The Academy

The smell of cinnamon and sprig mint hung in the air as the tall, wooden doors of the Beaux Femelle Academy swung open, revealing a young blonde woman clad in a silk coat.

Fleur Renaud paused briefly by the entrance, emerald eyes surveying the foyer before she reluctantly closed the doors and made her way towards the grand staircase situated next to the fountain.

Her heels clacked against the marble floor, the sound echoing through the halls, and Fleur gripped her handbag tighter, her finger nails digging painfully into the leather of her bag. Sighing softly, she continued walking towards the end of the hallway, pausing as she reached an ornate door with the words Potentia Par Vis etched into the fine wood.

Grasping the cold metal, Fleur paused, uncertainty flickering through emerald green eyes before they hardened. Nodding to herself, she pulled the handle and gasped at the sight.

A chandelier hung in the center of the ceiling, hundreds of crystals shimmering as the wind from the slightly opened window caused them to swing gently. An exquisite recamier was next to the window, the pink velvet giving off a warm hue. Shelves were lined on the right wall, books ranging from classics to encyclopedias stacked upon each other. The canopy bed was modeled after the one she had only seen in chateaus, duvets and thick covers adorning it.

Loosening her grip on her handbag, Fleur closed her eyes and allowed a single tear to trail down her cheek.

I didn't want this.

Her heartbeat pounded against her chest as more tears threatened to fall, and Fleur had to bite her lip to keep it from quivering as the onslaught of emotions had caught up to her.

She hadn't wanted this. As beautiful as the academy was, she knew that it was only a matter of heightening the prestige that was tied to the school.

Fleur had remembered the way her mother's hands had shook when she read the missive, the way her eyes, so much like her own, had glossed over, desperation and denial written in the emerald green orbs.

She remembered how her brother had paled, and rapidly shook his head, platinum blonde locks framing his face as he screamed, begging anyone to tell him that it wasn't true.

Fleur hadn't understood what was so terrible about the invitation to Beaux Femelle Academy; not only would she be given a scholarship, her brother would also be sent a hefty amount to help with his heart condition. She had thought that it was brilliant, and Fleur, for the life of her, couldn't understand their reactions.

Then, her father had placed his large hand over her slim shoulders, twisting her petite frame to meet his grim expression. He had explained what exactly was so terrible about the invitation. "You'll be groomed as nothing more than a chattel," he said, voice heavy with emotion. "Once you've proven to be a proper lady, you'll be married off, and your new lord won't permit you to leave."

She stiffened at his words, emerald eyes darting from him and the rest of her family as though trying to convince herself that this wasn't real. "But we aren't of nobility, papa," she said, her voice shaking with barely kept denial. "You won't send me there, right?" She swallowed, wiping her hand across her eyes as a fresh batch of tears seemed to fall.

But even as she wept, even as she shook her head furiously and told herself that it wasn't real, the missive on the mahogany desk was something she couldn't ignore.

As the night grew colder, and Fleur had run out of tears to cry, she began to think the missive over in her head. The Beaux Femelle Academy was a prestigious school that many young girls, herself included, had dreamed of going to. The exquisite designs and beautiful women that went to the Academy were what drew her there in the first place.

Even as she had found out about the true intentions of the school, she couldn't deny its appeal. The education, although focused on being the perfect wife, was superb. The Academy was famous for producing the finest ladies, knowledgeable in the arts and sciences, and she had always wanted to know more about them.

Then there was the topic of the hefty pay they were willing to give should she accept.

It wasn't that her father couldn't provide well for them, nor was it that they lacked money to purchase what they wished. It was the fact that her brother had a genetic heart disease.

They hadn't known, at first. He seemed normal, perfectly so. It wasn't until he turned three that they had found out about his condition.

Fleur had been chasing Louis in the fields at the time, squeals of delight leaving his lips. They had been running for around half an hour when he had suddenly knelt, clutching his chest as he started gasping for breath.

Fleur had screamed when she saw him, rushing to his side and cradling his trembling form in her arms as she shouted for his parents, murmuring assurances in his ears. "You'll be all right," she whispered soothingly. "I've got you."

That memory had been at the forefront of her mind when she read the missive once more, trailing her eyes over the sleeping form of her younger brother as she traced the words on the parchment.

The next day, while she and her family were having a quiet breakfast, she noisily slammed her mug onto the table and muttered "I'll attend the Academy."

The day came when she was to be brought to the Academy, and she remembered how she schooled her expression into a calm smile. "I'll find you again," she whispered, cradling her younger brother's head in her arms. "The Academy won't be able to stop me."

Fleur knew it was a lie, but she forced herself to act convinced by her own words.

Blinking herself out of her stupor, she stared at the crystal chandelier overhead and her lips curled into a deprecating smile. An Academy indeed, a perfect farce for an institution that's only purpose is to mold women into the perfect bride. She could only hope that she could one day escape the Academy's clutches.

"Potentia Par Vis... Power is our strength" Fleur murmured the words that were etched upon the door, her voice laced with poison.

Strength was something she desperately held onto, but she knew that it would be futile. Power was not something someone of her status could afford, and she wouldn't fool herself into believing otherwise.