In Dreams He came @deadzombiegirly - Tumblr Blog

Lovers From The Past

Series Summary: The year is 1467, and you, the princess of Transylvania, fall in love with a lord; a clever, handsome young man. Your love was great and your bond unbreakable, but fate demands tragedy, and the love of your life gets killed before your very eyes. Devastated and driven by rage, your search for your beloved for five hundred years. At Nevermore Academy in Jericho, you are to find him and his name— Isaac Night.

Pairing: Isaac Night x vampire!Reader

Word count: 12 000 words

Series warnings: fem!Reader, no descriptions of the Reader, fluff, falling in love, romance, angst, violence, tragedy, a bit of religious themes (only up to chapter four), fic starts in the Middle Ages, ooc Isaac at first, major character death, an animal getting hurt, brief allusions to intimacy, blood, murder, background original characters (platonic), humor, yearning, slow burn, minor character death, consuming blood, grief, inspired by Dracula A Love Tale, no mentions of Y/N

Notes: This is my longest chapter by far… hoping you’ll enjoy this one 🖤🖤 English isn’t my first language.

Chapter Fifteen: Creatures Of The Night

You had never heard your name spoken with such relief until the moment you knocked on Francoise’s door at Ophelia Hall. Barely a second after your knuckles tapped gently against the wood, you heard quick footsteps, and the brunette girl practically threw the door open right in front of you.

Francoise stood before you with wide, hopeful brown eyes. Her hair was slightly tousled and held back by just a hair tie. She wore minimal makeup and had shed parts of her Nevermore uniform. She was down to just her skirt and shirt, having removed her tie as well. In a few weeks, autumn would sweep across the land, turning the world into a sea of orange, but for now, it was still summer in Jericho. The trees were still green, though you could spot the occasional fallen brown leaf on the ground.

Before you could even greet the Hyde girl, she had already wrapped her arms around you and pulled you into a tight embrace. You gasped in surprise— partly because you hadn't seen the hug coming, and partly because you hadn't expected her to possess such strength.

"Francoise! I had no idea you missed me that much," you murmured into her shoulder while she kept her arms wrapped around your torso.

"Of course I did," she said without hesitation, finally leaning back, although her slender fingers remained clasped around your arms. "I am so incredibly sorry about what happened. I know I should have told you, but the opportunity never came up, and you never asked, and I thought—"

"Fran," you said, repeating her name, at which she looked at you with wide eyes. Her attention was now entirely focused on you and the words you were about to speak next. The only thing was, you hadn’t prepared any words. You had come here simply because Isaac told you to and because you didn’t want to spend any more time in Stonehearst’s presence. The old man made you feel sick and on edge. Part of you wanted to know how long he’d known Isaac and how long their partnership had lasted, yet another part of you didn’t want to know at all.

“Yes?” she asked after you’d spent a few seconds lost in thought. She blinked, her soft eyelashes fluttering against her soft cheeks like butterfly wings.

“I… I’m sorry, too,” you finally said, and you were being completely sincere. “It wasn’t your fault what happened. Of course, you could have told me or Aleo, but you couldn’t help transforming that day, at that exact moment. It was out of your control. And I’m sorry I called you a monster. Aleo’s death just left me emotionally shaken.”

“I never held that against you,” she replied immediately, offering a gentle smile. “That whole day by the lake… it started out so beautifully, but now I just wish I could forget it. Do you?”

Did you wish that? You weren’t entirely sure. You would have loved to forget everything that happened in the woods— Alejandro’s dead body and the aftermath— but everything leading up to that had been wonderful. You wanted to hold onto everything that happened at the lake forever. The pleasant conversation with Isaac, watching your friends play together in the water, and the jokes you shared once everyone was back on the shore. It had all been wonderful. That wasn’t something you wanted to forget. "No, I really loved that day. Watching how in love Gomez and Morticia are, seeing how happy you were just playing in the water like a normal person, seeing Aleo wanting to stay close to you the whole time, and Isaac just sitting on the shore. That is something I never want to forget. I just wish we’d had more moments like that," you confessed honestly, shrugging your shoulders.

Francoise nodded in agreement and closed the door behind you before you took a few steps into the room you used to share. She hadn’t replaced you. The bed opposite hers was empty, your desk was unoccupied, and one side of the dresser was completely bare, too. She had hoped you would come back. The thought warmed your heart, and for a brief moment, you regretted the decision to make Rotwood Cottage your home. Then again, Rotwood Cottage was a whole house with two floors and a master bedroom, which wasn't exactly a bad thing. But perhaps that was something you two needed. It might actually help.

"Maybe we can still have them?" she suggested, before quickly walking past you to show you something. Francoise reached for a couple of notebooks and opened one, a proud smile playing on her rosy lips. Spread across two pages were notes and small pictures she had drawn and pasted in, like in a simple scrapbook. At the top, centered across the two pages, the words "Rave‘N Ball 1991" were written in large letters.

"Morticia, Larissa, and I are on the Rave‘N Ball committee; we’re helping to plan the dance. Would you like to join us? There’s still some room, and we know that, as a vampire, you surely have plenty of experience with balls and dances." She looked at you with a wide grin, her brown eyes shining. The evening sun streamed through the window, making her irises look like amber. Had you been in Alejandro’s shoes instead of your own, you might well have fallen for her, too. She was sweet, kind, affectionate, pretty— simply everything a man could want.

You blinked and quickly shook your head to break free from your own thoughts before finally returning her smile. "Of course! That’s a wonderful idea. I love balls, dances, beautiful dresses, and the decorations and oh! I’ll most likely help fund the ball."

"What?" she asked immediately, surprised. "How? How do you already know about it?"

"I spoke with Headmaster Sinclair earlier, before I went to see Isaac. Sinclair told me the budget was very tight, and I said I wouldn't let that happen. I’m going to help finance the ball and make sure you all have the best school dance experience ever." Every word you spoke to her was sincere. You hadn't been to a ball yourself in a long time, and you wanted their first one to be the most beautiful of all. Your mind’s eye was flooded with a kaleidoscope of images from past celebrations you had once experienced. Memories that might inspire you here. A masquerade ball like the ones at Versailles? A dance floor with live music, just like the one you’d known in Ireland eighty years ago? Or perhaps a long banquet table followed by dancing like in the days before you became who you are now.

