POV: HELENA IVYRA.
The alarm went off as if possessed by some evil spirit.
I'm not exactly sure if it rang at the right time or if I just ignored the first ring, something that, by the way, wouldn't be anything new.
The fact is, I woke up in a second and, in the same second, felt that typical chill down the spine of someone who instantly knows they're late.
Another thing that also wasn't new...
"Oh, shit…"
I threw the blanket aside and crawled to the edge of the bed, as though that would make me move faster.
I dragged myself to the bathroom, my face still a bit crumpled, my thoughts stuck, my soul still trying to log in to the day.
While brushing my teeth, I leaned against the sink and stared at my reflection.
Dark circles. Laziness.
That typical look of: "Today isn't the day I wanted to be a functional person."
And worst of all: it was Book Fair day.
Great irony of the universe.
I ran back to the room, threw on black pants and grabbed the fastest gray shirt I could.
The school uniform was mandatory, but sometimes, you can choose to ignore certain rules, right?
Besides, another difficulty was finding where I'd stuffed my socks.
When I finally found a pair, time had cruelly moved on.
In the kitchen, I poured hot coffee into a black and red plastic cup.
I did it so quickly I almost spilled it on my hand, because obviously I wasn't looking.
The drink steamed, and the vapor blurred my vision a bit.
That's when I heard the sound.
A persistent drumming on the living room window.
Rain.
And not that pleasant fresh-morning drizzle.
It was a storm, it was raining cats and dogs as much as possible.
'Someone's ticked off Saint Peter... obviously.'
I opened my wardrobe quickly.
"Of course, just today," I muttered, rolling my eyes.
I grabbed the most rainproof coat from the closet and the umbrella that always jammed when I needed to open it fast.
I downed the coffee in a gulp just acceptable to human sanity.
Stuffed the papers into my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and left before the universe threw me any more obstacles.
The street was gray, as if someone had removed all the color from the world.
Huge droplets fell hard, exploding on the ground in little liquid stars.
It was as if the sky was machine-gunning the ground with dozens of water guns every minute...
On the other side of the sidewalk, a puddle was spreading like it wanted to become a small urban lake.
I hurried along, clutching the umbrella against the wind, which insisted on turning everything upside down.
I kept that up until I reached the bus stop, where the scene felt like a repeat of the first day of school... just different.
That first time, everyone was scattered in small groups, chatting and hanging out with their own friends.
This time, all the students were huddled under the shelter, almost glued together, like a single organism trying to escape the rain.
But what truly contrasted with the memory was something else: almost everyone was glued to their phones.
Hypnotized eyes, hunched posture, the world outside utterly ignored.
'Now things are more normal…'
I thought to myself, with a mix of relief and melancholy.
It was as though the city was going back to being what it always was—too distracted to notice anything meaningful.
The bus arrived slowly, splashing water from the tires.
I got on, took the first empty seat, and watched the raindrops run down the window the whole way.
At least there weren't any serious delays.
When I got off in front of the school, I immediately recognized Renata's figure by the entrance, adjusting her backpack.
"Sleep well?" she asked, with that smile that says she already knows the answer.
"I… slept too much, to be honest," I replied, stretching.
She laughed, and together we walked through the courtyard toward the classrooms.
She made a few small comments about the weekend, full of reading; mine, full of failed attempts to simulate geomagical formulas.
But then something started to change in the air.
There was a murmur… And then silence took over.
That tense kind of silence that isn't really silence, more like a collective suspension.
Renata was the first to notice the cause.
"What's that…?"
At the center of the courtyard, a big group of students had formed a noisy circle.
People pushing, laughing, yelling. All at once.
The energy was chaotic.
And as we got closer, we heard irregular sounds, as if someone was struggling to breathe or… or fighting their own body.
When we finally arrived, the scene became clear.
A boy, I didn't remember having seen before, was on his knees on the ground. His arms trembled, body spasming, as if every muscle had a will of its own.
He was screaming… but not in pain. It was like the screams were mixed with broken, senseless laughter.
All disjointed sounds.
And the marks.
On his wrist, deep purple stains. And not just there: on his back, his neck, some kind of irregular design climbing his skin, like rotting ink roots.
Renata brought her hand to her mouth.
I felt my throat tighten.
But the worst wasn't the boy.
It was the crowd.
The students all around... were filming.
