The Portraits of Camasmere Academy

Cassandra Montague was tucked into the corner of Camasmere Academy’s grand library, halfway through Villette by Charlotte Bronte, when she heard a commotion by the stairs. She didn’t need to look up to recognise the sharp, honeyed sting of Portia Lavinia Cavendish, Year 12’s undisputed Queen Bee, her usual lackeys flanking her like guards.

Fleur Wynthorpe, who looks down her nose at everyone, despite her parents barely keeping their business afloat. And Briony Harrington, their shadow and Cassie’s former friend, standing behind them like always.

“What kind of a name is Lark, anyway?" Portia laughs, flicking her bleached blonde hair. "It sounds like your parents wanted a songbird rather than a daughter, that's if you're even a girl" she smirks at Fleur, who gives a sharp little giggle.

Lark doesn’t react ­­– not at first. her spiky black hair sticks out in every direction, wild and unapologetic. She looks Portia up and down slowly with visible distain. "Well, your parents sound like they wanted a car.” She pauses, just for a moment. “But I think it suits you. Fast and loose."

Briony's jaw drops open, no one ever speaks to Portia like that.

Portia looks stunned, she opens and closes her mouth wordlessly, like a fish gasping for air. Cassie can’t help but snigger, quickly hiding her face behind her book.

Portia scans the library looking for the source of the laughter, spotting Cassie hiding behind her book. Her eyes narrow, “Look who it is, little miss loner. What’s the matter Cassandra? Got no friends so you have to shove your nose in a book? Such a loser”

Cassie freezes, she always tries to avoid confrontation, especially with Portia.

Lark turns, slow and deliberate. “Careful, Portia. You’re starting to sound desperate”.

Portia’s face flushes red, her lips press into a thin line. “Come on girls.” She spins on her heel and struts away without looking back, Fleur and Briony hurrying to keep up.

Lark watches Portia and her entourage disappear down the corridor, then strolls over to where Cassie is curled up on one of the library sofas, still half-hiding behind her book. She leans against the nearest bookcase, arms folded casually.

“Sorry you got caught up in that. The stupid bitch thought she could insult me using a name I chose” she laughs. “Guess it serves me right for not wanting to be a clone.”

Cassie lowers her book slightly, peering over the top, really seeing Lark for the first time. Her blue eyes are soft but sparkle with mischief. She’s pretty, but not in an obvious way, her skin is perfect, unblemished by acne or makeup.

Lark catches her staring gives her a wink.

“Villette, huh?” she says, nodding at the book. “It’s a good one. I love how Lucy doesn’t pretend to be some tragic little orphan. She’s angry. Lonely. But she still survives. Doesn’t that feel… honest?”

Cassie hesitates. For a moment, she considers ducking back behind the pages of her book and pretending that she can’t hear Lark. But there’s something about her tone, sincere, open, engaging that makes her stay.

“I always liked that about her, too,” Cassie admits in a quiet, soft voice. “She never asked to be understood. But she still wanted it.”

Lark’s eyes light up, like Cassie had just passed some unspoken test. “Exactly.”

Cassie folds the corner of her page, to mark her spot, and closes the book. “Most people don’t notice that. Or they think it’s depressing.”

Lark shrugs. “It is depressing. But it’s also kind of beautiful, right?”

Cassie looks at her, surprised. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “It is.”

Lark gives a half-smile, then pushes herself off the bookcase with a lazy stretch.

“Anywho… I just thought I’d say hi. I’m Lark, by the way.” She straightens up and gives an exaggerated bow. “Or to my parents, Lilian Persephone Beaumont.” She glances up with a grin. “I mean honestly, what were they thinking?”

Cassie smiles, it’s genuine, small but warm. “Cassandra Genevieve Montague,” she says, hugging the book to her chest. “So… I get it.”

Lark’s grin widens. “Damn. That’s a whole novel.”

Cassie laughs, quiet and surprised. “Yeah. Feels like it sometimes.”