"That sounds perfect!" she exclaimed excitedly, clutching her notebook to her chest. "I have to call Morticia! Oh, and Larissa. We can have a pajama party here tonight and plan the ball together."

Francoise was already turning around, tossing the purple notebook onto her bed, where the linens lay in a jumble at the foot, and hurrying toward the door. You, however, had come up with a better idea. After all, what was the point of having such a big house if you couldn't actually use it?

"Wait!" you called out quickly, just before she could lay her hand on the doorknob.

"What is it?" she asked, looking back and forth between you and the door in confusion. She was raring to go, practically vibrating with eagerness, but you managed to hold her back just in time. Her room was lovely, of course, but not exactly spacious. Sure, you and the other three girls could have made yourselves comfortable on the rug or the facing beds, but the idea you’d had was far more appealing.

"I’m staying at Rotwood Cottage now, you know? It’s not just much bigger than this room, but it’s also got a cozy fireplace, plenty of sofas and cushions, and all the snacks you could possibly want," you suggested, a conspiratorial glint in your eyes.

The brunette girl looked at you in surprise for a moment, as if she couldn't believe you were making such an offer after everything that had happened. A glimmer of hope returned followed by the thought that your friendship might still have a chance. You wouldn't just be working together tonight; you could grow close again. You, her, Morticia, Larissa, and— what was it you’d mentioned earlier? You had been with Isaac? She wondered why...

"I- yes. Yes, that sounds perfect!" she agreed enthusiastically. "Will you come with me, then? We can gather the others and head straight to the cottage?"

You nodded and gave her a genuine smile. "Yes, of course. The sooner we start planning, the more we’ll get done today."

Your shoes made soft sounds against the floor as you hurried across the fringed rug to join her at the door. She opened it for you with mock courtesy and gave a little curtsy: "After you, my lady."

"Oh, why thank you, my dear," you replied with equal courtesy before stepping past her, which made her laugh. Her laughter was music to your ears, and you couldn't help but link your arm through hers so that you both walked side by side down the corridor.

For a moment, it felt as though nothing bad had ever happened. That was what Alejandro would have wanted, too, for your friendship to endure rather than shatter over a tragedy, no matter how terrible it might have been.

“So, what were you and my brother doing earlier?” she asked curiously, nudging your side gently with her elbow.

“Just talking,” you replied, even though it wasn’t the whole truth. Your cheeks burned at the thought of how your lips had almost brushed against each other... how he had looked at you in that one tiny, fleeting moment when he seemed lost in a trance. When he apparently saw you again just as you had been back then: his princess, his love, his life.

“Oh yeah? And what about?” she persisted, wiggling her eyebrows as if you had another big secret to share.

“I’m afraid that’s private,” you answered with a mischievous smile, causing her to pout. You couldn't help but laugh, and a second later, she joined in.

“I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too.”

Rotwood Cottage smelled of fresh food, the pleasant scent of firewood, and a faint hint of wine. Outside, the sky was pitch black and the moon a crescent half-obscured by clouds, while inside, golden lamplight and a flickering fire illuminated the room. Only a day ago, the house had been dark, cold, and lonely, but now it was alive with genuine camaraderie and the laughter of four girls.

Morticia Frump and Larissa Weems sat on the couch to the right of the fireplace. The dark-haired girl held a half-finished glass of wine as she leaned toward her best friend and roommate to look over her shoulder. Larissa held a sheet of notes in her left hand, while her right hand repeatedly twirled a ballpoint pen between her fingers. She wore a thoughtful expression, and a few strands of silver hair fell across her pale face. Even though there were only four of you and no one else around to see, she wore her makeup as if she were about to attend a formal dinner. Morticia, clad in a long black silk nightgown, rested her chin on her friend’s shoulder. Weems turned the paper so Morticia could see it.

On the opposite side, settled comfortably on the other sofa with fluffy cushions at your backs, were Francoise Night and you. A bowl of spaghetti Bolognese still sat in Francoise’s lap; she was absently poking at it with her fork. You had all finished eating half an hour ago— the remaining plates sat on the central table— yet she still held her bowl tightly in her hands. Beside the leftovers and the open bottle of 1945 vintage wine lay an array of sketches, notes, and mind maps. You hadn’t been involved in most of the planning, having only joined the ball committee today, yet you had already contributed several ideas of your own this evening, even though you’d only started an hour ago. Before that, you had spent a long time preparing food and listening to that newfangled music they had sold to you as a "masterpiece."

You were sitting right next to Morticia, jotting down various ideas on a notepad with a pencil. Your handwriting was ornate, beautiful, and old-fashioned, the letters alone revealing that you hailed from a bygone era. You sat cross-legged, your back straight and your hair still tousled from the earlier dancing. Unlike Morticia’s, your nightgown was white with laces at the front, which you had tied into small bows, and the soft fabric draped all the way to your ankles.

The tip of your pencil moved across the paper. Moonlight Ball? No, too kitschy, and it had surely been done before. Remember History? No, too on the nose. Even though you would love for everyone to arrive in Victorian attire, you couldn't force anyone to do so. Gilded Palace? That wasn't bad, but how could one transform Nevermore into a golden palace? It was simply impossible, even if the Academy’s interior was quite impressive. Although it resembled a cool castle more than a lavish palace. You could decorate the ballroom, of course, but it wouldn't be gold.

A deep sigh escaped you, and your shoulders slumped as you leaned back against the cushion behind you.

"Are you sure you don't want any wine?" Morticia asked suddenly, waving her glass. A deep red lipstick stain marked the spot where she had been drinking.

“No, the taste is too sickly-sweet for me,” you answered her honestly, though you still gave her a smile. On your first night at Rotwood Cottage, you had looked around as best you could and found an entire shelf of old wine bottles in the cellar. Of course, they didn’t quite suit your taste.

“Do you prefer it more metallic?” Larissa teased playfully, causing you to simply shake your head and laugh.

