Boundless

Boundless

The glow, eerily seeping and persisted, still haunted the space even after these years. For Helena, the faint luminescence and the multitude of tiny lights from the rows of computers were unsettling-not alive, something else, another realm. Beyond. The chairs straight-backed sat stationed beneath the desks, and the banks of computer screens seemed simply asleep. Above, lining the walls, the portraits appeared far more stern, without fun. Outside, bitter hail hammered against the towering stain-glass windows that usually welcomed gentle snow. Helena shivered.

The hall stretched high and long, its glossy floor reflecting the faint, pulsing light. She moved in silence, her stockinged feet making no sound. Alone at night, the urge to run and slide—to sense that thrill—was almost overwhelming. The rules forbade running in the classrooms and hallways, but tonight, no one was observing. Helena let her body glide across the smooth surface, her nightdress allowing her legs to move freely, frictionless. How often had she walked these same computer rooms in polished shoes, her footsteps echoing but her voice silent? Always obey.

A rush of excitement and freedom surged through her with every slide and spin. Helena twirled, her nightgown swirling around her; she seemed almost weightless. She danced her way across the classroom and arrived with a graceful halt at her assigned workstation. As she came to rest, the moment faded, her mind sharpening once more. Her device waited—a sleek, metallic rectangle. Though the screen was black, a miniature orb in the right-hand corner pulsed softly with light. Relief washed over her. This time, no detention—though she knew the Professor would know.

Helena lifted her device, its solid surface cold beneath her fingers. A tiny white indicator blinked at her like a silent, watchful eye. The Professor would not be pleased with their group’s progress on the simulation code—and hadn’t been pleased when she had questioned the implications of their work. The concept of injecting particles into the atmosphere to deflect the sun’s rays and cool the Earth appeared feasible. Adequate technology existed. But focusing solely on the distribution of those particles was inadequate. The potential consequences remained uncertain, and the approach couldn’t be precisely controlled. Was the experiment being conducted simply because it was possible? Why, then, were the students learning the coding and the methods, but never being asked about the risks or the consequences? The ramifications?

The hail ceased, and a deep quiet settled over the night. Heavy clouds veiled the light of the moon, but Helena didn’t mind. Moonlight would only make the stained-glass windows come alive—their geometric patterns and strange, hidden faces suddenly clear, so that ancient, menacing gargoyles seemed to glare out from the panes. Clutching the device to her chest, Helena turned to head back to the dormitory, but as she moved, her stockinged foot nudged something solid and weighty on the floor.

Curious, Helena bent down and looked beneath the workbench. There, half-hidden, lay a mysterious object. Not quite square. She picked it up and held it toward the faint electronic glow. Wrapped in thick burgundy cardboard, it bore gold lettering and intricate designs. Her fingers traced the embossed patterns—the cover was not cold to the touch. She tapped it, and a warm, resonant thump echoed in the quiet room. Helena surveyed the surroundings, then opened the book and read:

“My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.”

Helena exhaled, realising she had been holding her breath. The page consisted of two columns. An old-fashioned and small font was used. The header stated: — Romeo and Juliet. She turned over the delicate sheet. There was a gorgeous illustration of a young woman kneeling and gazing up at a seated elderly lady. Sweet, sweet, sweet nurse – read the caption. It was beautiful. The women were beautiful.

A sound echoed through the hall, and Helena snapped back to herself. To be found with a book—how would she explain it? There was little she could do, but she couldn’t bear to leave the tome behind. Not now. She craved more. Needed more. With quickened steps, Helena slipped out of the classroom, pausing only at the foot of the stairway. The stairs stretched before her like a challenge, then split, winding along the grey walls—one path leading to the sleeping quarters, the other to a place she knew all too well.

The dormitory offered the safety of huddling beneath blankets, scrolling through screens or, as some of the other girls did, exchanging messages. Sometimes, Helena heard their muffled laughter—frivolous distractions but lacking real joy. For her, nighttime browsing held no meaning. There was no escape for her, save perhaps in the words inside this publication.

My bounty is as boundless as the sea

What was she so afraid of? Helena asked herself. Why did she fear truly living or seeking out authentic experiences? In her hands, the book encompassed something far greater than the empty distractions of a screen. Its printed pages hinted of escape, meaning, and a sense of connection—perhaps even wisdom. She started up the stairs, choosing the left path without hesitation, her silent steps steady.

On the landing, tucked away in a corner and sheltered from the windows, a petite lamp glowed. The expansive lampshade cast a golden circle of light onto the floor. She moved toward the warm glow.

She stiffened in alarm as, from behind, a firm hand clamped over her mouth.

“Shhhhh.”

The pressure on her lips lessened, and Helena spun around, resolved. Rosalind stood before her, finger pressed to her lips, eyes wide with urgency. Surprised, Helena started to speak, but Rosalind shook her head. Instead of reaching for the book—as Helena had expected, since Rosalind had sat beside her in class—Rosalind took her device and slipped it into the bag hanging over her shoulder.

“Shhhhh.”

Next, Rosalind unfastened Helena’s watch and placed it into the pouch as well. She tapped her own ear, and Helena, understanding, pulled her earpieces from her pocket. These, too, were tucked inside before Rosalind sealed the bag shut.

Rosalind looked up, her eyes now brighter. “We can’t let the professor know we’re here, can we? I see you found my book.”

“This book is yours?” Helena showed surprise. Rosalind, the most skilled coder among them, seemed an unlikely guardian of such forbidden treasure.