Some laughed. Others made jokes.
"Oh my God..." I murmured, unable to believe it.
Someone yelled, really loud:
"Crazy suicidal!"
Another laughed and added:
"Had to be the special one..."
"Junkie…"
"Another autistic kid screwing up as always… everything normal in this shit…"
My stomach twisted.
'Strange way to start the day…'
Teachers finally arrived, pushing the crowd away with authority.
Two of them grabbed the boy, who continued shaking as if fighting something only he could see, and rushed him to the office.
The circle broke up as fast as it had formed.
And life carried on, as if nothing had happened.
As if it were just another ordinary Tuesday.
Renata took a deep breath, still shaken.
"Did you see that?" she asked.
"I did…" I whispered. "Wish I hadn't."
"It's not the first time, something similar happened a few weeks ago..." she concluded.
"What's happening here…"
We walked to the classroom in silence. My thoughts tangled quickly.
The laughter of others echoed in my mind as a cruelty I couldn't describe.
Something about that scene… was just too wrong. With the world, with people, in the air.
But then I remembered:
It was Book Fair day.
I couldn't start the day carrying that weight. Not today.
I forced myself to put my emotions into a corner of my mind, like closing a book before sleeping.
When we got to the classroom, we found out the first period teacher was absent.
Which meant: free period!
And for us, practice.
Renata and I left the classroom, went to the courtyard, and started reviewing Professor Miguel's latest advice.
The idea of controlling energy usage in combat.
I had to try to understand how to control my thoughts… So I wouldn't use too many QPs on a simple structure.
"Remember the Bonsai…"
His voice echoed in my mind, like he was there.
I ran my fingers over my literary mark, feeling a slight QP pulse under my skin.
Tried to apply what I remembered from the concept: energy distributed, not concentrated; internal balance before external strength.
Renata tested small, analogous spells, tiny sparks of light that formed floating symbols.
I tried to conjure more stable geometric shapes—tetragons and hexagons that wouldn't dissolve so quickly.
The period flew by.
When the bell rang, all the classes gathered outside.
The courtyard, the same place where the boy had convulsed at the start of class, now seemed far too normal.
Disturbingly so.
Basically, they just swept the incident under the rug and moved on.
'Better to ignore it…'
Looking around, all the high school classes were being called.
We lined up and headed for the school gate.
The walk to the parish hall would be together.
It was a short route.
The rain had eased up, just a light drizzle now, though the wind kept the air moist.
The city's main church rose imposing as we turned the corner. The walk was fairly quick, moving at a brisk pace.
Eight classes moved like a line of ants through town.
We got there in less than fifteen minutes, no trouble.
White walls, reddish roof, the central tower with a clock forever marking the wrong hour.
Behind it, the parish hall stretched out like a big covered corridor.
The sides were open, letting the wind carry the smell of paper, dust and... expectation.
When we finally stepped inside, my eyes lit up.
Stalls lined up to form improvised corridors.
Tables with books stacked at different heights, colorful spines, striking covers.
Shelves full to bursting, some so old they looked about to collapse.
And the vendors.
They yelled their offers like it was a medieval market.
"On sale! Three mangas for 130!"
"Classics for dirt cheap!"
"Last copies of enchanted encyclopedias!"
Organized chaos.
The perfect melody for any reader.
I felt my chest warm, like the place was a natural extension of my body.
Renata smiled by my side, her eyes already shining.
"Let's see what this fair has in store for us!" I declared, thrilled.
And for the first time that day, something inside me felt light.
The first thing I felt upon going deeper into the fair was the smell.
It wasn't just the smell of paper, though that was always my favorite.
But a messy, comforting mix of light dust, old wood, reheated coffee, and that typical print ink scent that stuck in the air as if it had its own will.
Every breath felt like being transported somewhere between reality and imagination, like walking inside a living library.
And there was that addictive new book smell.
Renata walked next to me, her coat still a bit damp from the rain. Her bangs were stuck to her forehead, proof the wind had been relentless.
She looked around enthusiastically.
"Damn…" she said, breaking into an involuntary smile. "It's bigger than last year."
"Yeah… I think they added more stalls," I replied, looking at the central corridor, seemingly endless.
The parish hall was always big, but something felt different this year, maybe the number of vendors, maybe the variety, or maybe just the sense that everything was more alive, fuller, noisier.
