Deciphering Cupid - Chapter 5
(A Dean Cipher romance story)
Miranda Lovelace can make anyone fall in love. Ranked Ninth in Godolkin University’s coveted Top Ten, ‘Cupid’ knows what she wants and how to get it: to become the most famous influencer in the world.
Unfortunately, the new Dean isn’t so impressed. Since taking up the mantle, Cipher has made himself abundantly clear: supes are soldiers, not influencers. After he humiliates her, Miranda plots devious revenge: make Dean Cipher fall pathetically in love. Having him wrapped around her little finger will be so much fun…
But as her relationship with the Dean develops, Miranda discovers not everything is as it seems. Horrifyingly, she catches feelings for Cipher herself. As she falls deeper and deeper in love with him, the man she thought she knew as ‘Cipher’ threatens to drag her further and further into the darkness…
For the first time since enrolling at Godolkin University, Miranda Lovelace felt powerful. Not just cute, not just sexy, but actually dangerous. A force to be reckoned with. A superhero.
She had been training with Cipher for over a fortnight now. In the daytime, Miranda helped the Dean prepare for his meetings and managed his diary whilst attending her own lectures and classes. In the evenings, Cipher would take her back to the locked concrete room and push her to her limit. He had started her training on humans to begin with; their brains were a lot easier to control, he had explained. Miranda didn’t ask him why, assuming it was knowledge he had collected over the years of working as one of Vought’s top behavioural scientists, or from his own personal experience through his puppetry. Every evening, Martin (whom Miranda had learnt had the useful power of selectively wiping someone’s memories) would bring in a new human ‘volunteer’. Every evening, Miranda would spend the training session forcing this human to become either achingly in love with her, fanatically devoted to the superhero cause, or curiously obsessed with any particular random object she could think of. That one never failed to make her giggle. She liked watching the humans embarrass themselves in front of their little audience of three. Martin would always guffaw loudly, whilst Cipher would shake his head and roll his eyes. Then, when she had grown bored of her juvenile entertainment, Miranda would practice severing all of the connections she had created, and would start the process all over again. Cipher would stand next to her writing notes on his clipboard, meticulously detailing all of his observations down in his swooping, cursive penmanship.
He would catch her every time she fell. Her fainting spells were embarrassingly common. It always happened when she severed rather than created a connection within someone. Severing connections left her feeling exhausted, completely drained of all energy, as she would delve deep into the humans’ minds and rip open their hearts and yank out pink tendrils of affection she had forced in there only a little while beforehand. She would awaken in Cipher’s arms each time, a little flustered. The Dean would frown and sigh and remind her sternly that he wouldn’t always be there to catch her, but his dark eyes would betray hints of humour within them and he would always hold her for a second longer than necessary. Earlier tonight, when she had pretended to stay unconscious for longer than she actually was, Miranda had caught Cipher staring at her lips. She had watched through her eyelashes, heart pounding, as he had drawn close enough to her mouth that she could feel his breath on her face. She hadn’t dared to breathe. His expression had been conflicted, like he was struggling to decide something, lost deep in thought. When she had finally let out the air in her lungs she had been carefully holding, the Dean had cleared his throat and had quickly turned away.
The rest of the night’s training session went by rapidly. Miranda finished the lesson by brainwashing her latest human volunteer, the elderly part-time cleaner Patrick, into a die-hard supe-worshipping fanatic. Patrick had ranted on and on about the glories of Homelander for a solid five minutes whilst Miranda watched, wide-eyed, before Cipher eventually turned to Martin and ordered him to knock the elderly cleaner out.
“Thank you, Martin.” He dismissed him, still jotting everything down on the clipboard. He turned to Miranda as Martin dragged Patrick’s unconscious body out of the room. It was hard to tell from Cipher’s expression whether he was impressed with her or not.
“You’re improving steadily,” he said. “Good. That took two minutes, forty-nine seconds for you to get a hold of him then. The first time you tried forcing a connection with an abstract concept instead of another living thing, it took you just over five minutes,” Cipher observed. He spoke in a detached, scientific way. Every comment he had made about her training so far had been done in a cold, factual way which made her feel a little like his own personal lab experiment.
“Why did he go on about Homelander for so long?” Miranda asked, perplexed. “None of the others did that. I didn’t tell him to,” She added.
“No, you didn't.” Cipher agreed, putting away his notes. “More accurately, you can’t tell him to. Your power doesn’t work that way.”
“But that was me. I just brainwashed him—”
The Dean held a hand up. She stopped mid-sentence. Miranda had learnt by now that meant no talking.
“You know who Cate Dunlap is, right?” Cipher asked. Miranda nodded; everyone knew who Cate was, especially after all the events that had unfolded last summer. She was a Guardian of Godolkin and one of its most top ranking students. There was a rumour going around that even Homelander himself had sought the use of Cate’s terrifying mind control power against some of his enemies.
“Not really. She’s in the year below, we don’t have any classes together.”
He pressed her. “But you’re aware of her powers, correct? You know what she can do?”
Miranda didn’t know where Cipher was going with all of this. “Of course. It’s similar to what I can do, right?” She said slowly. “We both control people.”
“Wrong,” Cipher emphasised. She stared back at him, confused. He continued, clipboard in hand, speaking urgently, “Yes, on the surface they appear alike but this is only on the most basic superficial level. You both persuade people right, you control them? At least, that’s what it looks like. But the main difference is you, Miranda, don’t actually control people,” He let the words hang in the air for a second. She blinked back at him.
“You don’t control people,” Cipher repeated, “You influence them. You create a connection in someone’s mind with a particular person, an agenda, a random fucking object, etcetera, etcetera. That person then adjusts their behaviour accordingly. But what they actually do with that behaviour… Well that’s up to them, not up to you,” He explained, as she watched with rapt attention. “You can’t give people specific orders like Cate can. You didn’t order Patrick there to go off on a five-minute patriotic monologue when you created that connection in his brain. He did that himself. The old man probably goes around monologuing about all kinds of crap in his life. You, Miranda, just happened to sway him towards one about Homelander, which he did with gusto and bored us all to fucking tears… Understand?”
Cipher looked her over. “How do you feel? You fainted twice today.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine, honest,” Miranda repeated. “Just a little thirsty, that’s all.”
