As Aiden looked up slowly, a toothy grin erupted from his previously serious grimace. Sitting directly in front of him was Adelaide and Michelle, two of the most grotesque girls Aiden had ever seen. In reality, the two girls were just plain creatures, choosing not to envelop themselves in the latest fashion or gossip that was common for many of the other female students. Adding to this, they were not extremely wealthy either, but came from respectable backgrounds that would have made any sensible businessman take notice.

Unfortunately, Aiden had structured his ideals of beauty on unreasonable terms that no one could ever match up to. Those who even had one point of his impossible-to-reach beauty, which also included how ladies should act, were ignored and never judged. Those who possessed none of his points were mercilessly bullied until they either left the school or collapsed under Aiden and his followers’ torment.

The pipe organ cried out. As the chorus began, the students rose for the afternoon hymn. Aiden snickered quietly to himself, stirring the attention of the boy’s around him; they started giggling awkwardly. Aiden whispered something to the student next to him, which replaced his awkward giggle with a sinister smile. As the hymn finished and the audience fell back into the pews, Dean Wenster stepped up to the podium. He slowly gazed over the faces sitting in the Chapel.

His gaze lingered on Aiden, whose frown was made longer by watching the boy suppress a smile.

“I don’t need to remind everyone of the expected behavior for the service,” Dean Wenster reminded, in his voice that sounded twice as loud in the open space of the Chapel. “Now, if you all will turn to page thirteen, we will start with the afternoon prayer.” The pages of the prayer books turning echoed through the chapel; the students mumbled as Dean Wenster opened his mouth to speak.

Aiden hadn’t touched his book. He had learned the prayer when he was younger and could recite it by heart, so why did he need to? But feeling the man’s eyes on him, Aiden picked it up and flipped through it. He sighed and looked back to Dean Wenster, who was, indeed, staring disapprovingly at him. Aiden breathed in through his nostrils, his expression changing into condescension. Quickly, he got up from the pews and walked out through the door of the Chapel.

A light rain had broken through the cover; thunder grumbled from the clouds, threatening to bring on a heavier downpour. Despite this, Aiden walked back to his brown-stoned dormitory, a building sitting close to the rocky shoreline leading directly down into the grey, foamy water.

His dorm room was decorated in dark, stained woods with brass light fixtures. Three water pipes swept vertically and horizontally over the wall before disappearing into the ceiling. A brass bed sat in the corner with a side table and a stained-glass reading lamp. A bookshelf sat opposite the bed, its shelves bare of books; in their place, various trophies and pictures took up space where the dust didn’t collect. In front of the bookshelf, two armchairs and a floor lamp similar in style to the reading lamp sat, also collecting dust. In the center of the room was a great area rug, which covered the remaining empty space. A bay window let in more light when the sun allowed it.

Aiden’s room was meant only for him. He didn’t have to share it with anyone, even though there was enough room for at least two other people to live comfortably.

The bay windows had been opened to dispel the morning heat. When Aiden had returned, he found the area rug soaked from the wind that allowed the rain in. He forced the windows closed, and called for someone to clean his room. From his backpack, he picked through a few books before finding what he was looking for – his secret stash of cigars, stolen from his father in an attempt to gain the habit like him. As well as scooping up his own books, Aiden descended from the third floor into the building’s library.

A white marble fireplace brightened the library slightly, while also created the precious warmth for the majority of the first floor in the winter months. From each of the three walls, bookcases almost covered every inch, breaking for the light fixtures and the thin, floor-to-ceiling windows that opened in the summer; in winter, they were covered by thick, red velvet. Five tables were spaced out through the center of the room, which created an airy and sophisticated atmosphere.

Aiden approached a gangly-looking, bookish redhead named Jonathan, who worked almost desperately on the papers in front of him. Hair disheveled and dark rings under his eyes, his pen shook as he wrote furiously. Without saying a word, Aiden dropped his books in front of the student before retiring to one of the leather-upholstered chairs in front of the fireplace.

Sticking the end of the cigar into the fire, he pulled it out and inhaled slowly. “Is it wrong to have things done a specific way?” he asked no one in particular. Jonathan paused at that moment, slowly shifting his own papers aside to begin work on Aiden’s assignments. He didn’t acknowledge the comment. “My father taught me that if you have a specific way of doing something, then you stick to it. You never move from it, never alter it, never move in a different direction. Isn’t that damn good advice?” Aiden asked. He looked over to the academic student who had quite literally built a wall of books between him and Aiden. Aiden frowned and asked again, “Isn’t that damn good advice?” Jonathan looked up from the books and nodded submissively, shaking. Aiden sneered and continued. “It’s a sad thing your people don’t acknowledge the only true religion on this good earth. Why is that?”