Like the books themselves wanted to be chosen.
We walked slowly among the stalls, dodging groups of students already dispersing in every direction.
Some teachers watched from afar, while others tried to direct the classes, pointing out times and boundaries of where we could roam.
A stall to the left caught the eye, with neat piles of classics: Machado de Assis, Clarice Lispector, Dostoevsky, Orwell.
The woman running it wore massive glasses perched on the tip of her nose.
"Classic sale!" she announced to us. "Buy two, get a personalized bookmark!"
"Tempting…" I murmured.
But my eyes were already being pulled toward another stall to the right, where a white-bearded man sold rare old fantasy editions. And…
"Is that a One Piece fanbook?" said Renata, surprised, speeding toward the stall like Luffy spotting a plate of meat.
"That's right, little one. It's the second edition of the One Piece fanbook, released in Japan in 2002, came here to Brazil only in 2014," explained the man behind the counter.
I approached quickly, since Renata dashed over to see the manga.
"For Imu-Sama, how much does that cost?" she asked, clearly scared of the answer.
"Well… I'm selling it for three hundred and fifty. With prices going up, I had to raise it a lot…"
"Oh… Okay, sir. I get it. I'll have to leave it for another time," she said, as if getting a cold bucket of water dumped on her.
We moved on to the next tent…
"These prices are insane, right…" I said, trying to cheer her up.
"Yes… It's horrible, are you crazy," she replied, turning toward another stall. "Let's go over there?"
I could see books with worn covers, tilted spines, yellowed pages, just my style. Pointing at the exact stall she indicated...
"You lost me there," I said to Renata, gesturing at the stand. "This is my weak spot."
"You have like thirty weak spots when it comes to books," she laughed.
"Hey! Slander."
I looked at the makeshift shelves, drawn to titles both familiar and totally new.
My fingers ran along the spine of an old edition of Chronicles of the Willow Kingdom, which I never thought I'd find there.
A rare, out-of-print book, one I'd only seen in bad PDFs online.
"Helena…" Renata nudged me. "You're drooling."
"I am not drooling. I'm just... appreciating."
"Appreciating intensely."
I smiled and picked up the book carefully, as if it could fall apart in my hands. The texture was firm, the paper had that delightful roughness of old books.
A gem.
"How much is this?" I asked the vendor.
He looked over his glasses, assessing the cover with a practiced hand.
"For students... one fifty."
"ONE FIFTY?!" My soul left my body for a second.
"That edition doesn't circulate anymore. For its age, it's like new. I'm giving you the friend price."
"Pity your enemies, then, mercy…" I muttered, putting the book back in genuine sadness.
Renata laughed at my suffering.
"Let's look at other stalls before you have to sell a kidney," she said, pulling my arm.
"Yeah… Today's like those days that break the bank…"
We wandered, passing classmates chatting about possible purchases: romance novels, comics, mysteries, QP encyclopedias.
Some students already had extra bags stuffed full, like they'd gotten divine permission to spend without limits.
I, on the other hand, had a budget more... stable to the ground.
Or underground, really…
"Hey, look!" Renata pointed at a stall selling used books for fifteen each.
A chaotic pile of tilted spines, hidden titles, battered editions… but pure gold for any book treasure hunter.
"We've found my section," I said, eyes sparkling.
Renata burrowed in first, bulldozing through piles. I knelt beside her, digging in.
After a few minutes, I set aside a book of Brazilian short stories from last century; an unknown collection about sea myths; and an almost intact edition of The Garden of Souls, just the cover a bit wonky, nothing serious as far as I'm concerned.
Renata found three fantasy novels aimed at young readers, all with protagonists dramatically styled to appeal to teens.
Exactly the kind of story she loves to binge.
"I wonder if we should have supervision messing with this stuff," she joked, balancing three books. "This is basically a literary minefield."
"Minefield... cheap! Which is what matters," I replied.
When we got up, I noticed the noise around us had grown or maybe I was just more aware.
Kids, teens, adults, teachers, all zigzagging through the stalls like an excited, disorganized ant nest.
The air felt warmer, even though outside was still damp and cold.
The sheer number of people made the hall feel smaller than it was.
"Wow," Renata muttered. "It's more packed than I thought."
I nodded.
Somehow, the fair felt... alive.
I can't explain it better.