Cipher started rummaging around in his blazer. She watched curiously as he pulled out a completed Jitter Bean coffee shop stamp card and presented it to her. “Here. Get yourself a free drink on me.” He said, pressing it into her hand. “I’ve been carrying around this card in my pocket for what feels like forever. What’s that one you always get? Vanilla matcha latte something-or-other? I can’t keep up with all the coffee trends you young people have these days. It’s like a fucking candy store.”
“Venti-iced-matcha-latte with coconut milk and two pumps of sugar-free vanilla syrup,” Miranda said playfully. She thanked him for the card and tucked it into her handbag.
“Venti iced matcha… Whatever it is, it looks disgusting. Coconut milk? Oh my god.”
“You literally drink blended salmon.”
They both looked at each other for a second — Cipher's lips were curled upwards in amusement — and laughed.
“I told you, omega-three stimulates the brain,” The Dean said smiling. “You should really try some next time — maybe then you’ll be able to brainwash someone and actually remain conscious afterwards.” He winked at her and then said lightly. “You know, you should really consider working on that by the way. What’s going to happen when you're out in the real world instead of this nice, cushy training room?” He gestured around him.
Miranda suddenly felt very bold. “Why do I need to fix that when I have you there to catch me?” She asked suggestively, heart thumping.
Cipher did not reply. His dark eyes flicked over to hers.
She laughed aloud, suddenly shy, breaking the tension. “Besides, you said so yourself; I’m improving, aren’t I? I ripped open that cleaner’s brain like a sponge — I could feel it.”
Cipher stepped closer to her. “I told you, didn’t I?” He was so close she could smell him — the soft, clean linen scent she had come to recognise as his. “The human brain is an extraordinary thing,” He marveled, “It’s an incredibly complicated organ, made up of an unfathomable number of interconnected nerve cells firing off hundreds of billions of electrochemical signals every second. It’s a masterful feat of human evolution, really. And yet, for all the brain’s impressive evolutionary prowess, it can be controlled like that.”
He snapped his fingers and climbed inside her mind again. She watched helplessly as he made her body perform a perfect pirouette like she was his little ballerina doll. She kept spinning and spinning, a prisoner locked within her own mind.
“Who’s the sponge now?” Cipher asked mockingly.
He released her so Miranda stopped twirling suddenly and almost tripped up in her stilettos. Cipher grabbed her arm, pulling her against his chest.
“Careful. I don’t know why you insist on wearing those ridiculous shoes,” He muttered.
She tried to ignore how good Cipher’s body felt pressed up against hers. He was wearing her favourite pale blue shirt again and she could feel the warmth of his skin underneath the soft cornflower cotton. Cheeks tinged a faint pink, Miranda lifted her head slowly to meet his eyes.
“Can I try on a supe next time?” She breathed.
“I am!” She said a little sulkily and stuck out her lip.
The Dean’s eyes glittered in amusement. Sometimes he seemed to like it when she acted a little bratty with him. “I want you to master the basics first,” He ordered as she sulked. “Master those completely and you’ll have a much higher chance of unlocking your full potential. We don’t want to cut any corners. Once you’ve reached this I promise you we will get you properly involved in the war to come — not as a student, but as a weapon,” Cipher emphasised with an exalted timbre, eyes dark and gleaming like light on tar. “I have grand plans for you, Miranda.”
He punched in the code to unlock the room’s front exit. They both watched as the huge metal doors slowly rumbled open. A cool night breeze tickled her face and Miranda sighed contentedly. She liked it when Cipher talked about her role in the upcoming war on humankind. She didn’t quite understand where she fitted in or what he would want her to do, or who the war was against exactly, other than the Starlighters, but the Dean’s words made her feel important. He gave her a purpose; he made her feel strong. When she was with him, Miranda felt like she could do anything, be anyone. Her future stretched out ahead of her, unlimited and wrought with endless, exciting possibilities. No one had ever made her feel this way before…
Cipher motioned to her to go outside, which she did, then he turned off the lights and locked the doors again. They closed with a muffled clang and a hiss as the bolts secured into place. The two of them stood outside alone in the deserted campus, faintly illuminated from the soft light coming from the other university buildings.
Miranda smiled at him and raised her hand shyly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
Cipher shook his head. “I’m afraid you won’t,” He said. She looked at him, puzzled, lowering her hand. “I’ll be out all day at an external meeting. Vought has organised this last-minute joint government strategic two-day conference in the city which apparently all ExCo members are required to attend.” He explained, and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s incredibly irritating — I was only notified this morning.”
“Do you need me to print any papers for you?” She asked, trying to mask her disappointment, “I don’t mind going back to the office and doing it quickly now—”
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” The Dean cut her off. He did not elaborate any further.
Weird. He was acting even more secretive than usual, she thought. He had never had any problems with her printing and reading all the ExCo papers before, even giving her the pack afterwards for her to nose through his notes. A two-day conference in the city centre? He was supposed to be meeting with Stacey Ferrera and discussing the plans for the new Student Union tomorrow. She would have to reschedule it for a third time now…
“I guess I’ll see you on Monday then,” Miranda said reluctantly. She waved and turned to head back to the university accommodation block but Cipher called out from behind.
She turned her head. He looked as if he was contemplating something; he was rubbing his beard, brows furrowed. Then he lifted his dark, piercing eyes and suggested slowly, “Why don’t we move our training session to the weekend instead? We'll take the opportunity to get off campus and go and test your powers out in the real world. After all, that’s what it’s all about, right? You can’t stay locked up in that concrete room forever.”
“What did you have in mind?” She asked.
“That’s for you to find out,” He said breezily. “Meet me at my residence off campus grounds on Sunday morning at ten. You know where the Dean’s house is, right? Cosy little place. I’ll let security know in advance, of course — wouldn’t want the boys giving you a scare. Although, with your powers I’d quite like to see how that goes…”
Miranda’s heart raced. Meet Cipher at his private residence off campus? On a weekend? She nodded quickly, praying it was too dark for him to notice her childish blushing. She wondered what his house would look like, what kinds of personal artefacts he would keep there, what it would smell like.
Cipher grinned like a cheshire cat. “Until then.” He nodded at her, turned on his heel, and strode out into the darkness.
The office felt lonelier that Friday without him. It appeared bigger, emptier somehow; the space between her desk, the long table, and the two chesterfield sofas suddenly seemed to her uncomfortably large. The grey stone walls loomed imposingly high above and the room felt unusually quiet without Cipher’s sardonic commentary and frequent, oftentimes unreasonable, demands.
