I don't want to wear a skirt

 I ascended the narrow staircase to my room. Today, there were no magic lessons, no sword drills—just the weight of anticipation and the echo of my own thoughts. The door creaked open, revealing the familiar haven that was my refuge.

I threw myself onto the bed, its quilted surface yielding to my weight. The room smelled of aged wood and lavender, a comforting blend that had become my sanctuary. The sun slanted through the window, casting golden rectangles on the floor. I sighed, my breath mingling with the dust motes dancing in the light.

"Monday," I muttered to the empty room. "Why does it have to be Monday?" School loomed like a storm cloud on the horizon, threatening to disrupt the fragile equilibrium of my existence. Would the pupils be kind? Would they accept the girl who was a a powerful demon.

Louise, had never allowed me beyond the house walls. Parks and playmates were foreign concepts, like distant lands glimpsed in faded maps. My interactions with other children were limited to the pages of books—their laughter, their camaraderie mere echoes in my imagination.

A soft meow interrupted my musings. Cookies, leaped onto the bed. Her fur was a patchwork of midnight and moonlight, and her eyes held secrets older than time. I stroked her, feeling the steady rhythm of her purr.

"At least you can't judge me," I said to Cookies. "Not like the others."

She nuzzled my hand, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the warmth of her presence. But reality tugged at my sleeve. "Hungry, aren't you?" I whispered. "Let's go to the kitchen."

Cookies followed me as I descended the stairs. The house corridors were hushed, the tapestries depicting forgotten battles watching our progress. In the kitchen, I opened a cupboard, the hinges protesting with a familiar creak. The packet of cat food crinkled as I poured it into Cookies' bowl. She ate quietly, her delicate jaws crunching each morsel.

And then the maid appeared—a specter in starched uniform. "Aurelia," she said, her voice as crisp as her apron, "Mrs. Louise is calling you into her study."

I stood, my heart fluttering like a moth against a lantern. Louise, the enigma who had shaped my life, awaited me. She was both mentor and warden, her stern gaze a compass guiding my steps. I glanced at Cookies, who paused mid-chew, her eyes questioning.

"Eat well, Cookies," I murmured. "I'll be right back."

The maid led me down the corridor, her footsteps measured. The study door loomed—a portal to decisions beyond my control. I squared my shoulders, wondering what awaited me. Louise's study was a chamber of shadows and secrets, its shelves lined with ancient tomes and artifacts. The air smelled of ink and papers.

As I stepped inside, Louise sat behind her imposing desk. Her green hair was pulled back, her eyes sharp as flint. "Aurelia," she said, her voice devoid of warmth, "sit."

I obeyed, my hands clammy. What did she want? Had my magic faltered? Had my swordplay disappointed her?

Louise's command was clear and unyielding. "Bring me the uniform," she demanded, her voice echoing off the walls of the study, a room that felt more like a command center than a place of learning.

The maid, a silent shadow in the room, nodded and disappeared only to return moments later with the uniform draped over her arm. It was meticulously crafted: the shirt was a crisp, snowy white with a high, ruffled collar that spoke of elegance and discipline. The skirt was a deep, forest green, pleated perfectly and falling just below the knee, its fabric whispering of tradition and conformity.

I looked at the uniform, my gaze lingering on the skirt. It was the embodiment of everything I was expected to be, everything I was not. I crossed my arms, my voice rising slightly, "I don't like skirts, so you'll have to fix that."

Louise stood up, her presence like a storm brewing on the horizon. She placed her hand on my shoulder, her grip firm, her purple eyes burning with an intensity that could melt steel. "You're not going to throw a fit over a skirt, are you?" she asked, her tone serious, but I could hear the underlying challenge.

"No, I refuse to wear a skirt," I said, my voice resolute, my decision final. I could feel the weight of her gaze, trying to bend me to her will, but I was determined. This was one battle I was not willing to lose.

Louise's glare was as sharp as a blade, but then, as if the edge had dulled, she sighed. "All right, you can wear trousers," she conceded, and for a moment, I felt a surge of victory.

I jumped for joy, a spontaneous burst of rebellion, but Louise's threatening look was quick to remind me of my place. "I want you to behave well, but that's not the most important thing," she said, her voice low and menacing. "I want you to be first in every subject, and if you fail or even just be second, I'll have to punish you."

Her words hung in the air like a guillotine, ready to fall at the slightest misstep. "Now go and have your dinner and then get some sleep," she finished, her tone harsh and menacing.

I left the study, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The uniform, now altered to include trousers—a dark green to match the shirt—hung in my room, a symbol of the compromise and the challenges that lay ahead.

As I sat down to dinner, alone with my thoughts, I couldn't help but wonder what the future held for me, a powerful demon in a world that was not ready for my kind.

The meal was a silent affair, the clinking of cutlery against china the only sound in the vast dining hall. I ate mechanically, my mind elsewhere, on the morrow, on the looming specter of school and the unknowns it carried.

After dinner, I retreated to my room, the sanctuary where I could be myself, if only for a little while. I changed into my nightclothes and crawled into bed, the quilt comforting against my skin. The moon was a sliver in the sky, a thin beacon in the darkness.

As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I made a silent vow. I would not just survive; I would thrive. I would be first in every subject, not for Louise or her threats, but for myself. Because  I was no one's puppet.

With that thought cradling my resolve, I closed my eyes and let sleep take me, the adventures of the day giving way to the dreams of the night.