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Then she proceeded to meticulously rearrange the papers on her desk. When she finally strolled down the hallway past George, who gave her an inquisitive look followed by, “If you’re looking for Sam, I saw her walk in the direction of the Sky Blue dormitory. Oh, and Dorsea was on her heels,” Magdalene decided she had given Sam enough of an opportunity. How hard could it be? How many Magdalenes were there at Dragons throughout the years, and how many were close to her age? Sam was very perspicacious. And with Joanne there, her task would be much easier.

She carefully made her way through the dank corridors. Surrounded by walls seeping moisture, coated with age-old mold, the darkness was interspersed with the glaring red exit lights, some half burnt-out and some completely devoid of their warning indicators. Magdalene gritted her teeth at the obviously shoddy work done when installing the safety features.

The raised voices that greeted her in front of the rusty door to the archive told her that maybe Sam was too smart for her own good.

“…you lot canned a sixteen-year-old kid for having bi-colored eyes?”

For once, Magdalene decided not to wait around the corner and stepped under the eerie red glow of one of those few still working exit signs—one of the few still working—just as Sam finished ranting. After all, Joanne had probably already said too much, and there was no need for Magdalene to hear those same old excuses.

“So is this where the precious personal information of students and faculty is kept? Seems rather careless, if not downright hazardous. It looks more like a den of iniquity. George said she saw you troop down here, and I thought I knew exactly why.”

Magdalene threw back her shoulders and didn’t flinch when both Sam and Joanne jumped, caught in the act. With both women staring at her, Sam’s cheeks turning crimson under her direct stare, Magdalene continued. She'd expected Sam to find the file, had even waited to give her every chance. What she hadn't counted on were the sordid details Joanne Dorsea could provide.

And judging by the haunted look on Joanne’s face, she had indeed spilled plenty.

Magdalene felt weighted down, drowning really. The stones at her chest were heavy, and she’d been holding on to some of them for too long. She lifted her head and decided she might as well control the narrative and get ahead of the worst of it–even if the pain in her chest was making her dizzy.

“While my eye color was perhaps the most simple reason that could have been used to dismiss me from the school, Professor Threadneedle, it was my less than legitimate birth that was ultimately utilized as too big of a scandal for the deeply religious trustees, and my presence at the school was curtailed swiftly. A very conservative institution like Three Dragons, built on all those illustrious principles of having children inside the sanctity of marriage between one man and one woman, did not sufferbastards, Professor. Thirty years ago, it was kind of a big deal, certainly enough for the devout, good ole church-going trustees to vote unanimously to remove me from the school.”

She stepped farther into the musty room and was grateful for her perfume, the scent of jasmine once again rescuing her from the grime and stench of old memories.

“What Professor Dorsea is not telling you, is that soon after my so-called probationary term was terminated prematurely for the stated reason of me not being able to fit into any of the houses due to my ophthalmologic condition and, in actuality, for being a bastard...” She made the word roll off her tongue, knowing the effect they had on Sam and Joanne, both of whom cringed again. Plus, some things were becoming increasingly clear to her.

While the truth was not yet something she was comfortable sharing with Sam—and she was fairly certain Joanne didn’t know about Hilda and the real reason Magdalene had gotten the boot—Sam’s own circumstances were like the proverbial dots, very easy to connect.

Magdalene folded her arms. “She and a few other teachers went on strike to make sure this never happened again. Didn’t you, Professor Dorsea?”

Sam squinted, focused on counting off the math on her fingers, no doubt following the timeline. Her eyes widened and she stared at Magdalene. It didn't take a genius to figure out that, unbeknownst to her, Magdalene was the sacrificial lamb that had paved Sam's way at Dragons. When she finally looked up at Magdalene, her face was transformed.

“You mean when I was found?” Even the calm, quiet voice sounded shrill and detached in the dust rising in the air from the decaying shelves.

Joanne shifted uncomfortably and refused to raise her eyes.

“I did not fight for a sixteen-year-old sophomore whom nobody wanted at the school because she was questioning everything Dragons was built upon. Sure, she was starting to mobilize the students and to speak out against some of the most egregious things, but I still did not say a thing. Modern, positive, brave ideas are like birds, once you set them free, they are almost impossible to rein in afterwards. It was easy to dismiss her as a troublemaker and a bad influence on the other girls.”

Joanne took a steadying breath, yet her voice was still low and broken when she continued. “But the reason they gave when they got rid of her never sat right with me. Sam, I couldn’t allow the trustees to simply throw children to the curb because they were orphans or came from single-parent households. It seems ridiculous these days. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, it’s something that happens every day. But back then…”

Joanne looked away with an agonized expression on her face. “It was a very big deal in this place at that time. Reverend Sanderson was still at Dragons, we still prayed twice a day… And so I let one child be tossed aside. But when you were found on the steps of the chapel, I couldn’t allow it to happen again. I couldn’t let them put you into an orphanage simply because you had no parents. Foundling or not, orphan or not, we had to make sure history did not repeat itself. You belonged at Dragons. We went on strike, Ruth and myself, and most of the others. To our great surprise, we weren’t fired, and the trustees caved in quickly enough with Alden and Tullinger volunteering to take care of the legal side of things. And so we kept you at the school.”

Sam’s gaze flicked from Magdalene to Joanne in complete shock, and Magdalene wanted to hug her. Hold her close and not let go of the trembling body that stood so vulnerable, so defenseless in the onslaught of the incoming facts. But at the same time, that naiveté, that lack of understanding of how the world worked, coupled with loyalty to this place, stung. Hadn’t she been trying to tell Sam all along that she was not the enemy? And on top of that, her own heart was also bleeding for the sixteen-year-old who had been discarded. After all, Sam, despite all the hurt, had been allowed to stay.

“Well, this is so heartwarming, that when faced with the massive strike of its faculty, the trustees decided to change the less-than-savory rule of ‘no bastards’ and to finally move the school from the swamp of their religious prejudices of the 19th century into the modern era. So, in a sense, yes, Sam Threadneedle, I crawled so you could run. No need to thank me.” As parting shots went, it was a good one.

As an afterthought, she snatched her folder from Sam’s hands. She could swear it burned her fingers to the point where she could almost feel their tips catch fire as they closed over the old paper, the dust of decomposition leaving stains on her skin.

Rounding a corner, Magdalene clutched the file to her chest as her breathing shallowed. Her eyes flitted around, seeking purchase. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember this particular hallway.

“A wrong turn, it was just a wrong turn,” she whispered to herself, trying to suppress the panic.She’d find her way in a moment…

Leaning back against the chalky, moldy old wall, she heard her own breath catch on a sob and she knew… She knew she was lost. Somewhere in her flight, in her wish to escape, to not hold on to the damn file, to not hold on to anything, to not even be here, surrounded by this stone and mortar, by the rotting wood and corroded iron, she’d taken a damned wrong turn.

One… Two… Three…

The counting did fuck all to soothe her, and the panic began to choke her. Her fingers, the ones not burned by the file still clenched in her hand, clawed at her blouse trying to open the small buttons that bound the collar together.

Four… Five…

Her vision grayed at the edges, and she knew she was about to pass out. Jesus, one little encounter with her past and she was falling to pieces.