Lark steps back, giving a little two-fingered salute. “See you around, Cassandra Genevieve Montague.”

“Cassie,” she calls, before she can stop herself. “You can call me Cassie.”

Lark turns at the door, eyebrows raised, and gives her a nod. “Cassie it is.”

Then she’s gone, leaving behind a strange warmth Cassie can’t quite explain.

For the rest of the day Cassie can’t get Lark out of her head, she seemed so free, so uninhibited. Like she didn’t have the expectations of countless generations weighing down her shoulders. Cassie longed to be like that.

Over the next few weeks they start to spend more time together, sitting in the library, in the quiet corners of the courtyard, hanging out in each other’s dorms. Cassie started to come out of her shell, she felt she didn’t need to pretend around Lark. They shared secrets, small ones at first, they confided in one another. Cassie even pointed out the Death Camas that the school was named for, growing by the lake, explained the legend of the art teacher who used to poison his students. She felt like Lark found her interesting. Their bond deepens into something neither of them dare name. Not here. Not when the walls of Camasmere Academy have ears.

One rainy afternoon, Lark takes Cassie’s hand. “There’s something I want to show you.”

Lark leads Cassie through the quiet halls of Camasmere, their footsteps echoing off the marble floor as they make their way to the far end of the school, the art wing that overlooks the lake. “Where are you taking me?” Cassie asks with a laugh.

“You’ll see.” Lark slows as they move past the familiar classrooms, the bright art adorning the walls. She leads them deeper, the air grows thick with dust and damp, until they reach the barrier, a thick sheet of plastic stretched from wall to wall, stuck with yellowing tape. The warning signs half peeled tell students to keep out.

Cassie lets go of Lark’s hand, a chill running down her spine. “We can’t go in there, it’s not safe, there’s asbestos and who knows what else down there.”

Lark just smiles, a mischievous glint in her eye, she peels back the barrier with practiced ease. “Come on, Cas, live a little.”

Cassie watches as Lark disappears behind the barrier, she curses under her breath, glancing around to make sure no one is watching, then ducks through the gap to follow.

Cassie squints into the darkness; it’s almost suffocating in its intensity. Lark pulls a small torch out of her pocket and flicks it on, the thin beam of light guiding their path towards a large oak door, much too grand to belong to a forgotten part of the school.

“Watch this” Lark grins, then taps three times on the door. It creaks open slowly as if by magic. Cassie stands transfixed, as the light from the room spills into the corridor, revealing a beautiful, ornate room, with high ceiling and tall arched windows. The walls are adorned with intricate oil paintings, dozens of them, some darkened with age, others so fresh they could have been painted yesterday. Girls and women, students and teachers, captured in incredible detail. Whoever painted these is incredibly talented, they have even managed to capture the various uniforms and hairstyles from different time periods.

Cassie steps forward, across the threshold without realising and Lark watches with glee. She’s met by the smell of fresh paint and something floral, familiar.

“Isn’t it something else?” Lark murmurs, breaking the silence.

Cassie nods, too stunned to speak, her eyes sweeping the room with fascination as she turns in a slow circle.

“This ain’t even the best part, but I can’t show you that till later.”

Cassie looks at her in confusion.

Lark grins, “check your watch.”

Cassie looks down “It’s stopped…” She shakes her wrist and holds it to her ear, no ticking, just silence.

Lark chuckles softly “It’s not broken, just… paused… you’ll understand later. There’s some sort of old magic at work here.” She takes Cassie’s hands gently in her own, facing her, her eyes are serious now, almost afraid.

“There’s no one else here. No Portia, no teachers, no rules. This can be our special place, just the two of us” She takes a deep breath steadying herself. She looks vulnerable, nervous. Cassie has never seen her like this before, she’s always so sure of herself.

Lark’s voice is almost a whisper “I love you, Cas.”

Cassie’s heart sings in her chest, her eyes filling with joyous tears, she never imagined that she could feel this way about anyone or that anyone would feel this way about her.