Miranda sat at her desk, bored out of her mind. The latest Sabrina Carpenter album was playing out loud from her phone; anything to drown out the uncomfortable, constant silence. She was in the midst of a mildly infuriating email spat with the Head of Student Life, Stacey Ferrera. Stacy was demanding to know why her appointment with Cipher that had originally been scheduled for today at three o’clock had been pushed back last minute to next Tuesday. Miranda was just about to send off a polite email back and had just started painting her nails, when the onerous honeybee supe started calling her on her laptop. Rolling her eyes, Miranda put Sabrina on pause and grudgingly accepted the call.
“Good morning Stacey, how are you?” She beamed through the screen, abandoning one nail halfway through so there was only a thin layer of polish. “Thanks so much for calling, I was actually just about to respond to you.”
Stacey did not look happy. Her lips were pursed in displeasure as she spoke impatiently, “Hi Miranda, why has this been pushed back by another week? I thought I told you on the chain I need to speak with the Dean urgently about a concern with the Student Union,” She said haughtily. “If we don’t get his sign-off on the budget it’s going to delay the entire freshmen housing transformation project. Do you understand the timelines I’m up against here? This is the third time now — what’s going on?”
“I’m so sorry about this. It’s just that something important came up which meant I had to cancel all of the Dean’s meetings today. He’s not in the office at all until Monday.”
Miranda paused for a moment, thinking. She wondered how much information Cipher would want her to divulge. Not that he had given her any detail about the conference anyway. She hadn’t been allowed to see the papers; he’d kept them locked in one of the secure cabinets he hadn’t given her the passcode to.
“He’s at a two-day conference in New York City with the rest of ExCo,” She said eventually. “We were told attendance was strictly mandatory. I’m sorry about this, it only came into the diary yesterday.”
Stacey seemed to accept this answer, although her lips were still pursed in a tight frown. Miranda decided she didn’t like the lipstick she was wearing; it looked dry and chalky, and her foundation was too matte. Or was that the powder?
“Can I see him first thing on Monday?” Stacey demanded.
“He’ll be at a breakfast roundtable then with the Deans from all the Ivy League colleges. You can see him in the afternoon instead?”
“Fine. But this had better be the last change!”
Miranda smiled at her. “Great. I’ll send a scheduler to your calendar now,” She said, voice dripping with false sincerity. “Thank you so much for your flexibility.”
An hour went by. Everything was remarkably, painfully quiet. She did not receive any new diary requests for the Dean, or any emails at all in fact. Miranda had finished painting her nails, opting for a deep red colour rather than her usual hot pink. She admired the glossy crimson tone, thinking they made her look much more grownup and serious. She was wearing a rich red lipstick to match.
With little else to do other than count down the hours, she decided she would be a good personal assistant and tidy the office whilst Cipher was out. She found cleaning, and any sort of household chore really, weirdly therapeutic. A hangover from her days of being deeply invested with the trad-supe, antifeminist movement, perhaps. Modesty Monarch would be so proud of her, Miranda thought with amusement as she wiped down the glass table and washed and dried the glasses. Amusement quickly faded into guilt. She had been avoiding her so-called favourite professor for over a month now, ever since the cringe-inducing Annabella commercial was first released. That fucking advert. It haunted her every time she stepped outside. The day they had started playing it in the Godolkin campus of all places, Miranda had thrown all of the free lipglosses Annabella had given her into the bin. Cipher had mocked her relentlessly that day. The curl of his lip and his dark, teasing eyes were what she had thought about later that evening when she’d been alone in bed as she’d slowly pleasured herself, hips arched in frustration.
She wiped down Cipher’s desk and rearranged the papers he kept there. He was always reading some scientific journal article or newly published research paper, devouring each one hungrily as he sipped on his white meat, green veg, nut butter smoothies. Within the desk drawers were last week’s ExCo papers, the briefing for Monday’s breakfast roundtable which she had printed off and put there this morning, and an old newsletter article about Marie Moreau, the freshman supe with the power to move blood who had disappeared from the university a couple of months ago after the events in summer. Alongside the papers were some minimalist silver cufflinks and a blue silk tie. Miranda lifted the tie to her nose. It smelled like Cipher. Blushing, she hastily put it back. Don’t be such a creep, she scolded herself.
She vacuumed the floor around Cipher’s desk, and then moved to the heavy navy curtains, switching out the nozzle on the hoover. Whilst she was standing by the window fiddling with the machine, she caught sight of something strange. The Dean’s office was one floor up, and Miranda had a good view of the university campus’ entrance. A beige van suddenly pulled up outside out of nowhere. Squinting out of the window, she managed to make out the words ‘ELMIRA ADULT REHABILITATION CENTER’ written on the side. The passenger door of the van then opened, and her eyes widened in surprise as Cipher stepped out.
So much for being in New York City. Miranda watched, frozen, hiding behind the curtain. The Dean exchanged a few words with the driver, who nodded and then pulled away. Cipher did up his blazer and straightened his tie. He walked over to a black car which she suddenly noticed had been parked across the road. The car was stationary for a moment and then drove off slowly in the opposite direction.
Vacuuming abandoned, Miranda raced back to her seat and opened up her laptop. She opened a new incognito browser and typed in ‘Elmira Adult Rehabilitation Center’. Come on…come on…
Nothing. Nothing came up when she searched. No webpages, no wikipedia article, no mention of it on any social media platform whatsoever. She checked every single one, hands trembling. What had Cipher been doing there instead of discussing strategic planning at a conference in the city with Vought? And why did he not want her to know? Lost in thought, she closed her laptop.
Distracted, Miranda left the office at lunchtime after texting Georgia and asking if she would like to grab food together. They met in the cafeteria a short while after, just the two of them. Thankfully, Lisa (who Miranda had noticed was spending an increasingly annoying amount of time around them) was off visiting her parents in Denver for her birthday. Miranda was grateful for the rare alone time; she missed Georgia. Despite the two of them sharing the same room, she felt like she’d hardly spoken with her recently. Georgia was always off at one of Lisa’s parties (which Miranda never received an invite to), or spending time with her new boyfriend Joe, a guy whom she had met at one of said parties. Joe seemed nice enough; Miranda had met him once or twice when Georgia brought him round before she had headed off to her private training sessions with Cipher. She didn’t know what his powerset was; he didn’t like to talk about it. Instead, Joe liked to talk about the fantasy book he was currently writing, and the Dungeons and Dragons game he had somehow roped Georgia into playing with him. Miranda would always nod politely along, privately judging the two of them. Dungeons and Dragons was a game played by a bunch of sad people who had been bullied in school.
