Arriving at the Academy
835 Words
Elowen stood in the courtyard for what felt like an eternity but was probably only seconds.
Students moved around her—dozens of them, maybe more—their voices carrying across the cobblestones in a low hum that felt almost musical. They didn't look at her. Didn't acknowledge her presence. They moved with a kind of fluid grace that made her feel clumsy just standing still, their bodies too perfect, their movements too precise.
She gripped the strap of her duffel bag and tried to make herself smaller.
It was an old instinct. Survival mechanism from years of foster homes where being noticed meant being targeted. Blend in. Stay quiet. Don't draw attention.
Except here, surrounded by people who looked like they'd stepped out of some impossible dream, invisibility felt harder to achieve.
A girl walked past—tall, with hair so black it seemed to absorb light, skin pale as marble. She moved like water, each step deliberate and effortless, and when she glanced in Elowen's direction, her eyes were too bright. Too aware. Like she could see straight through skin and bone to whatever lay beneath.
Elowen looked away quickly.
Her heart was hammering.
"Miss Cross?"
The voice came from behind her, smooth and professional. Elowen turned to find a woman standing at the base of the castle's main entrance—tall, elegant, dressed in dark robes that looked both ancient and perfectly tailored. Her hair was silver-white, pulled back in a severe bun, and her eyes were sharp enough to cut.
"Yes," Elowen managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
The woman's expression didn't change. "I'm Headmistress Darkheart. Welcome to Primori Academy."
Elowen nodded, unsure what else to do.
Headmistress Darkheart gestured toward the entrance. "Come. We'll get you oriented."
Elowen followed, her bag heavy against her shoulder, her feet moving automatically across the cobblestones. The entrance was massive—double doors carved from dark wood, intricate patterns etched into the surface that seemed to shift when she wasn't looking directly at them.
Inside, the castle was even more overwhelming.
The entrance hall stretched impossibly high, the ceiling lost in shadows despite the light streaming through stained glass windows. The stone walls were covered in tapestries depicting scenes she didn't recognize—battles, ceremonies, figures that looked almost human but weren't quite. The air smelled like old books and something faintly metallic, and every sound echoed in ways that made her feel exposed.
Students moved through the halls with that same unsettling grace, their conversations quiet but intense. Some of them glanced at her as she passed. Most didn't. But even the ones who ignored her felt aware of her presence in a way that made her skin crawl.
Headmistress Darkheart led her through a series of corridors, each one more elaborate than the last, until they reached a small office tucked away in one of the castle's many wings.
"Sit," the headmistress said, gesturing to a chair.
Elowen sat.
The office was lined with books—old, leather-bound volumes that looked like they'd been there for centuries. The desk was dark wood, polished to a shine, and the chair behind it looked more like a throne than furniture.
Headmistress Darkheart didn't sit. She stood behind the desk, her hands folded, her expression unreadable.
"You'll be rooming with Miss Kenzi Thorne," she said. "She'll show you around the academy and help you get settled."
Elowen nodded again, her throat tight.
"Kenzi is one of our more... spirited students," the headmistress continued, and something in her tone suggested that was an understatement. "But she knows the academy well. You'll be in good hands."
Before Elowen could respond, there was a knock at the door.
"Come in," Headmistress Darkheart said.
The door opened, and a girl stepped inside.
She was beautiful in a way that felt almost aggressive—sharp cheekbones, full lips, eyes the color of the ocean during a storm. Her hair fell in dark waves past her shoulders, and she moved with the same fluid grace as everyone else, but there was something different about her. Something sharper. More dangerous.
She looked at Elowen, and her expression went flat.
"You're kidding," she said.
Headmistress Darkheart's voice didn't change. "Miss Thorne. This is Elowen Cross, your new roommate."
Kenzi's jaw tightened. "I didn't ask for a roommate."
"And yet, here we are."
The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. Elowen wanted to disappear. Wanted to sink into the chair and cease to exist. This girl—Kenzi—was looking at her like she was something unpleasant that had been left on her doorstep.
"She's *human*," Kenzi said, and the word landed like a stone dropped into still water.
There was weight in it. Edge. Like she'd said something dangerous or forbidden, and Elowen felt the shift in the room immediately—the headmistress's expression tightening almost imperceptibly, the air growing colder.
Elowen's chest constricted. *Human.* Why did it sound like that? Like an accusation. Like a warning.
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