The Last Priestess

Psyche's POV 'Born out of the fire, flourished through the flames, wings ablaze under the spectrum glaze, fell into a slumber, failed to resurrect. A maze of losses, hand to sew the pieces, be awakened and save us, Priestess.' "Psyche! You late-riser. Wake up, you'll be late for school!" The loud bang on my door forced me awake. Miriam and her loud mouth never failed to wake me up. With lazy feet and half-awake eyes, I stormed out of bed and walked straight into the bathroom, and did my monotonous morning routine. "Psyche!" I grumbled underneath, hearing my older sister's shrill voice. "I'm almost done, Miriam. Please shut up!" It's still early, but she's annoyingly bombarding the entire house. Though it is something I'm acclimated to yet never relish. Sweats dripped down on my forehead, trying to pull my s**t off as I threaded my uniform into my body. School has gotten boring these days, if not for my Astronomy subject, I wouldn't dare waste my time going to that hell place. Odd, but stars and galaxies often fascinate me. Like a certain connection that binds me from delving deeper into finding and unraveling their clothed mysteries. An unknown thrill to explore. “Psyche Stellar!” “Coming!” Food is already served on the table after stepping into the kitchen. The lunchbox had been prepared as well as some drinks. She made everything easy for me. Miriam stood as my guardian when our parents died. Their death was so sudden, that none of us were prepared. She dropped out of university and went to work just to put food on the table. Regardless of the fact that we fight most of the time, despise each other's existence, and have a cat and dog sister relationship, she is the best sister anybody could wish for. Amidst her incessant morning calls, daily lectures, and never-ending nagging, I love her. "You're almost 19, Psyche. When are you going to mature? You're making everything hard for me," she whined, placing rice on my plate. "I'm already matured, Miriam. Stop gaslighting me!" She only rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Mature? You don't even know how to cook, do laundry, or get up early without being stirred up." Pissed at the idea that Miriam was speaking facts. All of the things she mentioned didn't pique my curiosity. Hence, there is no heightened urge to learn them all. "Rather than studying constellations and stars and everything else, why not start with basic life skills, no?" I dare not say a thing. Miriam wouldn't stop mincing details, stacking them up in my brain, and triggering my sympathetic nerves, until I felt pathetic. She's good at word manipulation and often uses subterfuge in certain conversations. Well, her words are likewise content-filled and educative. But I just don't like it. Perhaps, pride. "I'm heading off now, Miriam." My school is just a few blocks away from home. No need to ride a bus, be sardined up in traffic jams, pay fares, and a lot more. It's a privilege but... "You're late again, Stellar," the guard complained after seeing me. I passed through the gate, muted, dismissing his comment. The hallways are already cleared, and each door is closed, which means that classes have already started. The urge to skip my first subject dazzles me. But my feet ended up in my room, hands knocking for access. "Don't you think you came in too early, Psyche?" Professor Armstrong sarcastically asked, after opening the door. My gaze fell on him, unrepentant for being late and unfazed by his snarky comment. He should be appreciative that, despite the urge to skip his dull lesson, I chose to be present. History class has always been boring, but it got even more so because he was the one teaching it. "Proceed to your seat, Stellar." The session ended with me being sleepy and the never-ending struggle to stay conscious a while ago was brutal. My following classes take place after, doing certain activities, lab experiments, role play, and a lot more. "Psy, are you going to attend the grand ball?" Canary, my best friend, asked. We're heading straight now to the library for our research activity. She immediately clung to my shoulder, waiting earnestly for my answer. I haven't thought about going to the grand ball. Aside from the ancillary costs, there are dresses, make-up, and other expenses to consider. Too costly. "I hadn't considered the idea yet, Cana; it's an expensive event. I'd rather stay at home, stargaze, and enjoy some solitude." She pouted, shaking her head. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime experience, Psy; can you at least attend? I don't want to go there alone." This isn't just about me either. It's not me who will burden the expenses. So, my opinion is second only to Miriam's, and her words will be heeded. "I had to ask Miriam first." The library was quiet as a mouse upon our entrance. The usual student-filled area in the right corner was empty and only a few were seen reading one block away from each other. "Hey, where's our classmate? Weren't they supposed to be here?" Canary noted, eyeing the whole place. Our last subject of the day is literature, and we are entrusted to conduct research on certain literary works. Professor Davidson sorted us into pairs, so we're assuming that everyone should be here by now since we missed a few minutes going to the restroom. "I'm not sure. Maybe they're done." She raised her brows. "That's strange. We just took 10 minutes in the comfort room; I doubt they'll be able to finish so quickly, and the fact that none, not even a single pair is here makes it more strange." The librarian was also not in her chair; perhaps she was patrolling the shelves. The small unnoticeable elements gradually became evident, and it just sends me a chill up my spine. The more we pay attention, the stranger things get. "Don't give too much attention to it, Cana; we have to look for our piece right now." She shrugged and followed me to the literature rack. There are hundreds of volumes gathered, largely literature from various eras. Some books look classic and aesthetically vintage out of old age. The coffee-like spill on the edges and spine and that faint vanilla scent are nostalgic. "What period do we choose? American? Asian?" Canary asked, clutching literary books in both hands. "Let's pick something close to our hearts." "I like this piece," she proposed. Nodding, "Okay, let's pick that." Canary headed to the seat after settling on a piece to analyze. While I look for something. It has become a daily habit for me to borrow books about constellations and space. A certain book caught my attention, and with heart pumping in delight, I tried to reach for it, but it was higher than expected. The book was positioned on the top shelf, merely unreachable. "What happened? You look angry," Canary noted. She was scribbling something on her notepad and not even a single phrase was readable. She hadn't written anything decent. "The book is too high for me to reach." The few students from earlier were no longer present and the librarian had returned to her post as well. Everything looked normal. "You can ask for help from the librarian or use a ladder," she suggested. "Later." My finger began to brush the pages of the book, reading the narrative line by line and comprehending its meaning. While Canary creates the outline and takes down any necessary input. When the clock struck five, her phone rang, earning a word from the librarian. "I have to leave, Psy; dad is already at the gate." With zero option, I agreed. "Thank you; don't worry, I'll finish the analysis at home," she hugged me before walking out of the place. Staring out of our unfinished work, a certain memory flashes at the back of my head, enabling my mind to wander on that same, peculiar dream. Those indistinct faces, whose voices can only be heard, pleading for mercy. They beg poetically, almost chanting a mantra. It's bizarre, as I felt a specific thread that somehow binds me to it. The people in my dream felt both familiar and mysterious. Who are they? My short reminiscence was interrupted by a thud. A book fell on my table. It was the same book that was nearly impossible to get. I looked at the person who had put it on, but my gaze only reached his back. Allowing me to take a short glimpse at the vivid tattoo on his neck, a scorpion, which reminded me of a constellation called Scorpius. The backstabber stinger. The realization hit me and creep began to course through my veins, fazed by the situation. How did he know about the book? I was sure no one was around earlier. Picking up the literature book, my gaze wandered while putting it back on the shelf. The library was hushed like a grave, it was empty, except for the librarian and me. The man was no longer around, which was strange because he had not left the door. Shrugging, I returned to my seat, placed the book in my bag, and was about to take my leave. But my eyes unconsciously drift to the bookshelf, feeling an inexplicable connection to it, and then a blinding light flashes all of a sudden. It was so bright that I had to cover my eyes. Gradually adapting, looking between my finger gaps, with breath hitched, and wide eyes, a peculiar bird appeared. Its wings were ablaze with fire, and its eyes were fixed on me, calling my soul. "A phoenix."