She was standing next to Georgia in the long line wrapping around Jitter Bean’s coffee shop. It was always this busy on a Friday and Georgia had complained when she’d told her she wanted to go, but Miranda was absolutely dying for her daily matcha. She clutched the completed stamp card given to her by Cipher closely in her palm. Georgia was chatting a bunch of nonsense about something she didn’t care about - something about the antics of her dwarven cleric-healer or whatever. Miranda just nodded along every minute or so, bored out of her mind.
“And then Joe — who’s the dungeon master — told us we all had to roll for initiative, and I got a two! So I had to go last, and then Lisa’s high elf sorcerer got attacked by the beholder and I didn’t know what to do so I ended up using my last spell slot to heal her—”
“—And then Lisa cast fireball which is of course her favourite spell, and—”
“Hey, have you ever heard of something called the Elmira Adult Rehabilitation Center?” Miranda turned to her, interrupting Georgia’s story mid sentence.
“Um?” Georgia looked taken aback. “No? Should I have?”
Miranda shook her head. Damn. Not that she was expecting Georgia to know, of course, but it had been a tiny possibility. Surely someone around the Godolkin campus must have also seen the mysterious beige van. It couldn’t just have been her.
“I was just wondering. Nevermind, don’t worry about it,” She said quickly. “What are you going to order, by the way? They’ve started doing pumpkin spice lattes again, look.”
Georgia didn’t speak for a minute or two. Miranda was too busy inspecting the new October menu to notice. “I was still talking just then, by the way,” She said suddenly.
“What?” Miranda glanced at her.
“I said, I was just talking earlier,” Georgia said, tone increasingly frustrated. “You interrupted me. Again. You know you always do that, right? I don’t do that to you.”
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
They stood there in an uneasy silence for the rest of the time in the queue. Miranda was relieved to finally reach the front of the line. She recognised the girl behind the counter, with her dark long hair, hexagonal glasses and mulberry coloured lipstick. It was Sarina, the girl who had helped her that one time in reception when she had seen the flyer pinned up advertising the PA role in the Dean’s office.
“Hi, what can I get you? Oh - it’s you!” Sarina said smiling. “I heard you ended up getting the job after all — congratulations! Must be pretty busy right now, hope it’s all going OK!”
“Thanks,” Miranda replied, looking a little confused. “Sorry, don’t you work at reception?”
“I do! But I also work here. And in the library. And on the winter ball committee...” She chuckled to herself at some kind of inside personal joke.
Miranda blinked at her. “Four jobs? How does that work?”
“Well, I like to keep myself busy,” Sarina said. “And it’s pretty easy having multiple jobs when you can teleport!” She winked at her, “Speaking of, you’ve just reminded me — I actually need to check back in on the reception desk. I’ve been away for too long and Belinda might need me. Don’t worry, I’ll leave you in the very capable hands of my colleague Tess here. Tess, would you mind serving them?” She waved cheerfully and disappeared into thin air, making a little pop sound.
The other barista turned to her. “Hi, what can I get for you today?” She asked in a deadpan, monotone voice.
Miranda’s blood ran cold. It was her.
She recognised the girl from the locked concrete room instantly. Tess Galloway, her first human ‘volunteer.’ Miranda had radicalised her at the behest of Cipher’s order during her first private training session. Tess had passed out under the strain from the mental rewiring. Martin had then wiped her memories whilst she had lain on the floor unconscious and had dragged her out the back doors. Yes, this was definitely her. She recognised her long brown hair, her watery big blue eyes. Only — Tess’ eyes weren’t bloodshot anymore, just …vacant. As if she was seeing everything around her but wasn’t really taking any of it in. She stared right through Miranda like she was a ghost and repeated her question with the same undead lifelessness. It creeped her out.
“I’ll, uh, have a pumpkin spice latte please,” Miranda told her, deciding to switch things up now that autumn was in full swing. She put Cipher’s full stamp card onto the counter. “I have this card? It’s full.”
Tess looked at it and picked it up. She nodded wordlessly.
Whilst Miranda’s pumpkin spice latte was being made, the television screen opposite them which had been playing an advertisement for Modesty Monarch’s new Silence and Submission class switched over to the Vought News Network. Firecracker, the replacement anchor after the mysterious disappearance of previous host Cameron Coleman, burst onto the speakers with her loud, drawling twang.
“Howdy y’all, it’s Firecracker here, your favourite host at VNN bringing you only the complete truth bomb!” She grinned wildly. “And that bomb’s coming in real toasty right now as we bring you a fresh story hot off the press. The treacherous Robert Singer who conspired with Starlight and the underground pedophile ring to betray this great nation heads to court for his long-awaited trial. Bringing you live updates from outside the New York Court of Appeals — a mob of nasty, vicious Starlighters has just attacked a group of peaceful Hometeamers. The situation has turned incredibly violent and the national guard has had to be sent in! We can’t go on like this folks, wake up, they are killing us!”
Whilst Firecracker was still speaking, Miranda pointed a finger at the screen and raised her chin at Tess. “Hey, what do you think of all this Starlighter - Hometeamer stuff?”
Startled, Tess glanced her way, blinking nervously. “I… I don't know. It's bad when they fight, I guess. Why are you asking?” She stared down at her feet.
Well that wasn’t what Miranda had been expecting. Usually after Cupid made someone fall passionately in love with another, her powers would linger in their target for around a month or so before Miranda would inevitably get a request from their conniving partner begging her to top it up. It was such good blackmail material. She’d had a lot of fun with it in the past, enjoying making people squirm and plead with her for a little more of that love juice. With Tess though… Miranda hadn’t been exactly sure how long her powers would manifest in someone after she created a connection between them and a specific agenda, but she had sort of been expecting Tess to at least make a comment in favour of the Hometeamers or something. She had been looking forward to it. For goodness’ sake, it had only been two weeks since she’d brainwashed her! She dreaded revealing this irritating flaw to Cipher when she felt like she was finally starting to impress him.
She tried again. “Do you like Firecracker, Tess? Do you think she's a good host?”
