she wanted to err on the side of caution. So she bawled in silence into her pillow past midnight while lying in a bed far bigger than her home’s bedroom.

  It was oppressive.

  Everything was. The size of all. She had thought that she could tame that size, make it hers, but it had been slowly eroding her, and when she finally noticed, it was too late. The sorrow that followed in her wake was adhesive to her like the layers of quartz inside of agates; there was no removing it, that was simply how things were. She just accepted it. Life in the academy was never going to be easy – she had known that since the beginning – so she had no reason to make it easy on herself. Suffering was imperative. If she wasn’t crawling and trying to catch up till her last breath, was she even trying?

  And yet…

  And yet, that wasn’t the end of that darkness.

  Yes, her difficulties in academics were affecting her, but there was another darkness taking root. Had been taking root for many weeks now. I almost killed him. There were days that her nights were without any type of dreams, those were the best. For the rest were filled with things that couldn’t be called dreams. Those nightmares of homework took a toll on the quality of her sleep, but she could deal with those. But with the ones that she saw a corpse on the ground with a sapphire ingrained on his skull as the blood kept pouring… those she couldn’t deal with.

  Her nights were torturous, and her dreams the enemy. Sometimes she didn’t want to go to sleep; she wanted to go home, the challenge had clearly been too much for her. She cursed at that childish mind filled with wonder that had brought her here many months ago. She just wanted to see her mother and cry on her lap, at least she would say that everything was okay…

  And yet…

  That wasn’t the worst.

  Agatha looked at her hands as she lay in bed well past midnight. The door of the balcony was open, and the curtains were softly swaying with the nightly breeze. Winter had come a while ago, so it was freezing, but that made her feel something. She craved to feel something. The academy had gnawed on her so much on every part of her – her body, her mind, her soul – that it was hard to come up with emotions. Passion.

  What affected her most was that she wasn’t enjoying her tailoring. Since she was young, her mother had shown her the magic of the needle, the joy of seeing clothes you have made being used, yet she couldn’t feel that right now. Hadn’t for a long time. Truth was, she hadn’t finished any piece of clothing – barring minor fixes – for weeks now. Every time she looked at a piece halfway through completion, she only saw pure garbage. On more than one occasion, she had straight up ripped the cloth in anger at her lack of capabilities.

  Agatha of Malachite, the ever-seamstress-in-training.

  She couldn’t produce anything worth it, anything worthwhile. But it wasn’t that her creations were good – for they had always been bad and she had never made anything that wasn’t garbage – but that she wasn’t enjoying making them. This was supposed to be a hobby, not a job. She wasn’t helping her mother making ends meet in Malachite; she was sewing out of the love of the craft.

  So why am I not enjoying it?

  Tears flew out of her eyes in the most dreadful silence. She was freezing as half her body was out of the quilt, her fingers and arms trembling with shivers, yet that was not the source of her affliction.

  No.

  She cried because everything she could think about was about not enjoying her hobby when a potential corpse haunted her, and her future loomed over her.

  Am I a bad person for only caring about myself?

  She had never apologized to the boy after the whole ordeal those many weeks ago in the first class of military Agatecraft. She couldn’t bring herself to do so. She told herself that it wasn’t needed as it all had been a lesson that René Dago had orchestrated.

  And yet…

  She lamented not doing it.

  And yet.

  She kept telling herself that it was too late to apologize. The damage was done. Too much time had passed. That nocturne sorrow she was afflicted with was her punishment. Her punishment for being such a horrible person. Her punishment for being incapable of keeping up. Her punishment for only thinking of her joy when so much was at stake.

  Agatha of Malachite was the worst person in the world.

  ***

  Sounds woke Agatha up in the morning. It wasn’t a loud noise, but she heard it nonetheless. Her sleep was rather shallow as of late; her state was constantly one of hypnagogia. Heh, at least the fancy words from Christie’s books are stuck in my mind, Agatha laughed pitifully to herself.