“You know me too well.” Larissa laughed too and leaned closer to her best friend, who watched as small ripples formed in the dark red contents of the glass while she swirled it back and forth. A tiny whirlpool amidst the cloyingly sweet alcohol.

“I’ve got it!” Fran suddenly exclaimed, making you jump violently beside her. You hadn’t expected her to suddenly shout right into your ear. Yet her eyes were wide and bright, which immediately piqued your interest. You were curious about the idea she seemed to have, given how radiant she looked.

“Creatures of the Night. That’s our theme. An 18th-century style masquerade ball, where we all dress up and wear masks!"

You tilted your head slightly to the side. You hadn't attended many masquerade balls in the past, since, after all, you had been searching for Isaac and needed to see his face, but you had always enjoyed their aesthetic and grandeur. "A Versailles-style ball under Louis XIV, or an Italian Renaissance-style ball?"

Francoise hesitated for a few seconds, glancing appealingly at Morticia and Larissa, who exchanged puzzled looks. They, too, seemed to be weighing their preferences carefully. You definitely leaned toward Italy. A Versailles-style ball would remind you too much of your visit to the palace where you’d first met Alejandro. Right now, you wanted to suppress the memory of what had happened to your best friend.

"Venice?" Francoise finally suggested, giving you an uncertain grin that was instantly contagious. You smiled back and nodded.

"A Venetian masquerade ball with a 'Creatures of the Night' theme... sounds good," you replied, glancing over at the other two girls from your house who had made themselves comfortable on your second sofa.

"And there will be classical music played by Nevermore’s own orchestra," Larissa added. Her bright eyes shone with enthusiasm and renewed energy.

"Masks are mandatory. No one is allowed in modern clothing— it has to look historical! —and we need a chandelier," Frump continued, sitting up straighter. The wine glass in her hand was forgotten now that the conversation was finally in full swing. The planning continued.

"Someone has to sing The Phantom of the Opera!" Francoise squealed, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tight. Part of you wanted to roll your eyes. A masquerade ball with Phantom of the Opera undertones and a giant chandelier hanging from the ceiling felt a bit too cliché, but it was their prom. If that was what they wanted, you weren't going to stand in their way; you just wanted to make sure it was perfect.

"Who, though? Who can sing?" Weems asked, tilting her head. A lock of white hair fell across her left cheek, framing the striking line of her jaw.

"Morticia would make a great Christine," you suggested, elegantly crossing one leg over the other. "And Gomez could be the Phantom."

"No, no— you, my dear, are Christine," Morticia replied without hesitation, wagging her index finger. "And Isaac is the Phantom who yearns for you."

"Shouldn't it be the other way around?" you asked before you could even think about your words. Heat rose in your cheeks, and you quickly cleared your throat, hoping they wouldn't catch the implication. You might as well have confessed your love for him right then and there, for it amounted to the same thing. They would know.

Six pairs of eyes bored into you, sending heat rushing to your cheeks and a lump forming in your throat. The fireplace warmed the room significantly, yet the heat flushing your face was even more intense than the flames flickering nearby.

"I knew it!" Françoise exclaimed, causing you to flinch for the second time that evening at her almost childlike, yet endearing, enthusiasm. "You have a crush on my brother! You want him! I knew it all along!"

Before you could reply, whether with a half-hearted defense or an admission, Morticia spoke up again, her gentle voice wrapping around you like the scent of roses on a warm spring day: "I knew it, too. I saw it in one of my visions."

Fran’s wide smile faltered slightly, and her brows drew together. "But aren't you a raven? Was it a bad vision? Won't they end up together? Oh, man… I could already picture the wedding."

"A dove, darling. I am a dove. But no, I... I can barely describe my vision. All I know is that I saw you and him together," Morticia told her, her onyx-colored eyes fixed solely on you. Goosebumps spread across your arms, and a shiver made the fine hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You had a very bad feeling about this, even though she was a dove blessed with positive visions of the future.

"At the ball?" you asked, sitting up a little straighter. You wanted to know more about what she had seen, so that you would know what was coming and what to expect in the near future. Would you get the kiss you so longed for? The love you had waited five hundred long years for and for which you could have waited another thousand? Although you had truly known each other intimately for only a week back then, and had only been able to live out your love during that time, that brief period changed nothing about your feelings for him. Your love had been real and deep, and it still was even now.

"No, sometime after that, I suppose. Like I said, I don't know for sure. I can't quite interpret it, but Isaac was lying in your arms, and he looked happy."

"What did his hair look like?" you asked. Larissa giggled, and Fran looked at you with raised eyebrows, as if she didn't understand you at all anymore. Why would you need to know his hair color? Of course it was black— just as it was now— and curly.

"Not quite black," Frump replied, and you immediately understood what her vision as a dove had alluded to. "It was lighter, looking more like caramel. But it was wild, as always."

"What you saw wasn't our future, but our past. Isaac and I once loved each other, though it was an eternity ago," you explained gently to the three girls.

"I don't understand," Francoise said, shaking her head. Her dark brown curls swayed gently back and forth. Her hair was wavy too, but her older brother definitely had curlier hair than she did. Perhaps she was trying to straighten it, because you seemed to recall seeing one of those modern straighteners tucked away in her closet. "We've only known each other for a few months, haven't we?"

“Yes, we do, but I actually knew him five hundred years ago,” you replied with a gentle smile playing on your lips. There was no backing out now. It was better to simply confess the truth to them. You had told Isaac the story just a few hours ago, and now you would share it with them, too. It was only right, given that they were your friends and held a special place in your heart.

So you told them everything. From the moment you met Isaac beneath the willow tree to your first kiss and the decision to marry. You told them about his terrible father, who forced him onto the battlefield even though he didn't know how to fight. You spoke of your final morning together, when you painted his portrait and he refused to let you go. Of course, you also had to share the darker moments: holding him in your arms as he died, and murdering your castle’s priest after a stranger had turned you into a vampire. To this day, you didn't know who had turned you and, in truth, you didn't need to know. Morticia even had to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye as you described the centuries of loneliness you had endured, followed by the immense joy of discovering he had been reborn.