“Um, she’s OK… I’m not really sure. Sorry, we just play whatever’s on the news…” The barista glanced around anxiously, the cup of latte forgotten about in her hands.
Miranda decided to press her. “But do you support what she’s doing?” She asked impatiently, raising her voice. “You know, holding the Starlighters to account — those fucking monsters? I mean you must have an opinion, right, watching the news all day? Go on, what is it? I want to know.”
Tess’ eyes started watering. She started steaming the milk, tears running down her face. “I… I don’t know, I'm sorry. Why do you keep asking?” She filled the latte cup with a shaking hand. “Sorry, do — do you want something?”
It was at this point when Georgia decided to cut in. Up until this moment her best friend had been engrossed in a separate conversation on her phone with Lisa, asking her how her birthday celebrations in Colorado were going. She put down the phone and glared at Miranda.
“No, she doesn’t. I’m sorry, please ignore her,” She said sharply as Tess nodded and wiped her eyes, sniffing.
The moment the two of them had sat down at one of the empty cafeteria tables, Georgia launched into her. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” She demanded, “Why did you do that? Couldn’t you see she was literally crying?”
“She’s one of the human volunteers I trained on,” Miranda hissed back, keeping her voice low. “I wanted to test if my powers were still working.”
“They’re volunteers,” Miranda emphasised, rolling her eyes. “They signed up, they knew what they were getting into! And keep it down, people are staring.”
“Does that look like a willing volunteer to you?” Georgia ignored her, jabbing a finger towards Tess. “What did you do to her? She’s like a zombie or something! She can barely string a sentence together.”
Miranda took a slow sip of her pumpkin spice latte. She leant back in her chair, smiling and nodding at the students around them who were watching the two of them with increasing curiosity. “I created a connection between her and the pro-supe movement, that’s all,” She explained breezily, smugly. “I was asking her those questions because I wanted to see if she was still brainwashed or not,” She sighed. “It appears it’s worn off, annoyingly…”
“Whatever you’re doing, you need to stop,” Georgia warned her seriously.
“It will wear off,” Miranda said through gritted teeth. “Probably.”
Georgia snorted. She shook her head incredulously and laughed in disbelief. When she lifted her head and met her eyes again she seemed to see Miranda through a completely different lens. Her eyes turned cold and hard. “What you’re doing is immoral. Get Cipher to train you another way.”
“I can’t. This is the only way I can grow my powers. I need to practice on humans because their minds are easiest to control.”
Miranda felt herself getting angry. Her face turned hot and when she spoke, her voice shook. “Oh right, so when I train my powers it’s ‘fucked up’, but it’s perfectly fine to make fucking fire tornados with Lisa and throw people across the room with them, is it? Of course it is. Talk about hypocrisy.”
“That’s different, it’s against other supes. Nobody actually gets hurt.”
“Oh yeah, well what about that time with your sister?”
Miranda regretted the words immediately after they’d come out of her mouth. She wished she could rewind time and swallow them all back down her throat and into the nasty place which they had sprung from. It was too late, of course. Georgia’s face had gone completely white. She was gripping the sandwich she had been clutching all this time — too distracted to eat — with shaking hands. She stuffed it back into her bag and stood up.
Miranda held out her hands. “I’m sorry, that was so out of order. I wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry…”
Georgia turned to her before she left, her expression strained. Her voice was flat when she spoke.
“Enjoy the rest of your lunch.”
The Dean’s residence was a twenty minute walk from campus. In keeping with tradition, every Dean of Godolkin University ever since Thomas Godolkin himself had founded the school in 1965 had occupied it during the duration of their tenure. It was strictly off limits to students; the only way to get past security was through personal invitation. Miranda had heard rumours that Dean Shetty used to extend these to Cate Dunlap from time to time. Despite numerous pleas with Shetty to discuss the television contract promised to her since her enrolment, an invitation had never been extended to Miranda before. Until, that was, today. She was curiously excited.
The residence was on the other side of the sports field down a private gated road, surrounded by a cluster of tall evergreen trees and a beautifully maintained flower garden. The house was modern, but fashioned in a mock vintage style with cobbled stone walls, diamond grid windows, and rose and honeysuckle trellises decorating the front and sides. As she walked eagerly up the driveway, Miranda was reminded of the holiday cottages she had sometimes stayed at in the Lake District with Nanny as a young child whilst her parents had holidayed abroad. Ambleside on Lake Windermere had been her favourite. She remembered Nanny would always give her these rhubarb-and-custard hardboiled sweets to reward her for good behaviour when they walked through the village proper down to the picturesque little cottage by the lake. She remembered how much she enjoyed the tart, sharp fruit flavour juxtaposed with the mild creamy taste, and the way Nanny would chuckle at the pink and yellow colouring it would leave on Miranda’s tongue when she stuck it out. The Dean’s residence at Godolkin reminded her of this cottage from her childhood, with its cobbled walls, grey stone roof and perfectly trimmed green hedges. The main difference being, of course, the two burly security guards permanently stationed outside with their handguns and their tasers.
What would these guns even do though, Miranda wondered, as she passed nervously through the gate. Most supes had some sort of bullet resistance, including her. Maybe the guards had other powers as well.
She had nothing to worry about. It appeared Cipher had already given security a heads up about her. As she walked tentatively up the steps to the residence’s front door, the two men just nodded at her and stepped aside. One of them even smiled and wished her a “Good morning, Miss.” Miranda smiled prettily back. The door to the house was a large, heavy oak one, decorated with a golden lion knocker that was surprisingly difficult to lift as she knocked hesitantly and waited.
Movement inside. Miranda pulled out the compact mirror which she kept on her at all times and checked her lipstick. She had started eschewing her signature rosy pink for a rich ruby red, enjoying the way it made her feel more professional and adult-like. She wondered if Cipher had noticed the swap. She wondered if he liked it. As she pouted, inspected, and admired her mouth, the golden lion knocker stared back at her menacingly.
“Miranda. Good morning, please, do come in.” Cipher held it open for her.
He was wearing a white cotton shirt and cream cardigan, paired with tan trousers and a brown braided leather belt. She liked him in cream. Without the suit he looked softer somehow, more approachable. He looked like he shopped at Marks & Spencer and she would find him in the food aisle buying poached salmon fillets. Looking closer, she noticed he had dark bags underneath his eyes. Something to do with his mysterious business at Elmira? No doubt he would try and pass it off as lack of sleep from his trip if she commented on them.