“I love you, too, Lark”

Lark’s face lights up with the biggest smile Cassie has ever seen. Then she pulls her in to a tight hug, warm and fierce as though she never wants to let go.

The two girls spend hours in their secret room, talking about everything and nothing, lying side by side on the floor, staring up at the ornamental ceiling, fingers intwined.

Eventually Lark stands up, brushes the dust from her trousers and helps Cassie to her feet. “Now I need to show you the really amazing part” she teases cryptically. She leads Cassie across the threshold and into the corridor. “Check your watch again.”

Cassie frowns, glancing down. “That doesn’t make sense. It says we’ve only been in there twenty minutes.” She taps the glass. “Stupid thing must really be broken.”

Lark shakes her head. Lifting her own wrist. “Nope. Not broken” Her watch reads the same time. “I told you, it’s some sort of old magic, isn’t it cool? I’ve been a few times, it’s like, inside the room, times moves super slow or something.”

The duo make their way back toward the familiar sights and sounds of Camasmere. Just before they breach the plastic barrier, Lark turns to face Cassie, placing her hands on her cheeks and leaning forward to give her a soft kiss on her lips, full of tenderness and promise.

“Meet me back here tomorrow morning” She whispers “Before class.”

Cassie has reservations, something about the way time stood still in that room doesn’t feel right. But looking into Lark’s eyes, seeing her own love reflected there, she knows she doesn’t have a choice. “Okay.”

The next morning Lark is already waiting by the barrier as Cassie arrives. They greet each other with a warm hug, and Lark slips her arm around Cassie’s waist as she leads them back through the dim corridor. The room welcomes them once more, still as beautiful as ever.

Cassie wanders slowly through the space, admiring the artwork, really noticing the artist’s attention to detail. “I wonder who painted all of these” she murmurs “They’re amazing, aren’t they?”

Lark shrug from where she’s lazing on the floor “Yeah, I guess.”

Cassie’s eyes catch on a newer looking canvas, the colours fresh and the paint still drying. “This one kind of looks like you…” her voice trails off, uneasy.

Lark pushes herself up off the floor and moves to stand behind her, arms slipping around Casie’s waist, chin resting on her shoulder. “Yeah, you’re right. Captured my good looks perfectly” she teases, kissing Cassie on the cheek.

Cassie stiffens slightly. “It’s not funny, Lark. Why did someone paint you? Is someone spying on us?”

Lark sighs and rolls her eyes, pulling away. “I don’t know, Cas.”

She gestures toward another canvas, this one unfinished. The start of a profile, broad strokes of long dark hair, the sketch of a school uniform. “Looks like you’re next.” Lark grins “But does it really matter?” She steps forward, taking Cassie’s hands in hers, eyes softening, voice lowering. “It’s just you and me here. No one else.”

Cassie pulls her hands back gently. “But what if it’s not just us, what if someone’s watching?”

“Would it be so terrible if they were?”

“What?”

“Are you that horrified by the thought of someone seeing us together? Are you ashamed of me?” Her voice is calm, but there’s a sharp edge beneath it.

“No, Lark… how could you even think that?” Cassie steps back, searching her face. “This isn’t about us. Something’s wrong with this place, the pictures, the… time stuff. It’s not natural.”

“Sorry that I wanted to spend time with my girlfriend where she wouldn’t be scared to kiss me or hold my hand.” Lark’s words come out flat, bitter.

“That’s not fair… that has nothing to do with…”

“It has EVERYTHING to do with this.”

A long silence stretches between them. Lark shakes her head, turning and moving towards the door. “I’ll see you later, Cas. I need some time to think.” She steps through the threshold, and the door begins to close behind her with that familiar, slow creak.

Cassie stands frozen in place, staring at the door as it clicks shut. She turns back to the portrait of Lark and realises something she hadn’t noticed before.

The painting is smiling.

The next morning, Cassie was at the barrier early. She stood in the quiet corridor, waiting for the familiar footsteps, the shadow ducking through the barrier, anything to indicate that Lark has forgiven her. The minutes tick by slowly, one after another.