  “Why is the door to the balcony open?” That was the sound that had woken her up. A shivering Christie walking in her nightgown as she exhaled on her hand, white vapor pouring out of her lips.

  Agatha let a pathetic grunt as she freed herself from the dreadful clutches of sleep and stretched her arms before responding. “It was a bit… hot, yesternight.” Not even she believed that lie.

  “I see,” yet Christie let it slide. They always did, no one wanted to confront their own nameless darkness, even less that of others. “But you should try to avoid sleeping with an open window during winter,” she beamed her pathetic self a smile far warmer than the quilt. “It would be bad if you got a cold. Especially this close to the midterms.”

  Midterms, what a dreadful word. While Agatha was struggling to keep up with classes, time kept unfortunately advancing, and a new challenge presented itself before her. Midterms were the term the academy used to describe the first round of two tests in the school year.

  “I mean,” Christie continued, “they have told us that the midterms do not really matter, only the final exams, but I still would rather get a high score, you know?”

  Agatha looked at her roommate. She didn’t know why, she just did. It was a good sight, nonetheless. It took her a handful of seconds to process the words, and she swayed her head slightly to wake herself up before letting out a soft “Sure, I get it.”

  Wordlessly, the tall girl approached her. Oh, what an intimidating sight! While Agatha had remained in constant stagnation, Christie had continued to grow. It was only a handful of centimeters, but she was now taller than most boys. She had only like half-a-head before she reached the two-meter mark. Those were the only times she could excuse herself to do a bit of tailoring, fixing Christie’s clothes as she kept growing and growing. She didn’t enjoy it, but at the same time, she wanted to do some tailoring, to enjoy it. A self-devouring paradox.

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  Christie arched her head forward, several bangs of hair falling to the side with the gesture, and she stood close to Agatha. Too close.

  “Are you alright?” Her voice was soft and full of worry.

  Agatha wanted to puke. She was so awful of a person that she was making her roommate worry. Yet at the same time, she wanted Christie to worry about her. That contradiction only made her nausea worse.

  “Completely fine,” the girl with the hair as dirty as her heart responded with a fake smile as she swayed her hands around to calm her roommate.

  “Hmm…” The gorgeous redhead stayed in her arched position as she grunted meditatively. “I think the pressure of the midterms is affecting you too much.”

  Oh, Christie. If only it were that… “Yes, that must be the case.”

  “Do you want to go to the city?” She offered.

  “Should we not… you know… study?” Agatha said with a nervous giggle.

  “You should know better than to study in such precarious conditions. Come on, you deserve a rest!”

  “I do not know, Christie…”

  “I will let you choose my clothes.”

  Agatha of Malachite was a weak person.

  ***

  Even during early noon, the city of Knight’s Ascent was cold yet calm. Not as cold as the morning at the flying academy, but still cold. Having said so, the girls weren’t wearing exactly warm clothes. They had ended up going with one of Christie’s standard streetwear attires, only that they also threw a shawl on top in case she was cold. As for Agatha, she just used her patchwork dress. Maybe it was complete and utter garbage, but it was modular, and it allowed her to throw layers of clothing on top of the upper body and stuffing on the skirt with not so much as a single thread and five minutes of work.

  Even the way down to the city with the lift was a calm one. Christie seemed to endure her fear of heights as she grabbed Agatha’s hands and looked at her with a soft smile during the whole, short journey.

  The woods that surrounded the walls of the academy’s crater were rather bare and deserted with the advent of winter. Evergreen trees they weren’t, and now they gave the path leading to the academy a spooky look. Their only saving grace was that it was noon with the sun approaching its zenith.

  Christie led her by the hand into Knight’s Ascent and into the market. The place was blessed with a lot of sunlight and activity even on this cold winter day, which helped a lot to warm up the place. Most of the stalls weren’t selling produce as there weren’t many things harvested during winter beyond the stocks of longevous grain, but instead they sell pastries and hot food. Well, the food stalls were. Most were actually selling fabrics or woodwork.