Cipher beckoned her in and closed the door, leading her into the residence. She didn’t know what she had been expecting the inside of his private abode to look like. His office at the university was grand, cold, and imposing, with walls reminiscent of a medieval European castle. Fitting for the authoritative Dean who ruled the university with an iron fist and revelled in his speeches of war and destruction. His hero optimisation room was barren and clinical — where the fanatical scientist who lived within him ran his experimentations.
Cipher’s home off campus was surprisingly …tasteful. Normal, even. The diamond grid windows let in a generous amount of mid-October sun into the dark panelled room with its high wooden beams. Everything was decorated in a timeless, neutral colour palette, with the two centrepieces of the room being a grey stone fireplace and a large black-and-white rug which complemented the mahogany furniture without drawing too much attention from it.
She wouldn’t go as far to describe the house as homely, however. It all seemed too perfect, too conformist — almost unlived in, like those idealised showrooms she would sometimes see flicking through home catalogues. She struggled to imagine the Dean relaxing in the armchair in the corner with its perfectly plumped cushions, for example, leafing through one of the scientific journals she knew he paid a subscription for. Or eating alone at the large polished dining table after a busy day of ExCo meetings, strategy deep dives, and training sessions with students. Not that Miranda had ever seen Cipher eat anything anyway. The Dean insisted on maintaining a one hundred per cent all liquid calorie diet. “I’m watching my figure.” He had teased her once, when she had asked him why. God, she had such weird taste in men…
“So, what do you think of the rug?” Cipher asked her, gesturing as he went and leant against the table. “I’m intrigued to know. It’s new — I bought it from this artist in New Hampshire a week ago. The black and white design is supposed to invite contemplation. A little pretentious, yes, but I like it.” He watched her, rocking back on his heels.
He wanted her opinion on …interior design? She glanced at the rug again. “You want to know what I think?” Miranda asked, bemused.
Cipher shrugged. “Well, yes. You have an eye for fashion, don’t you? You always look so put together when I see you,” He said casually. “Or is that just for me?”
She felt her cheeks burn hot. “It’s …nice. It ties the room together.”
He grinned. “Doesn’t it just?”
She stared at her feet, hovering by the entrance. She didn’t know whether to take her shoes off or not. How long were they going to chat here for before Cipher took her away to the mysterious training location? Not that she minded, of course. It was nice seeing another side of him, away from the distractions of university life and all the printing and briefing and logistical administration. He must have realised her dilemma, as he stopped leaning against the table, straightened himself up, and looked apologetic.
“Your training, yes. I’m sorry — just give me one moment and then we can be on our way. I’m rather embarrassed to admit this but I misplaced my notebook last night. I was hoping to have found it by the time you arrived. Minor mishap from the conference, unfortunately. Wait there and I’ll check the study once more — it should be there somewhere.”
“Sure, no problem,” She said. Cipher inclined his head at her and crossed into another section of the house. He disappeared from view. Miranda called out after him. “So, where are we going today, anyway?”
“You’ll find out soon.” Came the reply. His voice sounded like it came from the back of the house. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise for you. Don’t you just love surprises? You’ll love this one.”
“Of course you do.” She heard him reply, and there was an audible sign. She imagined him rolling his eyes and shaking his head. Cipher then called out in his sardonic, mocking tone, “You really are a brat, aren’t you?”
A shiver ran up her spine. Miranda imagined him rebuking her sternly, dark eyes gleaming, his hand raised, as the Dean bent her over his knees and spanked her hard. “You really are a brat, aren’t you?” He would say, lifting up her skirt and smacking her bottom firmly. He would recount all the times she misbehaved and then inform her with a sadistic glint all the ways he would discipline her as a result…
Miranda opened her eyes, stomach clenched. You can’t keep doing this, she scolded herself, he’s like forty-nine years old…
In desperate need of distraction, cheeks tinged a dusty red, Miranda wandered down the hallway whilst waiting for the Dean. She was surprised to see it decorated with dozens of different oil canvas paintings and row after row of framed photographs. The paintings weren’t at all to her taste. They were all rural, idealised landscapes — sweeping, romanticised versions of the countryside full of picturesque farmhouses, sprawling with cows and chickens and laughing chubby children carrying basketfulls of eggs with bows in their straw hats. The photographs were all black and white and serious. Most of them looked to have been taken in the 1950s and early 1960s, depicting groups of various young and middle-aged men and women standing rigidly in their finery.
One photograph caught her eye. A group of Vought scientists — all men, of course — posing primly in their white lab coats. The names of the individuals were written down in tidy handwriting underneath. With a start, she realised that the man wearing glasses smiling proudly in the centre of the group was none other than Thomas Godolkin himself, the founder of the university. She pressed her fingers gently against the glass. One of the first things Cipher had done as Dean had been to install a magnificent bronze bust of Thomas Godolkin in the main university quad. Miranda never would have recognised the man from the bust from his photograph here — Godolkin looked so disappointingly unimposing and weedy on camera.
At the end of the corridor she spotted something unusual. Something that didn’t belong in an ordinary house. Godolkin’s photograph already forgotten about, Miranda hurried over for a closer look, her stilettos echoing loudly.
It was a huge metal door. She had seen this before, she realised: the hero optimisation room. She recognised the giant spin lock and electronic code box. Yes, this was definitely the same door. It was an exact replica in fact, down to the ten metal bolts around the main spin lock which she knew would hiss and detach when the right code was entered and the door opened. She could almost hear the sound now…
Was this another training room? Was this where he would teach her today? Why would Cipher need another locked room when he had the one on campus? And why in his house?
Someone cleared their throat behind her. Miranda jumped and spun around.
“Find anything interesting?” Cipher asked quietly. His tone was casual, but she felt his eyes scrutinising her intently.
She flushed, heart racing. “Sorry, I—”
He held up a notebook — dark brown with a leather back. “On my bedside table all along. Come on, the driver’s waiting outside.” The Dean said lightly, gesturing to her to move.
“Is that another training room?” Miranda dared to ask, as she followed him. Her palms felt sweaty and she wiped them nervously on her dress as they left the residence.
Cipher did not look back at her. “No.” was all he said, as they went down the house’s stone steps.