Jonathan stirred uncomfortably in his seat before looking up from his books and said quietly, “It’s none of your business whether or not I observe Aamüthism.”

“Hardly,” Aiden replied. “Why not be the bright beacon and convert? Lead your family to do the same?” Jonathan, who was still stirring in his chair, picked up his own books and began to leave the room, leaving behind all of Aiden’s books and papers on the table. “No, no, no,” Aiden began, his tone like a parent scolding a child. “You’re an underclassman. You know the rules.”

Jonathan stopped in the large entranceway, suddenly tensing up. He sighed slowly, turned and asked, “Shouldn’t you be doing this?” But before Aiden could answer, he returned to the table and began working again.

What followed was a peaceful ten minutes where Aiden listened to the crackling fire combined with Jonathan writing an essay for one of his classes. He drew in another breath, watching the underclassman struggle in understanding the concepts that were far over his head.

The windows from the façade of the dormitory shone shadows against the staircase oppose where Aiden sat. As he watched the shadows dance against the woodwork, a bright flash of light gleamed, outlining the front door. A man’s silhouette stood in the doorway, but grew as the door slammed shut.

“How dare you behave the way you behaved!” boomed Dean Wenster, his footsteps wet and squeaky against the wooden floor. Hastily, Aiden tossed the cigar into the fire, which exploded against the back wall of the fireplace. He exhaled quickly and fanned the curling, billowing smoke into oblivion. Dean Wenster appeared in the entranceway, an umbrella hooked around his wrist and his overcoat drenched. “How dare you interrupt today’s service! Again! What an incredible amount of disrespect you’ve shown! How dare you!” He grabbed Aiden’s sleeve and dragged him out the door towards the Chapel again.

A hard downpour was finally descending from the sky, leaving nothing out in the open dry. Dean Wenster didn’t bother to open his umbrella until they were halfway there, but by the time they had arrived at the loggia of the Chapel entrance, Aiden was soaked. The Dean led the damp student to the back, past the Chapel’s two-story altar, and into his private study.

Dean Wenster’s octagonal study was rather plain in comparison to Aiden’s sleeping quarters. His desk and chair and two leather-upholstered chairs took up one half of the room, and a large bookcase filled to the brim with scrolls and hardcover books shrunk the office by about a third and blocked one window.

Aiden stood by the door and twist his sweater, letting out some of the water. “This is not the first time you’ve disrespected the services, Mr. Whitebell.”

Aiden glared at the old man and responded, “I didn’t speak, like you said.”

“Participation is mandatory, Mr. Whitebell, and – ”

“But I didn’t speak. Like you said.”

Dean Wenster sighed. “No, Mr. Whitebell, you followed my directions quite directly. But you must understand,” he continued, stretching his arms out across the top of the desk, “that this sort of behavior is unacceptable under my supervision. I find it slightly remarkable that you’re even passing your classes.”

Aiden shrugged smugly and retorted, “Oh, yes. I’m doing superbly in all my lectures.”

The man frowned again. “You’re work is sporadic, at best. You’re failing your in-class exams yet you’re able to manage out-of-class work.”

“I work better outside the classroom,” he replied nonchalantly.

“Mr. Whitebell, you may have every other dean easily persuaded by your, character, - ” Whenever Aiden made trouble for any of the other deans, he donated a huge sum to their department. “ – but your work ethic and manners won’t pass in my department. I expect you to improve your behavior.”

Aiden leaned on the back of the chair and said, again, smugly, “You’ve told me that time and time again. I don’t think repetition is working.” Dean Wenster took in a long breath and sighed slowly. As if moving through honey, he raised his arm and pointed towards the door. Aiden stood upright and bowed.

Dean Wenster frowned even greater than before. “Get out,” he muttered.

Aiden turned on his heels and passed through the wooden door into the Chapel again. He passed the rows of pews and burst through the doors and into the loggia, revealing that the sky had opened up and released a torrential downpour, almost obscuring the buildings that existed farther away from the chapel.

He dashed back to his dormitory, but by that time thunder had begun ringing in his ears. But he returned to the library to find Jonathan still working, shivering when he caught sight of the upperclassman, the scent of the cigar still lingering in the air. The lack of light from outside made the room unbearably dim.

There were four other occupants to the library by the time Aiden returned – among them being Michelle and Danielle.