Cassie’s shoulder’s slump as realisation dawns. Lark wasn’t coming, and she’d ruined the best thing that had ever happened to her.

When the bell rings for class, Cassie walks towards her classroom with purposeful strides. Perhaps she’ll get the chance to talk to Lark during the lesson. Apologise, make it clear that she isn’t ashamed of being seen with her.

She arrives late, the lesson has already begun. She scans the room. Her heart sinks when she sees that Lark’s chair sits empty.

Portia scoffs, loud enough for everyone to hear. “How are you so late, Cassandra? It’s not like you have anything better to do.”

Fleur giggles, as usual, but Briony just shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

Cassie’s jaw clenches but she doesn’t retaliate, taking her seat next to Briony. “Psst, Bri” she leans over, her voice barely above a whisper as the teacher starts talking about equations. “Have you seen Lark? You’re in her dorm, right?”

Briony blinks at her, brows knitting. “Lark?” she whispers back, confused.

“Yeah. Lark. Lark Beaumont?” Cassie tries again, her voice a little more urgent now. “You share a dorm with her.”

Briony frowns. “Cass… there’s no one called Lark in our dorm.”

Cassie stares at her, “Yes, there is. Black hair? Sarcastic? Her real name’s Lilian Persephone Beaumont.”

Briony gives a soft, uncomfortable laugh. “I think you’re mixing us up with Year 13.”

“I’m not,” Cassie says firmly, her voice rising enough to draw a sharp look from the teacher. “She’s my girlfriend.”

Briony’s eyes widen slightly at Cassie’s declaration, but she just shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Did I hear that right?” Portia speaks up, smug and loud, drawing attention from everyone in the class, just how she likes it. “Little Loser Montague is making up imaginary girlfriends now?” Her laugh is harsh, grating and it seems to echo around the room as others join in.

Cassie trembles with sorrow and fear. She stands up and runs out of the class, ignoring her teacher calling her back. She doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Why doesn’t anyone remember Lark?

Cassie makes her way back through the corridor, pushing past the barrier, no longer caring who sees her. She raps on the old oak door, three times.

Tap, Tap, Tap.

The door opens as usual, as though nothing is amiss. She steps forward, everything looks the same.

No, something is different.

Lark’s portrait.

It’s no longer smiling.

Cassie approaches it slowly, eyes wide as she takes in every inch of the portrait, it doesn’t just look like Lark. It is her.

Her knees give out and she sinks to the floor, sobs wracking her frame. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. “I never should have let you leave.”

Something catches her eye, a piece of paper, yellowed with age and wedged between two wooden panels on the wall. Cassie pulls it out with her nails and unfolds it. It’s a newspaper article, the date is illegible, but she can tell that it’s old.

There’s a grainy black and white photo of what is unmistakably Camasmere Academy. Below the picture it reads:

Professor Blackwood of Blackwood Hall was found dead in his art studio early yesterday morning, surrounded by dozens of oil portraits. It is alleged that Professor Blackwood had been poisoning students he deemed unworthy of the school’s legacy.

His crimes came to light when a fellow member of staff forced entry into the studio and discovered painted likenesses of the missing pupils and faculty members, each rendered in meticulous detail. Authorities believe the portraits were kept as trophies.

Blackwood Hall has declined to comment on the incident but has since announced plans to rebrand the institution to distance itself from the scandal and the Blackwood name.

Cassie’s breath catches. She drops the paper. Her gaze flicks to the walls, to the portraits of all the girls, the long-gone teachers, the forgotten.

Her eyes drift to her own portrait.

It’s almost finished.

She crawls across the floor and sits beneath Lark’s picture, back against the wall.

“I get it now,” she murmurs. “This is how you stay. How we stay. We weren’t worthy in his eyes.”

She rests her head against the wood, fingers reaching up to brush the painted collar of Lark’s shirt.

“They’ll forget me too,” she says softly. “But at least I’ll be with you.”