The next day, I found myself in the art studio of Acomet with Medea.
Calling it a room didn't do it justice. The space was wide and tall, with slanted windows that let the afternoon light spill in beautifully.
For a place to do art, it fitted really well.
Easels were scattered in loose rows; shelves were lined with pigments and brushes, and the air smelled faintly of oil, wood, and something else I couldn't name.
There were only a handful of students present. A few upper-years and just four first-years, including me and Medea.
I was told that many members of the art club didn't attend after-school activities regularly. They drew, sculpted, or worked on whatever they pleased, and when they were finished, they came to show it to the others - if they felt like it.
For the most part, they were quiet people, focused deeply on their art.
Medea had claimed a spot near the window without asking anyone's permission. I took the easel beside her.
I stared at the blank canvas for a while.
I wasn't here because I was talented or especially interested in art. I was here because I wanted to be here for Medea, and it seemed that she was already drawing something.
I picked up a brush.
"Don't strangle it," Medea murmured without looking up.
I loosened my grip.
I dipped the brush into some green paint, hesitated, then made the first mark.
I wasn't trying to make anything good. I was trying to make something.
I drew a nice meadow, and then a horse. It had long legs and awkward proportions. Then a rider, armored, with a lance tilted forward.
The windmill came next. It was large and looming, with crooked blades. I imagined it suggested motion rather than just being badly drawn.
And beside the horse - smaller, rounder - another man on a donkey, head tilted upward as if already resigned to the nonsense unfolding before him.
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.
It wasn't something anyone here would ever get.
I painted slow, awkward lines with clumsy strokes. I had never used a brush before, but I had to admit, I kind of liked it.
When I finally leaned back, my shoulders ached.
I exhaled and set the brush down. My masterpiece, finished.
Looking at Medea, I could tell she wasn't done - and she was weirdly quiet and focused.
She was painting, but her eyes flickered sideways every few seconds.
At me, then back to her canvas, then back to me again.
What was she doing?
Then my gaze drifted to her canvas.
It was a portrait.
Drawn with clean lines and confident strokes. It depicted someone muscular and broad-shouldered, with a sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and full lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile. Long, dark hair.
"Who is that? " I asked.
Medea burst out laughing.
Full, unrestrained laughter that made a few heads turn.
"That's you," she said, grinning wide.
I looked back at the painting. Then at myself. Then at Medea, and then back at the painting again.
"That's not-"
"That's exactly you," she insisted.
I looked at it for a while.
"So, do you like it?" she asked.
"…I do," I said.
"Yay," she celebrated, then went back to drawing, perfecting her work with small touches.
"But don't tell anyone that that is me," I added. "It would be kind of weird to draw someone in your class you don't know, and in such… detail."
"Alright!"
I knew that Medea drew sometimes, but I didn't know she was this good - or this delusional when it came to me.
Then, the next day, I went to the theater room of Acomet.
Seeing the place made me realize how big Acomet actually was. It smelled faintly of dust, and there was a large stage with curtains and rows of seats for spectators.
The whole shebang.
But that didn't matter right now.
I arrived early. Honestly, acting was something I'd come to enjoy over my life, and I should be good at it by now.
I greeted the club's president, a third-year boy. I got acquainted with him for a while, trying to get my name out there immediately.
I was big and boisterous, like my mother.
More people gathered than had in the art club, but there were no non-humans except Morgan, who arrived last.
I took the lead in talking with the others, though I'm sad to say they were just nameless background characters - at least until something worth noticing happened.
The president clapped his hands together and announced that today would be improvisational role assignments.
Which was how Morgan ended up as a valiant knight sent to rescue a prince from a locked tower.
But it didn't seem like any of the boys wanted to play her prince. It was understandable, in a way.
A dark elf was very foreign to them, and judging by the beauty standards of this world, Morgan wasn't considered a looker - though I thought she was very beautiful.
Anyway, that's where I stepped up.
The "tower" was represented by a painted line on the floor. The "window" is by an imaginary sill. I leaned against it with exaggerated languor, one hand draped dramatically as if I'd been waiting years for rescue - which, according to the premise, I had.
"When you're ready," the president said.
Morgan stood a few steps away, gripping a wooden prop sword. She looked like a knight through and through, judging by how she handled the weapon.
She cleared her throat.
"I - uh - Prince?" she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper and oddly stiff.
I turned dramatically.
"Who comes?" I projected just enough. "Is there finally someone brave enough to be my savior? Have you come to rescue me?"
A few of the others chuckled. The tension eased.
Morgan nodded a little too hard. "Y-Yes. I mean. I have come to rescue you."
"Marvelous," I replied warmly.
Then she took a step - and tripped.
Not badly. Just a clumsy misstep that sent her sword clacking against the floor. She froze, mortified, cheeks flushing a darker shade against her skin.
"I'm sorry," she blurted out. "Can we start over?"
I hadn't expected Morgan to be the kind of shy girl who tripped over her own feet when she was the center of attention.
The president looked at her for a moment.
"…Maybe next time."
Morgan had no other roles, but I played a few scenes with other students afterward.
Most of it was improvisation - the "Yes, and…?" type of acting.
After rehearsal wrapped up, the president dismissed everyone with a clap and a reminder to return the props to their places.
I stayed behind to help.
I gathered up wooden swords, a battered shield with flaking paint, and a bundle of old cloaks that smelled faintly of dust and sweat. One by one, other students drifted past me, handing over items or taking them from my arms.
"Thanks," someone muttered.
"No problem," I replied, automatically pleasant.
None of the conversations lasted more than a heartbeat. Names weren't exchanged. They were the kind of interactions that evaporated the moment they ended.
After most of the others had drifted out, I found Morgan lingering near the edge of the room, clearly waiting for me. She nearly blended in with the dark there. When I finished and dusted off my hands, I walked over.
"Good job today," I said.
But it was clear that she didn't think that way.
She was sullen, and she looked even quieter and colder than usual.
"Something wrong?"
"I ruined it," she muttered. "Everyone was watching. My head- No, my heart - I can't take it when everyone is staring at me."
"You didn't ruin anything," I said. "You just need some practice. That's all."
She breathed out, "Alright, mast- Edward. I'm fine when it's just you, or Medea, or Regan. I feel fine, but when people are looking at me, really looking, I just freeze. Like I forget where I even am."
She lowered her head and looked to the ground. "I didn't think it would be like that."
In the early stages of my life, I felt similar sometimes, but it has been years since then.
"You get used to it. Trust me," I said.
She was silent for a moment. I took her hand in reassurance.
Her long ears fluttered, and she blushed again, giving her skin another shade of blue again.
"I do trust you," she said.
We walked out of the theater together, without holding hands, and I tried to be as casual as I could be, and that was that.
I said goodbye and went to my dorm.
It was Thursday, and tomorrow I'd be with Lightbane in the literature club with Jakob, but for the rest of the day, I was free.
The only person I hadn't hung out with yet was Regan, but that was it for club time with the girls.
I was sure she was grumbling about having to wait until next week.
Maybe I could just invite them over. She could be a friend of either Medea or Morgan, and they could think to bring her along.
Maybe.