As you finished your story, Francoise placed a hand on your shoulder, but you quickly shook your head and sniffled, blinking rapidly in hopes that they wouldn't notice your sorrow. You had spent so much time grieving that it was a miracle you had any tears left to shed.

“I- I have a picture I can show you,” you said, rising from the sofa to look for the amulet you had set on a chest of drawers earlier. You usually wore it around your neck, but given recent events, you could no longer do so. “I painted it myself back then. It shows him as he was at the time.”

Your nightgown fluttered behind you like a wedding veil as you prepared to face the search, but a hand suddenly wrapping tenderly around your wrist stopped you. Wide-eyed, you looked down at Francoise; her gaze was gentler than the kiss of warm sunlight on your skin.

“We believe you anyway.” She offered you a friendly smile that was something that took you by surprise. They believed your story? Without proof? That was a new experience for you, especially after Isaac, who had refused to believe you right away.

“She’s right, dear Countess. You don’t have to prove anything to us,” Frump agreed, setting her wine glass back on the table beside the opened bottle, which, in all likelihood, would not be finished tonight. Larissa nodded in agreement as well.

After Isaac’s mistrust and, above all, the questions that had been placed on you in the past, it was uncharted territory to have someone place blind trust in you without questioning you. Whether it was your nature, your motives, or simply the fact that you were an Outcast. But here, among a group of misfits and people you would genuinely call friends, that wasn't the case. They didn't want proof, they didn't grill you, and they ignored the faint trail of blood on the rug in front of the fireplace. A trail that only you could have left behind. And wasn't that exactly what true friendship was all about?

Oh, how you wished Isaac would place that same kind of trust in you— or at least lend you an ear.

You cleared your throat softly, not wanting to show just how deeply that gesture had touched you, and finally replied, "You know... actually, I’m not a countess at all."

"What? But Aleo said—"

"I’m a princess," you interrupted Francoise. For a moment, there was silence, until Morticia let out a small giggle. Larissa followed with a snort, and finally, Francoise pressed a hand over her mouth. You started laughing too, struck by the absurdity of the situation, even though it was the truth. The giggling grew louder, and soon you were all laughing together, looking like a coven of witches about to perform a dark ritual to summon a demon.

And so it went on for hours. The moon moved across the sky, clouds came and went, and rain fell for an hour before stopping again. Yet there you all sat, on the same sofas in your house near the Academy, talking about the upcoming Rave’N Ball. You planned out all the important details together: the theme, the dress code, the decorations, the dominant color scheme, as well as the music and the food. You were only finished once you had written everything down and your mind map was completely full, leaving no space left. You collapsed, exhausted, onto the large bed in the master bedroom and fell asleep within a second. The others spread out across the rest of the house. There were two additional guest rooms, and the sofas were perfectly comfortable for sleeping, too. That night, you grew closer, got to know one another even better, laughed, and shared everything; this time, no murder spoiled the evening. For once, it had truly been a wonderful night.

Summer in Jericho was slowly drawing to a close. The pristine Green Mountains and deciduous forests, which surrounded Jericho and Nevermore for miles, effectively shielding them somewhat from the outside world, were gradually turning shades of deep orange and red. Leaves carpeted the streets and rooftops; even in the Nevermore courtyard, the caretaker was kept busy sweeping fallen leaves into piles— a task that seemed to nearly kill him. In the woods, the morning birdsong faded as the flocks began their migration to other regions, and the loud calls of elk fell silent at night.

The first school year you had experienced at Nevermore Academy, which would likely be your only one, was slowly coming to an end. The Rave’N Ball was the year’s final event, one the students were eagerly anticipating, and the date was drawing closer by the day. Boutiques in Jericho were packed with Outcast students searching for the perfect outfit. Beaming girls raced down the hallways after being asked to the ball by their crushes, while tears streamed down the faces of others who had been turned down.

You had never seen such a sense of unity at a school before. DaVincis helped hang decorations that would normally have been too heavy for a human to manage, especially the diamond-encrusted chandelier Morticia had insisted upon; Gorgons crafted magnificent stone statues to adorn the hall; Pyromaniacs practiced circus-style tricks with fire batons and hoops they would set ablaze for the big show; and Sirens provided beautiful vocals that instantly brought a smile to everyone's face.

A large stack of crates smelling of books and fabric blocked your view as you tried to navigate the chaos inside the ballroom. You hadn't even known this enormous room existed until now. Nevermore seemed to be full of surprises, even after you’d been there for three months. Three whole weeks had passed since your friend’s death, your confession to Isaac, and Stonehearst’s growing mistrust of you. You had spent most of that time helping Morticia manage the committee’s workload. You could barely see a thing as you tentatively made your way past a group of werewolves who were collaborating on a massive banner bearing the ball’s theme. The fabric was a deep ruby red, with the words embroidered in gold silk. You nearly slipped on a bolt of silk, and the crates in your arms wobbled so violently that, for a split second, you thought you were about to drop them. Fortunately, you managed to steady yourself at the last moment.

Above you, the delicate diamond crystals of the chandelier clinked and swayed as a team of DaVincis tried— yet again— to secure it to the ceiling. It had crashed down in the middle of the night the day before yesterday, however, since it wasn't made of glass, it had survived largely intact. A boy slammed into you from the side, jostling you, while several people tried to push past you from behind. Heat rose in your cheeks, and you could feel a thin film of sweat forming on your forehead. It was too warm in the ballroom, and the blazer you were wearing over a wool sweater wasn't helping to keep you cool. Just as you were on the verge of feeling overwhelmed, as you were already able to hear the pounding of your own pulse in your ears, someone bumped into your side, causing the tower of boxes in your arms to tip over. Your eyes widened and a shocked gasp escaped your lips, but before the brown boxes could hit the floor, they suddenly came to a halt in mid-air.

The pulse of an invisible force hung in the air as the six boxes stacked themselves back up, one by one. Your gaze quickly scanned the hall for your rescuer before settling on the grand staircase at the far end of the room. Isaac Night stood on the top step with his right hand extended toward you, methodically realigning the boxes before they flew back into your arms. Had he been watching you? How had he known you were there in the crowd?