  The redhead stopped next to one of those stalls selling food, and fractures, it smelled good.

  “Empanadas?” Christie suggested as she pointed at the stall.

  “…yes.” It was hard to refuse such a tantalizing offer.

  Christie, having learned some of the weight of money, bought the empanadas for them. And they were the biggest empanadas Agatha had seen in her life.

  “Depths! They are bigger than my head!” The petite and worthless girl shouted.

  “You have a small head, to be fair,” the agate-eyed girl giggled. Agatha wanted to scowl at her for the jab, yet… she found herself softly smiling. She couldn’t do that to her. “Oh, so you can smile.”

  The azure-eyed girl squinted. “Was that ever in doubt?”

  “You have been rather… dull as of late. You have me worried because you were not sparkling.”

  “I do not sparkle.”

  “You do,” Christie’s face was so soft and welcoming as she spoke.

  Agatha just wanted to hug her, but that… she couldn't do that. She pressed on her empanada, somewhat breaking the bottom from the force of her grip. With a sigh, the forever-seamstress-in-training took a bite. It was hot in her mouth, and she had to puff air out of it a handful of times as her tongue fought lesser burns, but the taste was incredible.

  “Mmm~ Ham and cheese, what a blessed combination. There is no better one.”

  “I would say otherwise,” Christie bit on her empanada, a small bite worthy of a bunny, “but truth be told, I cannot think of another one at the time being.”

  As they slowly ate their empanadas as they walked, Christie led Agatha back to the academy. Yet as she thought that they were going to go back this soon, she took a different path through the naked woods and guided her elsewhere. The path led them to a depression going south, towards the ocean. It was easy to see it from the height of the academy, but Agatha had never given it much thought. Even less now, considering the climate and her mental state.

  Still, the villager didn’t voice out her thoughts and kept gnawing on her empanada as it was rapidly growing cold. It wasn’t until all the delicious empanada was kept safely on her tummy that she voiced out her concerns.

  “Where are we going, Christie?”

  “Oh, we are almost there, fret not,” her roommate finished her empanada around the same time.

  The place Christie had guided her to seemed to be a gazebo that stood on a cliff, not quite near the shore, but still high enough to see the whole coast without problems. Near the edge of the cliff was a granite bench on which Christie sat down and patted the stone’s surface to invite Agatha. The petite girl accepted and sat down.

  “So, why have you brought me here?”

  “I have told you already, you needed a rest.”

  Agatha looked at Christie, and she found out that the redhead was being completely genuine. And that made it worse. Why would someone as good as her worry about someone as awful as her?

  She wanted to cry.

  “Agatha!” Christie suddenly shouted.

  “W-what?” She stuttered in confusion.

  “You are crying,” the redhead softly said.

  “What are you talking about? I am not-“ Her words cut off as she led her hand through her cheeks.

  She was crying.

  “Are you actually fine?” Christie grabbed her other hand. “Be truthful with me here.”

  Agatha sobbed.

  As she saw that gorgeous visage, she couldn’t help but cry. Then she noticed this problem wasn’t just because she was completely inept in academics, but a wholly, completely different thing. Yes, her lacking capabilities were causing her great amounts of distress, but as she lost herself in that pair of agates that glinted with worry, Agatha knew her affliction ran deeper.

  For better or worse, Agatha knew who she was. Not many people knew, but she did and had been doing it for a long time, and that caused her a lot of distress.

  Even before getting her lone agate, she hadn’t been exactly popular in Malachite. She had a temper as a child, but that wasn’t the end of it, not even the beginning. No, the real reason was that since young she knew she wasn’t interested in boys. Not because they were brutish and savages – she also was – but because she simply wasn’t. Boys didn’t glow for her, while girls did.

  She didn’t know if it was because they were cuter, softer, more delicate, none or all of the previous, but she simply did fancy them.

  And she had made the error of sharing it.