The driver — a serious-looking man with a handgun attached to his hip — waved to them both from a smart black car parked on the driveway. The same car Miranda had seen the Dean enter on Friday after he’d exited the mysterious Elmira van. They climbed into the back, Cipher holding the door open for her before going round and getting in on his side. The car pulled smoothly out of the driveway and through the residence’s gates, which slid open for them. She watched them close immediately the second they passed through.
They drove further into the woodland, passing through great areas of forestry, where the mid-autumn leaves rustled gently in the wind in a brilliant array of amber, red, and gold. Miranda guessed from the scenery they were heading upstate, away from New York City.
Cipher confirmed her guess when she asked. “That’s right. There’s a country park I frequent from time to time not too far of a drive from here. That’s where we’ll train you today.”
He refused to answer her subsequent questions about what the training would entail, why he had chosen this park in particular, or how long they would spend there. Miranda grew whinier and whinier as Cipher just tapped his nose maddeningly, looking faintly bemused. She folded her arms, pouting. His frequent mood swings often made her head spin, but she was glad he was back to his usual taunting self, the strange locked room forgotten about. She decided not to bring it up again, not wanting to spoil the lighter mood. I will uncover all your secrets one day, Miranda promised him silently, better yet; I’ll make you reveal them to me yourself.
“So.” She said after a while, smiling at him suggestively. “You think I’m fashionable.” She crossed her legs slowly, making sure her knees brushed against his.
Cipher rolled his eyes. But in the reflection she saw his lips twitch. Miranda laughed delightedly and leant back into the seat, closing her eyes and enjoying the sun on her face as the autumn trees rushed by.
They drove for what felt like twenty minutes before Cipher cut in. “Just over here please, Henry.” He ordered, looking out the window. The car rolled to a stop. “That’s great, thank you.”
Miranda opened her eyes and blinked lazily. Outside the car, she spotted the words ‘BEVERLEY HYRST COUNTRY PARK’ on a wooden sign next to a path leading into the forest. The words were painted white, above a motif of a sunflower between two large, entwined antlers. She didn’t recognise the name or the image.
“Wait here until we return,” Cipher told the driver. He undid his seatbelt and exited the car, shutting the door firmly. Miranda followed his lead, cautiously trying to avoid the mud in her beloved cream stilettos. She made a face, realised the Dean had strode on ahead, and hurriedly chased after him.
“What are we doing here?” She asked, following Cipher down the trail path. “It’s so muddy!”
He glanced down at her footwear. “You are ridiculous.”
The woods soon opened out into a clearing. A small pond lay in the centre of the space, within which a laughing Eros sculpture poured out water from a vase. Around the fountain were a number of wooden benches. Two elderly couples rested on them peacefully. She could hear rustling from the trees around them, the odd birdsong from the branches above, and the steady trickling of water from the winged youth’s vase. Apart from that, the country park was quiet. They had passed no one on the trail.
Cipher gestured for her to sit. He joined her, speaking softly so only she would hear.
“Beverley Hyrst Country Park borders on the small village of Beverley, a little way outside the city. It’s a village with a population so old the average resident’s age is now over sixty-eight.” He stated.
As he spoke, an elderly woman in one of the couples opposite them subtly pointed their way. She leant over and whispered something to her husband which made him chuckle. Miranda watched the two of them, puzzled. She wondered what the woman had said to the man to make him smile like that.
“So why are we here?” She asked Cipher curiously.
“I’m coming to that,” The Dean smiled. “So far in your training you’ve only severed temporary connections, right? Connections that person has only had for maybe a few minutes. Connections you gave them. Like, I don’t know, wanting to fuck a chair. Speaking of which, I am never going to get that image of Patrick out of my head so thanks for that.” Then his voice turned serious, his expression grave. “But to grow your power, Miranda, to level up and actually become useful in this war, you need to start breaking bonds people have had for years.” He gestured flippantly in front of him. “Like these old couples, for example — I want you to break one of them up. Whenever you’re ready. It shouldn’t be too hard — I mean, they must be practically braindead already.”
Miranda felt the blood drain from her face. She stared at Cipher uncertainly, not sure if she had heard him correctly. “What?”
He frowned. “I don’t know why that was so difficult for you to understand. I want you to break one of these old couples up.” He emphasised each word, jabbing a finger in each of their directions. “Go ahead, pick whichever one you’d like. Please, don’t mind me.” He took out his notebook and pen and waited patiently. There was an amused glint in his dark eyes.
Miranda felt sick. The rustling of the leaves was too loud, the birdsong out of tune, the gushing water too violent. What was she doing here? Why was he making her do this? Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, her palms cold and clammy.
She jerked a sharp breath. Relax. Focus. Think of the cause. Then looked at the couples opposite her.
They both looked of similar ages - somewhere in their late seventies or early eighties, she guessed. The couple to the left had a small dog with them. It was lying quietly underneath the man’s feet, head resting on its paws with its tongue out. The man had a walking stick resting on the bench next to him, and the woman had a pair of colourful mittens on. In the couple to the right, the woman who had pointed at Cipher and Miranda and giggled was wearing a chunky purple fleece. Her husband had a short, wispy beard and wellies on. They had stopped chuckling and were sitting quietly, smiling. They looked so… happy.
Miranda felt very, very wrong.
These people hadn’t done anything to deserve this! They weren’t part of the dangerous Starlight agenda tearing down the fabric of America. They didn’t look like pedophiles or baby killers or vaccine pushers. They were just two normal couples, enjoying time together in the autumn sun.
“I can’t do this,” Her voice was thick and unsteady. She watched silently as the little dog lifted its head and sneezed before daring to take a glance at the Dean sitting next to her.
Cipher looked bored. “Yes, you will.” He said, clicking his pen.
“Please don’t make me,” She said, close to tears. “They haven’t done anything to deserve this… We can try on someone else — someone who’s done something bad! There’s an abortion clinic not too far away from here, I saw it as we passed—”
Cipher waved dismissively. He tutted, looking down at her like a disappointed parent and speaking as if she was a small child. “I need you to stop the whining, Miranda, the fucking moral posturing. This isn’t any different to all the times you’ve done this before. Remember what you told me all those weeks ago, that you could take it when you begged me to train you? Well here’s your chance — take it.”
Her chest tightened. She felt painfully, nauseously ill. Her eyes darted back to the forest path. The car was just over there, she reminded herself. She could still remember the way…
“Of course, I could always force you,” Cipher cut in, reminding her. He smiled expectantly, tucking a stray stand of hair behind her ear. “Or you could pull up your big girl panties and do it yourself, hm?”