A grateful smile spread across your face, but before you could even mouth a simple "thank you," you were jostled further along in the opposite direction. Isaac turned away from the crowd and refocused on the chandelier’s suspension mechanism. Normally, he would never attend an event like this, but Headmaster Sinclair had asked him to at least oversee the setup and lend a hand whenever help was needed. He was the school’s best DaVinci, and his talents were in high demand right then.

The boxes found their place at Gomez and Morticia’s table in a small alcove in the back corner. Gomez sat on a chair with Morticia on his lap as they both reviewed the prom committee’s notes. They offered you grateful smiles, and you smiled back. It felt like… home.

But not everything was well. Due to the alleged murder that had taken place and the two missing students— one lying at the bottom of the lake and the other in an unmarked pit— the Jericho Police Department was watching your every move. Deputies stood in pairs at every school entrance and exit, questioning students who had stayed out past the imposed curfew and occasionally searching bags. Even the teachers weren't happy about it, but Principal Sinclair insisted that without these security measures, there would be no Rave’N dance. Students protested day after day, pranks were pulled, and there were occasional altercations requiring the use of "anti-outcast spray" (aka bear spray). Even though you enjoyed those days, they still had their downsides.

"I want to try on the blue one!" squealed Francoise beside you, pressing a finger against the shop window. The six of you were standing in front of a boutique in Jericho, waiting for it to open. A cold wind rushed past you, sending fallen leaves skittering down the street, where the occasional car drove by. A thick scarf was wrapped around your neck, and you had turned up your coat collar to protect your ears. It felt colder in Jericho than in the woods around Nevermore, even if the thought wasn't logical.

"I want to see you in the blood-red dress, cara mia," Gomez whispered into Morticia’s ear, his arm wrapped around her waist. Beside him, Isaac rolled his eyes. He had only come along because Gomez had asked him to.

Francoise squeezed your hand excitedly as her caramel-brown eyes roamed over the selection in the window. She loved looking at the beautiful dresses. Even though she was a year below you, she would be attending the Rave’N Ball this year, since every invitee was allowed to bring a guest. Naturally, she was Isaac’s guest— being his little sister— since he hadn't bothered to find a date for the ball himself.

"Personally, I think that ivory one over in the corner is stunning," remarked Larissa, who was standing next to Morticia, leaning close to the glass.

Amidst the colorful dresses made of tulle, silk, velvet, or other fabrics, there were also suits for male customers that were available either off-the-rack or made-to-measure. Ties were neatly folded on shelves, and small boxes held an assortment of tie clips, buttons, and other small accessories.

"Which dress do you have your eye on?" Fran asked, nudging you lightly in the side with her elbow. The truth was, you simply didn't know. Ever since you’d arrived and spent the last half-hour standing in front of the shop window you’d been gazing into the boutique, yet none of the dresses really caught your eye. Perhaps it was the modern cuts, or the excessive glitter that hurt your eyes, or maybe it was the mostly solid-color nature of the dresses that simply bored you.

"I’m not really sure," you replied, giving a slight shrug. "Nothing really stands out to me."

"Perhaps the violet dress in the corner?" Morticia suggested, her voice smooth and elegant as ever. "I’m certain it would suit you beautifully."

Your gaze found the violet garment she was referring to, but your lips immediately curled downward. You already had an idea of what you wanted to portray at the ball— the theme was "Creatures of the Night," after all— and the color violet didn't fit that concept. You shook your head and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, where the wind made it dance.

"I don't think that will go with what I want to portray."

"Oh! How do you like the gold one over there?" Larissa asked, tapping the glass several times with one of her sharp fingernails. The fact that she wanted to help you too, even though you hadn't spent much time with her yet, warmed your heart, but that suggestion didn't quite fit your idea either. "Gold would really make your eyes stand out."

You shook your head again, and Fran let out a sigh. You would understand if they were all getting annoyed with you. They probably assumed you were a bit high-maintenance given your past, having worn stunning gowns hundreds of times, many of them custom-made just for you. Well, if none of the dresses appealed to you, you still had the one you’d brought from Transylvania, tucked away in one of your suitcases. You hadn’t had a reason to wear it until now, but the moment had finally arrived. It was always good to have a Plan B.

Gomez spoke your name, his accent thick as the words rolled off his lips: "The pink one in the corner? It’s silk, and I’m certain it would look marvelous paired with— Ouch!"

Isaac effectively silenced him by ramming his shoulder into him, shooting a fierce glare at his best friend and roommate. Morticia immediately began rubbing her lover’s shoulder and planted a soothing kiss over the fabric of his suit.

"What was that all about, mi amigo?" Addams grumbled, instinctively leaning closer to his beloved Morticia Frump.

"Does she seriously strike you as someone who likes wearing pink?" Isaac countered, gesturing toward you. Your gaze darted back and forth between the two men, and you furrowed your brows in confusion, your forehead creasing slightly. How did Isaac know you had an aversion to pink? There was no way he could have known that, unless—

The sudden turning of a key in the lock stopped you from getting lost in your thoughts. The shopkeeper, who turned out to be a young woman in her thirties, opened the door for you. She wore a neat updo with a hairpin securing the bun and smelled of cat hair and fennel tea.

"I don't usually open until nine, but I don't want you catching your deaths out here. Come in quickly before it gets cold," she greeted you. Her tone was neither entirely friendly nor was it completely dismissive. She stepped aside then, allowing the six of you to hurry into the warm interior of the clothing shop. It smelled faintly of mothballs, though the most prominent scent was likely the incense sticks standing in a small, inkwell-style holder on a chest of drawers next to the register.

You quickly rubbed your hands, which were even colder than usual, and blew warm air onto your palms, while Morticia let Gomez help her slip her coat off her shoulders, Larissa slid the white gloves from her fingers, and Francoise whispered quietly with her older brother.

"Feel free to hang your belongings on the rack over there. Have a look around and let me know if the ladies see a dress they like or if the gentlemen wish to discuss any of the suits." The shopkeeper gave you a smile that, this time, seemed genuinely friendly. She took Morticia’s coat and folded it with careful hands. A brief look of admiration flitted across her features, as if she hadn’t expected to handle such high-quality fabric.

