🖤Kisses That Wake The Dead🖤

The gates loomed over her like the jaws of some sleeping beast. St. Noctis University. Angel stared at the twisted iron and stone, feeling the chill even through her coat. The campus was beautiful in a Gothic nightmare kind of way—old ivy-stained buildings, gargoyle statues, and shadows that moved when you weren’t looking. The sky above was the color of bruises, and the air had a weight to it, like it remembered every scream ever whispered across the grounds. She clutched the leather strap of her bag tighter and exhaled. New school. New city. New beginning. Or so they said. She hoped they were right. Because the last place had been hell. Her hands tightened around the strap as memories of the orphanage crept in: cold stares, whispered rumors, the sting of being unwanted. After her parents died in the accident, she’d bounced from one cold hallway to another. The day her mother gave her the necklace—a delicate chain with a moonstone charm—was the last warm memory she had. It lay cold now against her chest, hidden under her hoodie. Please, she thought. Just let this place be different. A woman with sharp cheekbones and ink-dark eyes greeted her at the check-in table. “Angel?” “Yes,” she said. “You’re in Dusk Hall. Top of the West Dome. You’ll find your key and orientation letter in here.” She handed her a black envelope sealed with a wax crescent moon. The woman paused, tilting her head. “You… smell strange.” Angel blinked. “Excuse me?” But the woman just smiled, sharp and amused, and turned away. --- Angel climbed the stairs to her new room, the old stone echoing under her boots. The halls of Dusk Hall were dimly lit with flickering sconces that glowed with blue flame. Students passed her without a glance. Some sniffed the air subtly as she passed. Others just walked a little faster. Her room was small, but warm. A single bed, a desk, a crooked wardrobe. She sat on the edge of the mattress and exhaled. Out came the few clothes she had. Mostly blacks and greys. A worn-out pair of boots. A tiny sketchbook. And the envelope. She left it unopened for now. She touched the necklace around her throat. "Mom... what am I doing here?" The room didn’t answer. --- Later, she ventured out again, needing air, needing answers. As she walked up the stone steps to the main building, something shifted in her chest—like her heart skipped in reverse. She paused, one hand pressed to her ribs, and for a split second, she felt it. A memory that didn’t belong to her. A kiss on fire. A man’s voice calling her name like a prayer and a warning. Her head jerked up. Students milled around the courtyard. Some turned to stare at her. But none of them mattered. Because at the top of the steps, standing under the archway, was him. Tall. Dark coat. Eyes like the full moon—silver and stormy, locked onto her like they’d been waiting a thousand years. He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. And Angel couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know his name. But her soul did. Something inside her whispered, “Run.” But her body walked toward him. Every step closer made her blood burn. His presence was magnetic, impossible, familiar in a way that made her dizzy. He watched her climb, each footfall echoing like it mattered. She looked exactly the same. Every life, she came back different—hair color, voice, laugh. But this time? This time, she was her again. Same eyes. Same scent. Same stubborn defiance in the way she squared her shoulders. Angel. He said nothing as she reached the top step. “Um... hi,” she said awkwardly, trying to smile. “I’m new. Angel.” A flicker of pain flashed through his eyes, gone too fast to catch. He nodded once. “Ash.” She laughed nervously. “Like... the stuff in fireplaces?” He tilted his head slightly. “No. Like what’s left after everything burns.” And then he walked away. --- The moment passed like lightning through her chest. When she looked around again, the students were watching her. Some with curiosity. Others with envy. And a few with something colder. Something like hate.