The air vibrated oddly, like every conversation created a little echo, which built up, merging into a continuous noise you couldn't pinpoint.
Maybe it was just the crowd.
Or maybe just my imagination, too influenced by what we'd seen earlier in the school courtyard.
I tried to shrug off the thought.
Didn't want to ruin the day with flashbacks of the boy convulsing, the laughter, that feeling of... wrongness.
Today was supposed to be good.
"Come on," Renata said, calling me over to a shelf with sci-fi books.
We walked to a stall where a skinny vendor read a book, oblivious to the chaos.
His table was way too neat, each pile millimetrically even. He looked like someone who knew exactly where each title was.
While Renata flipped through some books, I spotted a small, discreet edition: black cover, metallic blue title. The Cities That No Longer Exist.
"Think I've heard of this…" I murmured.
I picked up the book and opened it. The pages had worn edges and some pencil notes from a previous reader.
My favorite kind of discovery.
"How much?" I asked the vendor.
He didn't look up.
"Twenty-five."
"Done."
Renata looked at me, eyebrows raised.
"Quick decision."
"It just... matches me," I answered. "Places that don't exist anymore. Pretty on-theme."
"Kinda depressing, but okay."
I kept walking with her through the hall, soaking in every detail.
The old church outside framed a pretty picture; the high hall ceiling had little yellow lights hanging; vendors shouted deals. Everything pulsed.
I liked that kind of setting, a mix of messiness and curiosity.
"You gonna eat something after?" Renata asked, dodging a group of second-graders.
"I think so. Been hungry since six in the morning."
"You're always been hungry since six."
"And you're always distracted like a goof."
"So cheeky," she shoved my shoulder, joking.
We laughed together.
And then something curious happened: for the first time that day, I was genuinely relaxed.
The courtyard scene felt like a distant ghost, washed out by the smell of books, the noise, and the fair's warmth.
Maybe, for a moment, I could actually enjoy it.
Maybe today could be light after all.
"Let's check out that aisle," I said. "Looks like there are local authors. My mom keeps saying I should read more from our region, you know…"
"Oh, sure," Renata replied with a sarcastic smile. "Read more local literature, Helena!"
"Exactly," I mimicked my mom's dramatic tone.
We headed to the side aisle, less crowded. Simpler tables, some made from planks on makeshift supports.
Handmade booklets, regional poetry collections, artisan books with hand-sewn covers.
A sweet older lady explained many authors were local: university students, retired teachers, writing enthusiasts.
A collection called Voices of the Valley of the River caught my eye for its simplicity.
I bought a small copy, green cover, and gold title. Poems about rain, wet earth, childhood stories from the countryside.
"That'll match the weather today," Renata commented.
"Yeah," I agreed, glancing out the hall's side opening at the still-damp ground. "Everything feels kind of watery today."
She nodded.
We packed our purchases and stepped away from the narrow aisle.
By now, nearly all the students from the school were spread through the hall, buying, chatting, laughing, taking photos, making a mess.
Teachers supervised from afar with that mix of patience and exhaustion only a public school educator has.
The atmosphere stayed upbeat, even as... something in the air felt a little odd. The feeling wasn't bad. Just... weird.
Like an invisible wind was shifting direction.
Maybe I was just being paranoid.
Or maybe, lately, it's always felt like there's a shadow behind reality.
But at that moment, I chose to ignore it.
I wanted to enjoy things while I still could.
"Okay, Helena," Renata said, looking excited. "Last stall before we hunt food. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
We made for the last row.
There, a big stall sold collectibles, bookmarks, literary stickers, buttons, and posters.
A visual paradise. Renata darted right for the themed bookmark shelf.
I went to the box of buttons.
One in particular caught my eye.
Simple: white background, thin black trim, in the center a small black feather sketched hastily.
I picked up the button gently.
I'm not exactly sure why.
But it felt... familiar.
As if that feather was part of something already inside me, but I hadn't figured it out yet.
"What does that mean...?"
My thoughts broke off when Renata called me:
"Helena! Look at this metal bookmark, it's beautiful!"
I smiled, still holding the button.
I took a deep breath.
And for an instant, everything felt normal.
I just wanted to enjoy the moment. And so I would.
"Alright. Let's eat," I said, laughing. "Before I buy more stuff and have to sell another organ."
Renata burst out laughing. And we headed off.