One by one, you handed your coats, scarves, and bags to the older woman before dispersing throughout the shop. It wasn’t huge, yet spacious enough that you were several meters apart from one another. Morticia and Larissa whispered together, excitedly holding dresses up against themselves to see if their ideas would work. Francoise had paused by the hairpins, admiring one shaped like a crescent moon. Your eyes lit up for a moment when you realized that the headmaster’s tie pin— the one featuring a wolf’s head howling at the moon— most likely came from this very shop. That knowledge was of absolutely no practical use, yet you liked having connected those two pieces of the puzzle.

You were standing in a back corner of the shop, your hands gliding gently through fine dresses in search of one that matched your vision. You bit your lower lip and let out a deep sigh. Two minutes turned into five, and five suddenly turned into ten, yet you had found absolutely nothing. In the background, you heard Morticia disappear into the changing room. Gomez was already rushing over to help her dress when the shopkeeper, whose name you didn’t know, stopped him with a stern word: even though they were a couple, he wasn’t allowed inside the changing room with her.

A small giggle escaped you, lifting your spirits, and you shook your head in amusement— only to be suddenly startled. Isaac was standing right beside you. You hadn’t even noticed him approach! How could that happen? Lately, it had felt as though your concentration was slipping.

“Isaac!” His name escaped you in surprise, and you pressed a hand to your heart. He raised his hands in response, as if silently apologizing.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his hands still raised before he slowly let them drop after a few seconds.

“No, it’s fine,” you replied immediately, glancing back at the fabrics. You hadn’t spoken to each other in weeks. Not since that awkward moment in the Iago Tower when the professor had interrupted you. Of course, you had seen each other a few times in the classroom, in the cafeteria, or simply in the school corridors. The urge to speak to him was always there, but you had held back. After all, the last time you’d spoken, you had confessed your undying love for him and you were certain he would need time to process that.

“I just didn’t see you coming.”

“Hmm,” he murmured with a nod, before his right hand moved the sleeve of a dress with his telekinesis. He made the sleeve rise and wave in your direction, bringing a gentle smile to his face. Even though you knew it was him, you waved back, and the dress made a gesture as if smoothing down its own skirt. It reminded you of a puppet show, which was also something you hadn't enjoyed in hundreds of years, as the art form had increasingly fallen out of fashion.

"It seems to me that the dress has taken a liking to you," he murmured softly. The mere sound of his voice made your heart race, and you suddenly felt much warmer beneath your sweater.

"Oh, really?" you asked in return, a small smile playing on your lips. It was the first time he had spoken to you so playfully. He hadn't done that before. "Why do you think it likes me?"

Heat crept up the back of your neck as he took another step toward you, the slender fingers of his right hand continuing to move subtly like a puppeteer making a marionette dance. The dress’s skirt swayed from side to side, and its sleeves moved as if it were dancing a slow, solitary waltz.

"It likes the way you look at it. The aura of mystery that constantly wraps around you like a cloak. The patience with which you treat things." His voice was barely a whisper as he gave his answer; it sounded almost as if he had rehearsed the words beforehand. His left shoulder gently brushed against yours.

"How would the dress know that, considering we’ve only known each other for such a short time?" you asked him. This wasn't really about dancing dresses— not even close.

“Perhaps it has known all along. Perhaps it has known you longer than you think?” A lump formed in your throat, and you had to restrain yourself from turning to him immediately to search for the truth in his dark, almost black eyes.

“I thought it didn’t remember me?” Your question came out soft and uncertain as your fingers traced the soft fabric of his sleeve. It seemed to wrap itself around your fingers as if by magic, as though it didn’t want you to stop touching it.

“It doesn’t. Not really, anyway. Yet it seems to me that there is a deep need to learn more about what connects the two of you.”

Those words finally made you turn toward him, his name slipping softly from your lips; but instead of looking you in the eye and actually speaking to you, he turned away in a split second and strode quickly toward the changing rooms, where Francoise was waiting with a heavy dress in her arms for Morticia to finally finish. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you didn’t quite know how to categorize what had just passed between you, when suddenly something bright on the floor caught your eye. You blinked and knelt down to where a small, folded slip of paper lay.

A gentle expression softened your features, and you let out a quiet breath. You would recognize those yellowed corners anywhere. Slowly, you unfolded the paper to reveal the picture that meant so much to you. You hadn’t even realized you’d lost it. It must have fallen out of the locket when you showed it to him weeks ago, and he had kept it with him all this time. You pressed the small slip of paper against your chest, as if you could absorb its meaning and weight back into yourself, before quickly tucking it away in your skirt pocket. A skirt with pockets was far more practical than you had initially thought.

As you stood up and brushed the dust from your knees, Weems looked at you, half her face hidden behind a fan she had evidently found in some corner. She was wiggling her eyebrows teasingly, having closely observed what had just passed between you and Isaac: a tender moment of connection, a quiet understanding, the acknowledgment of a past he barely knew anything about.

You quickly shook your head and hurried toward the shop door. You needed fresh air to properly reflect on Isaac's words.

The mirror in front of you was blank, reflecting only the room behind you and the girl sitting beside you. Morticia and Larissa were already fully dressed and sat on the sofa, playfully fanning each other with their large fans. Morticia was portraying a bat; she wore a long black dress that clung to her body, featuring long sleeves that resembled wing membranes whenever she spread her arms, while her hair cascaded over her shoulders in long waves, flowing down her back like a river at night. Her mask, a shade of brown, lay beside her on the sofa. It didn't look exactly like a bat, though she had certainly tried to make it look that way. Larissa had chosen a barn owl costume, her gown being snow-white with beige accents along the sides and neckline, complete with a mask to which she had sewn real owl feathers for authenticity. She had tied her silver hair into a bun, from which beige feathers also protruded.

