Isadora:
Saturday arrives like a half forgotten promise, soft at the edges, silvered in the pale chill that seeps through my windowpanes. For the first time all week I wake without a bell or a summons, only the low hum of the Academy breathing around me. The sky beyond the glass is the color of wet ash. I lie there for a moment, willing myself to believe in the quiet.
A knock shatters it.
“Rise and shine, sleepy witch,” Loralie sings as she sweeps in, a gust of citrus-scented warmth against the stone. Her honey-blonde hair is a riot of curls, her smile a sunrise I’m not sure I deserve.
“You’re entirely too cheerful,” I mutter, dragging myself upright.
“It’s Saturday,” she says, as if that explains everything. “And tonight is the Blood Ball.”
I blink. “The what?”
Her grin widens, sha