  It had been a girl she had once called her best friend. Oh, the look of disgust on her face. More confusion than anything else, for they were only children at that time. In her mind, it was impossible for her to comprehend that a girl might not fancy a boy.

  A single confession. That was all it took to break a lasting friendship. It isn’t natural, the child had said. From then on, Agatha’s precarious position on the village periled, and once she got only a single agate, it outright crumbled.

  In defense of her former friend, Agatha was mostly sure that she had never revealed her secret, only that she distanced from her which in tandem created a chain reaction of alienation. It wasn’t the best, but it could have been far worse. What would the villagers have done to her if they had known her proclivities? Agatha could only thank the fact that they were both children, otherwise that could have ended very badly.

  Her heart hurt and compressed like her little sapphire as she looked at Christie. It was a feeling that she had felt from the very beginning since she had met the doll-like redhead, and she had tried to ignore it as a casual infatuation, but as time went on and that pain got greater and greater, she became aware that it was anything but casual what she felt.

  And that made it way worse.

  Agatha looked at Christie’s agate-like eyes.

  Agatha looked at Christie’s porcelain skin.

  Agatha looked at Christie’s lithe yet tall frame.

  Agatha looked at Christie’s dense, red mane.

  Agatha looked at Christie’s lovely, plump lips.

  Agatha looked at Christie in her entirety.

  Agatha knew who she was and what she wanted, and that made it even more painful. For she knew that no one would accept her. And even if they did, it wouldn’t matter if she wasn’t reciprocated. The nameless darkness in her heart would just continue to grow.

  More tears poured out of her eyes as she bowled like a babe. Cries, yelps, and sobs. Everything that could be uttered in an incoherent barrage of grunts.

  Then, a pressure.

  Her eyes were half-closed and covered in tears, so she didn’t see anything, but she knew what that pressure that enveloped her head was. Christie was hugging her. Agatha tried to push herself away, but that only made the redhead embrace her harder and push her against her chest. How? Agatha pondered as she continued crying. Why can’t I free myself? She knew she was a weak person, but now she felt especially feeble. But she knew this wasn’t her body just failing her.

  “It is not just my stamina I trained,” Christie whispered softly. Oh, so softly. “So you are not going to get out until you answer me. Agatha, are you fine?”

  “I…” Her roommate was strong. Oh, so strong. Agatha could never. But at the same time, she wanted to be cradled by that strength. She wanted to fall asleep in that bosom. “I am not.”

  She finally gave in, her desire to be sincere with Christie winning out over her desire to remain forever in that embrace. Even then, Christie didn’t let her go as she continued speaking.

  “Are you going to tell what is happening?” Her soft tone was motherly, dangerously so.

  “I… rather not…” The petite girl said. Petite, that was how she felt. She nuzzled on her roommate’s chest. Yet she couldn't help but feel awful while doing so. Am I taking advantage of her?

  “Would you at least let me help you?” So sincere were the words that they were painful. For she could never tell Christie her feelings.

  “I… yes. Help me,” Agatha responded between sobs. She wanted someone to free her from her pain, even if she didn’t deserve it.

  “Good, good,” Christie softly caressed the dirty-blond girl’s hair. She did everything softly, lovingly. That affection was both the soft pillow and the sharpest blade.

  The redhead only let her escape her embrace once she stopped sobbing. Agatha wiped her tears on the sleeve on her dress and looked at the horizon, at the saying waves of the winter sea.

  “This view sucks,” the teary-eyed girl said dryly.

  “How come?” Her roommate asked with a soft giggle.

  “Conversations like these should be had at sunrise or sunset, not high noon. You picked the dullest moment possible,” Agatha added with a pout.

  “Oh, mock sapphire, you have been reading too many of my novels.”

  Both girls broke out in a giggle. The nameless darkness was still there; it would always be there, for Agatha knew she would never be accepted for being herself, but during that time, being alongside Christie was enough to vanish that darkness ever-so-slightly. And that was enough for her.

  It would have to be enough for her.

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