Chapter 41: The Wrong Place
Eva was still three, but the world around her was already shifting, bending and reshaping in ways she couldn't quite understand. She had made her decision, and for the first time in her young life, she had been certain of something. She was going to school. It would be a place of learning, of meeting other children, and of seeing what the outside world was truly like. The books she'd read and the lessons she'd taken in the mansion could only take her so far. She needed more. She needed them—other children who could show her what it meant to be a part of something bigger than herself.
But now, sitting in her small, wooden desk with a piece of chalk in her hand, Eva could feel it in her bones. This was wrong.
The classroom around her felt suffocating. The walls were too close, too crowded with the sounds of voices she couldn't quite place. Her classmates, little faces full of innocence and energy, seemed so… small. Their conversations, simple and trivial, felt like a foreign language to her. They were six years old, and Eva could barely make sense of the way they behaved. Why did they cry over spilled paint? Why did they throw tantrums when something didn't go their way? Why did they whine for no reason at all?
Eva had never experienced the world like this before. To her, the things that seemed so important to the other children were nonsensical. She couldn't help but feel as though she didn't belong, as though she had wandered into a place where she was too big for everything, too advanced for the childishness around her.
The other children giggled and squirmed in their seats, their eyes darting back and forth as they whispered to each other about trivial things. Eva clenched her tiny hands in her lap, feeling the weight of the chalk against her fingers. She tried to focus, tried to pretend like she understood what was happening, but it was all too much. Their behavior was foreign to her, and she didn't know how to navigate it.
The teacher, a kind woman with soft, round glasses, walked to the front of the room and started talking about colors. Eva already knew all the colors in the world. She could name them all and even understand the subtle nuances between each shade, but as she looked around the room, she saw the other children eagerly raising their hands to answer.
"Red," one girl called out. "Blue!" shouted another.
Eva felt the sting of confusion, the frustration of being so far ahead and yet unable to join in. The teacher's eyes flicked to her, and Eva quickly dropped her hand, her heart beating faster in her chest. She wasn't like them. She wasn't a child who could participate in such simple things.
But she tried. She really did. She tried to fit in. She tried to smile and nod along with their conversation, even though it felt like she was a visitor in her own body. She didn't belong here. This place wasn't for her.
And yet, she sat there, trying to blend in, to be just like the other children. She even forced herself to giggle along with the others when they told silly jokes, but inside, she felt nothing but emptiness.
It wasn't long before she realized just how much out of place she truly was. One of the little girls—Sophie, she was called—sat beside her and began to tug on Eva's hair. At first, it was a light pull, a gentle yank that made Eva flinch. She turned to look at the girl, her eyes wide with confusion.
"Sophie, please don't," Eva said softly, her small voice trembling. She didn't understand why Sophie had done it. Was it a game? A test? She didn't know.
But Sophie just giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She pulled again, harder this time, causing Eva to wince.
"I don't like that," Eva said firmly, pushing Sophie's hand away, but the other girl just laughed harder.
And that was when it hit her, the final realization that made her heart sink.
She wasn't like them. She wasn't a child like them. She didn't think like them, didn't act like them. She wasn't innocent or naive. She didn't find joy in the things they found joy in. She didn't understand their tantrums or their petty squabbles.
They were children—and she wasn't.
The classroom around her grew even more unbearable. The noise felt louder, the air thicker. The teacher's voice droned on, but Eva couldn't focus on it. Her mind raced, her heart thudded in her chest. She wanted to leave. She wanted to escape from this suffocating place and never come back.
Eva's breath quickened as she pushed the tears back. She blinked rapidly, trying to steady herself, but it didn't help. The little girl behind her started whining about something that didn't even make sense—something about a missing crayon—and the noise felt like it was crushing her.
"I don't want to be here," Eva whispered to herself, the words barely escaping her lips.
The teacher didn't hear her. No one did.
But then the bell rang, signaling the end of the day. Eva jumped from her seat, her legs stiff and her chest tight. She didn't wait for anyone. She didn't even look at the other children as she grabbed her bag and bolted for the door. Her tiny heart was racing, and her face was flushed with embarrassment. She couldn't stand it anymore. She couldn't bear being around them.
She ran down the hallway, the sound of her little feet echoing against the walls, until she found the door to the outside. She burst through it and into the fresh air, the cool breeze greeting her like an old friend. She stopped, her chest heaving with the effort of running, and tried to steady herself.
For a moment, Eva just stood there, staring at the ground, trying to gather her thoughts. The sky was clear, and the sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, painting everything with soft, golden hues. She could smell the grass, the earth beneath her feet, and she took in a deep breath, savoring the peace of the world outside of the classroom.
She wasn't ready for this. She had known, deep down, that she wasn't ready.
As she walked home, she began to cry, her sobs quiet and hiccupping. She didn't understand why she felt so out of place. Why did everyone around her seem so happy, so comfortable in their childishness, while she felt like a stranger?
When she reached the front door of the house, she saw Vivienne standing there, a concerned look on her face. As soon as she saw Eva, she knelt down and pulled her into a warm embrace. Eva sobbed into her aunt's chest, hiccupping between her tears.
"Aunt Vivienne… I don't belong. I don't fit in. I don't like it," Eva whispered between sobs.
Vivienne rubbed her back gently, soothing her. "What happened, Eva?"
"I don't know… they're all so… childish," Eva said, still struggling to catch her breath. "They whine, and they cry, and they… they pull my hair, and…"
Vivienne's eyes softened with understanding. "Eva, sweetheart, you don't have to fit in with them. You're special. You don't have to be like other children."
"But I want to… I wanted to go to school. I wanted to learn. I don't want to be different."
"You don't have to be different to be special, darling," Vivienne whispered. "You're exactly who you need to be."
Eva sniffled and nodded, feeling comforted by her aunt's words. As they walked inside, Vivienne carried her up to her room and tucked her into bed, wrapping the covers tightly around her.
"I'll be okay," Eva murmured.
Vivienne smiled softly. "Of course you will. You just need to understand that the world is bigger than what we see right now. You'll learn what you need to in your own way."
Eva closed her eyes, the weight of the day finally lifting as sleep overtook her. She didn't know what the future held, but she knew, in her heart, that she would find her place. It might not be with the other children, but it would be her place—just for her.
And for now, that was enough.