She shivered at his touch. You can do this, Miranda told herself, you have no choice.
Turning to the couple on the right, she focused hard on the woman who had pointed at her. The one with the hideous purple fleece. Why did you point at me, Miranda wanted to ask her, what did you say? Clenching the side of the bench until her fingers turned white, she blocked out all other senses and willed the old woman’s heart open.
The heart took her by surprise by manifesting as a gigantic purple blob that threatened to swallow her up, with a thick jelly-like consistency, slimy and congealed. She had never encountered a heart the size of this one before — this, this, conglomerate monstrosity. Peering into it closely, she could make out all these different coloured strands of thread inside, matted and twisted in knots. Miranda wondered if she had made a terrible mistake choosing the wife instead of the husband.
You can do this, she thought again through gritted teeth. She reached into the sticky mess with two forceful hands, frantically gripping on a bright red strand and yanking on it hard with no pretense of care or precision. It was ugly work. She ripped and pulled and tore as the heart squealed and groaned and swayed. Other strands came tumbling out with it as Miranda ripped it out from the jelly — delicate little blue ones, fraying green stripey ones, and two shimmery gold threads that all spilled out onto the floor in one messy, tangled heap. A single pink thread was all that remained, floating inside the blob as it seemed to hang onto it protectively. Not that one, the heart seemed to plead with her, please not that one! She wrenched it savagely out. The heart let out a slow, agonising wail. Shut up, shut up, shut up! Miranda closed her eyes and covered her ears, her hands dripping in dark, inky blood that ran down her arms and down and down and down and down…
Shaking, she awoke, slumped over on the bench. Cipher had a hand against her shoulder, stopping her from sliding onto his lap. “Sorry,” She whispered. As she sat up she saw his notebook was full of carefully detailed observations she did not want to read. How long had she been out for? How much time had passed?
Cipher’s eyes flicked her way. “Good girl,” he murmured. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”
Miranda knew she was a coward. But she could not bear to look at the consequences of her actions. As they walked back down the forest path she stared numbly at the ground ahead, moving one foot in front of the other. Every step took her further away from the old woman’s scared disorientated whimpers, her echoing bloodcurdling screams. Every step would become easier, Miranda told herself. Just one foot in front of the other.
High above in the trees, the leaves surged violently in fiery shades of red, orange, and gold. A sea of burning flames. Staring into this fire above, Miranda Lovelace wondered for the first time in her life if she would go to hell when she died. She imagined herself burning at the stake in a sea of flames such as this, fire melting away her lungs, dissolving her eyes into brine, blistering her skin in its righteous, merciless fury. All of her — her fanciful wishes, her shallow, base existence — cleansed away in hallowed fire and brimstone until naught but smoke and ash.
She was nothing. She was nothing. She was nothing.
“Why are you crying?” Cipher asked her sharply. Was she? Trembling, Miranda wiped at the tears which had slipped down her face with her sleeve.
“Sorry,” Her voice was a whisper.
The Dean took her arm roughly and pulled her aside. Her tears were falling freely now. They dripped off her chin and splattered on the forest floor, mixing with the mud and the fallen leaves. The woodland stretched out wildly around them, trees whipping in the wind — fire in every direction.
Cipher repeated the order when she said nothing. “Look at me.” He lifted her chin with his fingers, forcing her to meet his eyes. They were so very, very dark. She shuddered. She felt like she was staring at the epicentre of two swirling black pools she could fall into and drown in. These were eyes that roamed every part of her. Eyes she couldn’t hide from. Eyes she couldn’t run from.
“You understand why that was necessary, don’t you?” The Dean asked her quietly. When she didn’t reply, his voice took on an urgent, almost fanatical edge. “We are facing the greatest existential threat to our existence we could ever imagine. Don’t you understand? Do you know how many humans want to kill us, take away our powers, wipe out our very existence? And what they could do to us if they ever put their fucking brains together? They want to destroy you, Miranda. They want to destroy all of us.
“But you — your powers could stop them! In fact, your abilities are absolutely critical to our survival! Do you think I would have trained you if they weren’t? Do you think I would have spent day after day, evening after evening helping you unlock your highest potential if I didn’t think that one day you would leave your mark on this world and save us all? That’s why I pushed you back there, that’s why it needed to be done! Because your powers — you, Miranda — are going to save our entire fucking race! So I suggest you get your act under control, summon a little girl power, and pull yourself together!”
“But that woman…” Her voice tinged with hysteria.
“She was human!” Cipher shouted. “She was nothing!”
Then he pulled her into his chest, wrapping one arm around her tightly. He cupped her face with his other hand and wiped away her tears.
“Shhhh… Shhhh… I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for you. I know you hated doing that. I’m harsh on you, I know… But it needed to be done,” Cipher said, smiling sadly at her. “You needed to level up. Remember, all of what we do is for the greater good. For our survival. Everything you do will all be worth it in the end.” He tucked a strand of hair gently behind her ear. “For the cause.”
“I thought I was supposed to make people fall in love,” Miranda said shakily, “Make them happy.”
“And who told you that?” His arm was still wrapped around her waist, gripping her tight. She felt like he was the only thing tethering her to this world.
“Everyone,” She laughed weakly, sniffing.
Cipher studied her with his cool dark eyes. Up above, the fire surged violently, a swirling storm of death and hate that blackened the sky. There was no escape; the flames were all around her and within, she could feel them roaring in her chest. Her blood burned in her veins. Her skin blistered to the touch.
“Do you know what I see when I look at you?” Cipher asked her slowly. Miranda shook her head. “I see a girl who’s been constantly underestimated by everyone else around her. A girl who’s had her entire life dictated to her by the short-sighted idiocy of others — given one of the greatest psychic abilities to ever grace this world and brainwashed into wanting to become an influencer. What a terrible waste. Terrible.”
He stroked her cheek. She smelt his familiar, clean linen scent amidst the fresh forest air, felt his cool breath on her face as he leaned in, lips hovering millimeters above hers.
“I will never underestimate you,” He promised. Her stomach clenched and she closed her eyes. Cipher’s words were a whisper against her lips.
“We were made to be gods...”
He pressed his mouth against hers urgently. She gasped into him.
The flames roaring above burned and burned…
