Wendy moved with unease, her breath shallow as she approached the door. A chill clung to her skin, as though the shadows themselves whispered warnings. She knew she had sealed the threshold with black magic, binding it with blood and ash. The only way it could have been broken was through sacrifice—yet the black bird required for such a ritual did not exist in this forsaken region. Whoever had done this had reached beyond ordinary means. What, then, were they seeking?
The door creaked open, and her chamber greeted her in ruin. The bed lay overturned, sheets torn like flesh. "Bloody hell… even my mirror wasn't spared," she hissed, her voice trembling with fury.
She summoned her crystal ball, pouring fragments of potion into its depths. The glass swirled with smoke, but the past remained veiled. Whoever had shattered her spell had cloaked themselves in a darkness stronger than her sight. It was the same obstruction she had faced when she once tried to uncover the giver of the locket that burned against her skin. The unseen hand denied her again, and frustration gnawed at her like rats in the walls.
Turning her gaze to the present, the vision sharpened: Cathy and her wretched minions, dragging away **Hannah—her beloved pet—**while smashing her possessions with gleeful malice.
Her lips curled into a bitter smile. "So, they still dare. Tomorrow, I shall remind them of their place." Reputation was her armor; to retreat would be to bleed weakness, and weakness was death.
At dawn, the iron bells tolled, summoning every student into the courtyard for inspection. They stood in rigid lines, ordered by grade and power, palms thrust forward in grotesque imitation of anatomical perfection. It was demanded by the higher leaders, whose paranoia would flare if even a hand was hidden. Who could fault them? Witches were treacherous, their beauty a mask for rot, their cunning a venom. To mistrust them was survival.
The girls muttered curses—dragged from sleep before the cock's cry, their bones aching in the cold. The boys were worse, slouching half-dead, their posture a mockery of discipline.
"Stand erect!" Kell's voice cracked like a whip. "There was an incident yesterday in the ballroom. I believe a spy walks among us. Forgive this chaos—we seek only to protect you."
Royal guards prowled like wolves, shoving students into line. Yet the girls swooned at Kell's voice, their cheeks flushed, while the boys straightened, desperate to mirror his strength.
Wendy's eyes narrowed. "What do they see in this prideful fool?" she whispered. Were it not for her reputation, they would have torn her apart. Instead, they cursed her silently, their hatred festering. She knew the demons among them could hear her clearly—their grotesque senses forever prying. Their ceaseless super-hearing forced her to waste power, weaving a dome of magic around herself to keep her thoughts her own.
Kell smirked, a shadow of amusement curling his lips. "So now I am not only prideful, but a saphead too. She never ceases to amuse me. Perhaps I should begin with her. Perhaps this time, I will be called a gamp." He strode toward her, his boots echoing like a death march. Her gaze met his, cold and condescending, a silent judgment carved into stone.
"Maybe I killed her in another life," he mused. "If so, why does she not strike me down? Instead, she recoils from my presence. Wait… that scent. Is it the same as the spy from yesterday? Or am I deceived?"
Her POV
Why is he walking toward me? Damnation—I forgot to wash yesterday. With a flick of her hand, she cloaked her scent. Exhaustion had dragged her into sleep before she could cleanse herself, and now suspicion coiled around her like a serpent.
"What is this gamp doing, moving toward me? Has my cover already been torn away? And the fool is smiling—do I look like a jester to him?"
"White, why are you fidgeting? Are you the spy?" Kell's voice was a blade, teasing yet sharp.
"Fidgeting? Do I look like a spy to you? And spare me the mockery of my name—I know it well, and so does the entire school," she snapped.
"Calm yourself, White Mouse. Why wake in fury on such a beautiful morning? Winter is a season to cherish, not despise," Kell replied, his tone dripping with mockery.
Her eyes burned. "Not only are you a know-nothing, you lack the wit to speak as I desire. So I will explain: who would not be in a fighting mood when dragged from sleep at dawn, only to be paraded like cattle?" Her words were respectful, yet laced with venom.
The girls shrieked, their voices piercing like banshees.
Kell leaned closer, his smile cruel. "It seems you need help, White."