Crimson veil: A Forbidden Twilight.

The carriage wheels rolled over the cobbled road, their rhythm steady as a heartbeat. Outside, the fog lay thick over the forest, whispering secrets between skeletal trees. The sign that emerged through the mist read in flaking gold letters: Ravenwood Academy — Founded 1736. Knowledge is Eternal. Aria Crowe leaned against the windowpane, her breath fogging the glass. She hated how the cold felt like it was trying to claim her skin, to seep into her bones and remind her she didn’t belong here. Another school. Another exile. Her mother had called it a “fresh start.” Her father hadn’t called it anything at all—he’d been buried six months now, and silence was the only thing he left behind. The carriage stopped before a wrought-iron gate. Two stone gargoyles loomed above it, wings poised to strike. The driver—a pale man with eyes too gray to be natural—didn’t speak as he helped her down. “Miss Crowe,” he said at last, voice as smooth as ice. “Welcome to Ravenwood.” She turned toward the building beyond the gates. It wasn’t a school—it was a fortress. Towers clawed at the sky. Stained-glass windows glimmered like captured souls. Somewhere within those walls, a bell tolled—deep and slow, like a heartbeat echoing through the fog. Inside Ravenwood The students wore black. Not uniforms exactly, but close enough: dark coats, silver clasps, a crimson thread sewn into every collar. The air smelled faintly of iron and smoke. Aria felt every gaze as she passed through the hallway. The whispers started almost immediately. “Transfer student.” “She’s from the mortal city.” “Do you think she knows?” Knows what? At the end of the hall stood a tall boy leaning against the window frame. His hair was raven-black, and his skin pale as marble. When he turned, she caught the faintest glint of red in his eyes—too quick to be sure. He was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before he looked away, expression unreadable. “Who’s that?” Aria whispered to a girl beside her. The girl—blonde, bright-eyed—lowered her voice. “Damian Vale. Don’t talk to him. He doesn’t… fit in.” “Neither do I.” “You don’t understand,” the girl said. “People who get close to him don’t stay that way for long.” The First Class History of Bloodlines. The teacher, a woman with eyes like glass, droned about ancient families and the wars that nearly destroyed the world centuries ago. Words like Council, Seals, and Pact floated through the air like incantations. Aria’s pen hovered over her notebook. The letters she wrote seemed to twist on the page—sigils instead of words. Her vision flickered, and for an instant she saw the classroom drenched in crimson light. When she blinked, it was gone. She looked up and found Damian staring at her from across the room. There was something knowing in his gaze—something ancient. Her pulse stuttered. The Warning After class, she caught up with him near the old library. “Hey,” she said. “You keep staring at me. Do I have something on my face?” He didn’t smile. His voice was low, velvety, almost a growl. “You shouldn’t be here, Aria Crowe.” Her name on his tongue sent a chill through her. “You don’t even know me.” “I know enough.” His gaze lingered on her neck for a heartbeat too long. “This place isn’t safe for you.” She folded her arms. “I’m not afraid of a school.” “You should be.” He turned to leave, and the faintest scent of blood and smoke lingered in the air. Midnight at the Dormitory The night pressed against her window, thick and heavy. Somewhere beyond the woods, wolves howled. Aria tossed in bed, restless. Then—tap. A sound at the glass. She sat up. The fog outside seemed alive, shifting like breath. She rose and drew the curtain aside. Someone stood there—on the edge of the dorm roof, eyes glowing faintly red through the mist. Damian. Her heart thudded. She opened the window. “What are you doing here?” “Making sure you survive your first night.” “Why wouldn’t I?” He hesitated. Then, in a voice barely louder than a whisper, he said, “Because Ravenwood isn’t what it pretends to be. And neither are you.” Before she could ask, he was gone—vanished into the fog. The Journal The next morning, Aria found a leather-bound journal slipped under her door. The handwriting was neat, old-fashioned. “The girl with the mark has returned. The seal beneath the library will weaken. And when it breaks, the Veil will fall.” Her fingers trembled as she turned the page. There was a drawing—an intricate circle of runes—and at the center, a symbol she had seen once before… carved into her father’s gravestone. Her blood ran cold. Outside, the morning bell rang, echoing through the halls of Ravenwood. And in the shadows above, Damian Vale watched her from afar—his fangs glinting faintly in the light.