Chapter 14: The Three Older Sisters

Near midnight, Hester awoke alone in the soft bed.

Around six that afternoon, Mrs. Lavett, the dormitory administrator, had delivered three parcels, each about 29 inches in size. Among them was a black suitcase. The packages contained everything from toiletries to a change of clothes.

Mrs. Lavett, in her forties or fifties, was as kind and gentle as Valenti. She had short, light blonde hair and had helped Hester send her first email since arriving at the base.

After she left, Hester hadn’t unpacked at all. Exhausted, she collapsed onto the bed and quickly fell asleep—until just now, when a sharp crashing sound suddenly echoed from the living room, jolting her awake.

She slowly sat up and looked toward the living room—apparently, the mirror she had carefully pushed earlier in the afternoon had still been shattered.

Familiar sobbing and low murmurs of comfort drifted from the living room. Hester listened quietly in the darkness. The cries sounded very familiar... it seemed to be the same one she had heard in the bathroom earlier that day.

Silently, she slipped out of bed. In the living room, she caught fragments of conversation. Unsure if this was the right moment to introduce herself, her hand still tightened around the doorknob and began to turn it downward.

Unexpectedly, just as she opened the door, the door diagonally across from her also swung open.

“Sorry to bother you?” A silver-haired girl’s head peeked out from behind that door. “I have to get up at seven for special training tomorrow—could you keep it down a bit?”

Turan’s crying stopped abruptly, but the sudden interruption only intensified her sobbing.

“Thanks.” The door was quickly closed. In the narrow gap at the last moment, Hester’s gaze briefly met the girl’s—those were also a pair of blue eyes. Hester noticed three metal bone studs along her left brow ridge and a complex tattoo on her exposed shoulder.

With a bang, the girl’s shadowed face disappeared behind the door, leaving only a band poster on it, giving the living room’s three occupants a teasing, defiant stare.

The girl who had been softly comforting Turan turned around. “Are you the newcomer who arrived today?”

“Yes.” Hester nodded.

“I’m Liz Fletcher,” she said with a somewhat resigned smile. “Want to come to my room for a bit?”

...

A few minutes later, Hester sat in Liz Fletcher’s room, holding a cup of hot cocoa. Worried she might be cold, Liz had given her a thin blanket to wrap around her bare calves and feet.

Liz had short, light brown hair, a shade lighter than Turan’s. A faint sprinkling of freckles stretched from her left cheek across the bridge of her nose to the right cheek. Around her eyes were subtle, less obvious goggle-shaped tan lines, and her wrist bore faint black-and-white boundary lines.

Both her left index and middle fingers were wrapped in slightly curled bandages, apparently unchanged for several days—Hester could tell these were marks from her most recent mission.

The hot cocoa Liz had prepared for Turan sat untouched on the bedside table. Turan was curled into a ball facing the wall, sobbing, while Liz gently stroked her back in consolation.

Hester took a sip of the sweet yet bitter hot cocoa but did not drink any more.

She silently surveyed the room—bookshelves filled with volumes of varying heights lined the space, packed tightly. Still, piles of books were stacked by the bed and desk corners, covered with several gray-white checkered sheets Liz had cut herself to keep the dust off.

On the wall above the bed hung a framed piece—not a painting, but a well-worn leather gun holster nailed at its center. The leather strap dangled loosely, worn pale by time.

Opposite the foot of the bed hung a brown button accordion. The bellows looked spotless, clearly well cared for and frequently played.

After a moment, Hester set down her mug and browsed the bookshelf layer by layer until she found a volume titled Edgar’s Dark Tales Collection. She paused.

“Your name’s Jane Hester, right?” Liz called from behind. Hester turned to find that Liz and Turan had both shifted, now facing her.

Turan rested her head on Liz’s lap, her eyes and nose red. She hugged a pillow tightly, her chestnut hair casually tied in a ponytail that fell over Liz’s knees.

“Yes,” Hester replied, “Ms. Valenti Viking brought me here this afternoon.”

“I know,” Liz smiled. “Valenti also sent me your files this afternoon... From now until I leave the training base in September, I’ll be your assistant. Besides class and training hours, if you encounter any problems, you can come to me or Turan.”

“I’m not much help,” Turan muttered.

“Ha, don’t say that,” Liz lightly tapped Turan’s head.

Suddenly, Hester recalled the icy blue eyes she had glimpsed through the door crack earlier. “Who’s the girl next door?”

“She’s Ligo, here since last year,” Liz answered. “Turan, Ligo, and I are third, second, and first years respectively. In theory, we’re all obligated to help you in the coming days. But Ligo’s a bit special—if she offends you in any way, please don’t take it personally. She’s mentally unstable and still undergoing treatment.”

“Unstable?”

“Usually it’s after ‘group neck training.’ Otherwise, her daily life is fine,” Liz said with a smile. “What were you looking at just now?”

“Edgar’s Dark Tales Collection,” Hester said, pointing to the spine. “Someone read this to me before.”

“Is that so?” Liz’s eyes brightened. “This book is quite popular in District One. I finally got the complete set... Who read it to you?”

Hester fell silent, and Liz hesitated, wondering if she shouldn’t ask. Then she suddenly said, “...It doesn’t matter. She didn’t read the horror stories, but specifically chose some passages about interior decoration.”

“Decoration? That’s an expert,” Liz said, even more delighted. “I remember Edgar highly praised the decoration style of District Three’s west side and even wrote an essay called The Philosophy of Decoration.”

Hester looked at Liz. “Do you like Edgar too?”

Liz shook her head with a smile. “I picked it up because I took a Gothic literature elective. Except for the first story, ‘The Black Cat,’ I haven’t read the rest since... What about you? Which story do you like best?”

Hester took down the second volume, skillfully flipping through it until she quickly found the passage she had heard and read many times before.

“Miss Fletcher, would you like to hear it?”

“Please, call me Liz,” Liz smiled warmly.

“Liz.”

“Well then... if you don’t mind.”