Francoise, who was sitting behind you and styling your hair just as she had done several times before was also already dressed. She had chosen a whale shark, even though it was only partially a nocturnal creature. When you asked why she had picked that particular shark, she said she liked the idea of it being a gentle giant. That it might look large and dangerous, but in reality, it wouldn't hurt a soul. Consequently, her dress was light blue with vertical white stripes running down her body. Towards the hem, the dress deepened into a darker blue, making it look just like the ocean. The nails of her pale fingers, which she had painted a striking blue, ran slowly through your hair as she tied it up just the way she saw fit. You hadn't given her a specific style to follow. You had simply said you wanted the final result to look pretty.

"Done," she whispered to you, resting her chin on your bare shoulder. Her brown curls tickled your skin, and you saw her smiling in the mirror, though you yourself remained invisible. The last time you had actually seen your own reflection was five hundred years ago. You no longer knew exactly what you looked like. The only reason you could still picture it at times was the collection of paintings hanging on the walls of your castle’s dining room. Of course, beauty always lay in the eye of the artist, and you had yet to meet one who didn't like to deviate from the subject just to make their client look "prettier." No, you no longer knew what your own face looked like. But you had studied every inch of Isaac’s.

"How do I look?" you asked, leaning your cheek against hers.

"Hauntingly beautiful," she murmured into your ear before turning away and standing up. She gathered the fabric of her blue dress and hurried over to the other two girls, who were sitting on the sofa like Yin and Yang. "Look, she’s ready! Well? Did I do a good job?"

Frump and Weems looked up at you in unison as you rose from the vanity chair and turned toward them. Morticia’s dark-painted mouth fell open, and Larissa placed a hand against her cheek.

"Oh, he’s going to love it," Larissa said, fanning herself even more vigorously. Of course, you knew who she meant; after all, she was the only one who had witnessed what happened in the boutique. Your cheek suddenly felt much warmer than before, and you quickly glanced down at the carpet, where a bloodstain was still visible. Even after weeks and multiple cleanings, the blood simply wouldn't come out. "I don't think he'll be interested."

"Who are you two talking about?" asked Morticia, reaching for her bag and walking toward the hallway with a sway of her hips. She reminded you of a proud raven, even though her psychic power was that of a dove. Perhaps fate had intended to make her a raven at first, but her kind-hearted nature had gotten in the way— for Morticia Frump was nothing if not friendly.

"Isaac, of course!" laughed Larissa, quickly following her. Together, they formed a contrast that— confusingly enough— fit together perfectly. Morticia’s eyebrows shot up, and she immediately looked back at her, wearing an expression for the history books.

Francoise grabbed her mask and walked over to the pair as well, a splash of colorful paint between two extremes. "I told you so from the start. I’m getting a milkshake out of this later."

Now you were the one looking confused: "Wait, does that mean you guys made a bet on whether Isaac and I would become a couple?"

"He’s basically your soulmate, so... yeah," Fran answered before quickly rushing out the door, leaving before you could even get a word in. Morticia and Larissa followed her immediately, so you hurriedly grabbed your own feather-adorned mask and rushed after them as fast as your outfit would allow.

Nevermore Academy was illuminated in red and gold as the four of you walked across the courtyard, where other students in fine attire were mingling. A few heads turned your way, but your focus remained on the police officers stationed at every corner like guard dogs just waiting for the chance to bare their teeth, held back only by a tight leash. Francoise’s gaze, too, seemed drawn to one of the officers, someone who appeared younger than the rest, closer to your own age, or perhaps just a year older. Banners of red and gold silk draped from the rooftops and balconies, and a path of rose petals led into the Great Hall, which was serving as the ballroom for the evening.

Your mask sat loosely on your nose and nearly slipped off when the black-haired girl grabbed your hand, quickly pulling you and the others inside. A rush of warmth flooded your face, accompanied by the mingled scents of perfume from the crowd packed into the confined space. The chandelier overhead scattered golden light in every direction, while rows of candles lined the banisters and tables, illuminating the way to the center of the room where the dance floor lay. The Nevermore Orchestra wasn't ready yet; instead, 80s music blared so loudly that conversation was nearly impossible, but that wasn't all. Several hoops— reminiscent of a circus— hung from the ceiling, along with a long rope where a girl was performing graceful, languid movements some nine meters above the crystal-clear floor. Inside the hoops sat several Pyromaniacs, using their fire-manipulation abilities to hurl flames from one side of the room to the other. It was a breathtaking sight.

Your eyes widened and a smile graced your lips as you marveled at the beauty you had helped plan alongside the others. Yet, not even in your wildest dreams could you have imagined the final result would turn out so perfect.

Beside you, Gomez swept Morticia into a dance, extravagant as ever, and completely out of sync with the music. A red rose was clamped between Gomez’s teeth, which you couldn't help but shake your head at, though Morticia seemed to love it, throwing her arms around his neck and letting him pull her onto the dance floor. Larissa simply shook her head and vanished into the crowd, heading toward the bar, where, unfortunately, only non-alcoholic drinks were being served. A glance to the left revealed that Francoise had disappeared as well. Instinctively, you reached for your neck to feel the familiar weight of the locket, only to find nothing there. Right... it still hadn't been repaired.

You pouted slightly and looked around as sparks from the flaming rings rained down upon you. The ball was a riot of colors and creatures, all subtly represented. What struck you, however, was that some groups seemed to lack creativity: most werewolves had dressed as wolves, vampires as bats, sirens as various sea creatures, and— naturally— gorgons as reptiles. You paused at an easel in the corner near the bar, watching something that made your eyes light up: a psychic with the rare gift of bringing drawings to life was sketching whatever people requested, coaxing all manner of images right off the canvas. Half of a king cobra emerged from the canvas, snapping at onlookers; a swarm of moths came to life and flew upward toward the ceiling, though they ventured too close to the fiery rings and vanished in small puffs of smoke. The crowd burst into applause, and you enthusiastically joined in. The artist took a bow, and you moved on to see what else the ball had to offer.

A group of Faceless Ones was milling about in one corner, which was a group you deliberately avoided. They still frightened you after all these years and all your travels, even if that fear was irrational. Some things simply never change.