“Let’s just say I borrowed it,” Rosalind replied. “I was coming to find it when I spotted you climbing the stairs. You always seem drawn to the light. I’ve noticed you before, but you generally stop at the lamp.”

When Helena remained silent, Rosalind continued, “It’s all right, I understand. I was nervous too, when I first found a book. Since then, reading is a means of escape—my own way of coping. It’s exciting, and it’s fun. Have you had much time to read yet?”

“No,” Helena admitted. “I only skimmed and looked at the pictures. My bounty is as boundless as the sea.”

“‘Romeo and Juliet.’ A great place to start. And you’re already quoting. I understand what you mean; sometimes, stepping into the minds of different characters is like discovering new worlds. That’s something we don’t get much of here: exposure to other perspectives and ways of thinking.”

Helena studied Rosalind. Her hair was loose, her nightdress draped casually over her thin frame, the sealed bag hanging from a sturdy strap across her pale neck. Tonight, Rosalind looked older.

Rosalind continued, offering reassurance. “Many books ask big questions about life, meaning, and morality—they make you think about what you believe. Others exist purely for enjoyment, for immersion in a narrative, for sharing the characters’ emotional journey. Connection. Fun.”

“Fun?” Helena echoed. “Rosalind, you’re one of the top students here, especially at coding. I thought maybe…”

“What? That I only care about logic? Fun isn’t just a silly distraction. It’s a big part of learning and self-discovery. It makes you open, curious, and willing to try new things—qualities you need to really understand yourself and your place in the world.”

Not older, Helena realised—Rosalind simply carried a sort of wisdom. “Why don’t we get to have this type of fun?” she asked. “Why aren’t we allowed to read books?”

Rosalind tilted her head, studying Helena. “We’ve been in the same group all term, but how frequently have we honestly talked, honestly connected? Not often, right? There’s no genuine online community here. Someone sends a message, we all reply—sometimes with an emoji for laughter. But there’s never true laughter, is there? No genuine emotion. No real attachments. In this place, we find ourselves stuck in a culture of risk-aversion and endless technology.”

Helena nodded in agreement.

Rosalind continued, “It’s not just about missing out on fun. It’s a fear of living. Instead, we distract ourselves or escape into our screens. We’re simplified, reduced. There’s no meaning in fake goals, like chasing likes. Here, connection happens through our devices. The Professor knows we’re under our blankets at night, texting, scrolling, posting. They are turning our interactions into something to be bought and sold. We can block people, ghost them, and never have to explain ourselves.”

“A controlled environment,” Helena said.

“Controlled, and lacking any real, spontaneous moments—such as this one.”

“We become part of it,” Helena suggested.

“Exactly. It undermines our experiences and the authentic connections we could make—over something comparable to that book.”

Helena looked down at the volume in her hands. All those words, all those ideas. To glimpse inside another mind, to experience a surge of understanding and a new perspective. Her heart beat faster.

Rosalind watched her in silence, not unkindly. Outside, hail returned, strumming against the stained-glass windows. The lamp flickered. Voices echoed—curfew, the coded realm being switched off, withheld. Helena believed it was her turn—to share? She wasn’t sure what she had to offer. She held up the book.

“This is yours.”

Rosalind smiled, genuine and warm, but instead of taking it, she said, “Are you ready to have some real fun? Yes? Come with me.”

Rosalind led Helena aside from the lamplight, across the mezzanine, toward the darkened windows. Wood panelling lined the walls, heavy paintings hung at odd angles, worn by time. Rosalind paused before a large, soulful painting that made Helena shudder—an old woman, once beautiful, sat beneath a tree, fingers in her long hair, seemingly singing. A family appeared to scurry away from her, heading to their farmhouse in the distance. For a moment, Helena thought the woman’s mouth moved. Rosalind had already walked on, and Helena hurried to catch up.

Hail rattled against the colourless windows. Rosalind paused before a small painting, its surface thick with dark, brooding oils. The scene showed a workshop—a craftsman at work. Or was it a woman dressed in a man’s clothing from long ago? The leather apron hung too large, as if borrowed. The studio bustled, shelves crowded with animated clay figures, anthropomorphic creatures that seemed forgotten or unfinished. She focused intently on shaping a new figure. It might have been a kneeling doll, but the face was severe—almost frightening, thought Helena. The hands were oversized, as if made for force, knuckles pressed together.

“Ready for some fun?” Rosalind asked.

“Yes.” The word was barely more than a breath, a quiet thrill.

Rosalind leaned close to the canvas and whispered. The painted woman gazed up from her clay-making. Rosalind bowed, and the lady acknowledged the gesture before walking to a shelf. Among the rows of figures, Helena noticed a small earthenware-coloured creature she had not noticed in the painting, its misshapen head fused to its shoulders, its body melted into its feet as if deformed while in the kiln. But it had regular, rectangular, hollowed-out eyes and no mouth. Powerful arms clutched what resembled a regal crown. The woman gently stroked the figure’s forehead, and the creature placed the crown at its feet.

Helena stood transfixed, not exhaling.

As the regal headpiece touched the floor, the wooden panel swung open. Rosalind grinned broadly, beckoning Helena to follow, and proceeded through the doorway. From outside, the opening was pitch black—nothing was visible, and Rosalind had vanished.

My bounty is as boundless as the sea

With a deep inhalation, Helena stepped into the blackness.

Books filled the magnificent old school library.