Beside the raised stage, where the orchestra would later perform and where the instruments were already being set up, stood several terrariums, some of them open. Nearby, Swarmers were having their insects perform little tricks: a spider wearing a hat waved to the audience, while a girl guided a flock of butterflies to form letters or shapes in the air. For a moment, the letter A hung in the air, making you think of Aleo for a moment. It had been weeks since his death, yet you still thought of him sometimes and occasionally lit a candle in his memory. He likely would have dressed like a colorful peacock. The sort of outfit that would have led most people to mistake him for being gay. The thought made you chuckle, and you walked on.

A red carpet was laid out right in front of the orchestra steps, and to its right, a young DaVinci had set out to become the star of the evening. He was dressed like a ringmaster— missing the night's theme entirely— but he performed tricks that seemed impossible to the naked eye. Cards would vanish in a flash only to reappear elsewhere; suddenly, it looked as though an invisible force were hoisting him into the air before slamming him back onto his chair, yet he maintained his professional composure. He balanced a girl, who was dressed like a chinchilla, with gray fur draped over her shoulders, on his arm, despite looking completely slight of build himself. And finally, for his last trick. The girl climbed onto his shoulders, then stood on one leg atop his head without falling. She stood barefoot and perfectly upright on the boy's head, spread her arms wide, and then suddenly— she was gone! She vanished into thin air, and the onlookers erupted into thunderous applause that you immediately joined in with enthusiasm.

Everyone was still gazing up at the spot where the girl had disappeared, a balcony where people milling about on the second floor could look down into the area. You didn't recognize most of the faces behind the masks, but one... oh, one was unmistakable. Your breath hitched, and your hand instinctively went back to your collarbone, where your necklace usually rested. Skin as pale as freshly fallen snow, eyes as dark as the night itself, curly hair combed neatly back for the evening, and a gaze so intense it left you speechless. Isaac Night stood leaning against the balcony railing, looking down at the bustle in the hall below, yet his eyes didn't wander left or right. They were focused on one specific point. They were focused on you.

Someone walked past, blocking your view of Night. By the time they had pushed on by, Isaac was gone. Your eyes widened, and you quickly scanned the room from left to right beneath your mask, but he was no longer standing at the balcony railing. His suit had been a brilliant red with black details on the mask and the front, which was something that would have been hard to miss. Now, you were the one trying to push through the crowd of laughing students. You could barely breathe, yet you darted your gaze from side to side, searching for the man who had stolen your heart and who would keep it forever.

Not far away, boots and heels stomped onto the dance floor, and voices sang loudly and ff-key along to the song blasting from the speakers. Listening closely to the lyrics, you could tell it was sung in German and seemed to be about Amadeus Mozart and rock music. You didn't know how the two went together, but it was one of the better songs you’d heard in months. Unfortunately, you couldn't really enjoy it, as you were neither on the dance floor nor did you have a dance partner. All you wanted was to find Isaac. You came to a sudden halt at the marble staircase leading up to the second floor that were strewn with rose petals, mirroring those outside, with candles lining the railing.

“A nightingale, I presume?” Isaac’s voice was music to your ears, and for a brief moment, the world around you ceased its spinning. All was quiet for an instant. You saw only Isaac Night before you, clad in a black suit jacket that fell to his knees. Beneath it, a lace shirt offered occasional glimpses of the pale skin he kept concealed most of the time. A black-and-red cravat hung around his neck, fanning out at the bottom, while an elegant red-and-black mask framed his sharp cheekbones. At the bridge of the nose, it was shaped like a beak, tinged with a touch of gold at the tip.

“Indeed,” you said after a few seconds spent composing yourself. “And you are a Red Cardinal.”

He descended the steps one by one, his eyes scanning your champagne-colored ensemble, whose skirt were streaked with light shades of red. "Will you sing for us tonight, little bird?"

His polished black dress shoes moved down another step toward you, while your hand rested on the banister. It felt cold beneath your fingertips and smoother than the skin of an eel.

"I hate to spoil the fun, but female nightingale do not sing. They much prefer to let the males impress them in order to find a potential mate," you explained carefully. You would have preferred to keep your voice low, but the music and the chatter of the others were so loud that you practically had to shout at him. Years ago— in another lifetime— you had loved watching birds, but eventually, you stopped replacing the dead ones in their golden cage, focusing instead on finding your beloved.

"So, the question should really be..." you began, a conspiratorial smile playing on your lips. "Will you sing for me?"

"Oh, I cannot sing. You shouldn't expect that from me," countered Isaac, who had by now reached the bottom of the stairs and was standing right in front of you. You had to tilt your head back slightly to keep looking into his eyes. The two almost black orbs were framed by red and black, making them appear even deeper. Like two pools of endless darkness, yet it was not emptiness. His eyes were never once empty.

"A dance, perhaps?" you asked, summoning all your courage. For a split second, the girl you had buried deep within yourself and locked away resurfaced. The girl who had been nervous when Isaac admired her, who couldn't imagine ever having to spend a single day without him. For the first time in a long while, the girl saw the light of day. Or rather, the red-and-gold glow of the ballroom.

"I don't dance." Isaac shook his head and looked past you at the crowd of teenagers wildly moving their bodies to the song blasting through the hall. They spun around, bobbed their shoulders, let their partners twirl them, or performed movements that actually resembled the dance of a bird. You tilted your head in curiosity.

"Me neither," you agreed with a shrug. "Not to this kind of music, anyway. I can manage a decent waltz, though."

The corner of his thin lips quirked into a barely perceptible grin before he glanced quickly over his shoulder, as if he’d felt a breath against his neck. In truth, he simply wanted to hide the genuine amusement in his eyes. Amusement you had stirred up in him. He’d had plenty of time to wrestle with his own thoughts over the past few weeks. He had dissected and reinterpreted your words over and over again, yet he always arrived at the same conclusion: reincarnated or not, you believed your feelings for him were real. Isaac Night didn’t do love. It was a complete waste of time, and he couldn't afford to get distracted— and consequently fail— during the final stages of his project. But you were… different. He couldn't explain it to himself. Whenever his thoughts wandered, they always ended up circling back to you. To the striking, mysterious vampire who had appeared out of nowhere and, in no time at all, coiled herself around his clockwork heart like a serpent. That serpent had infected him with its venom. To the poison of madness that clouded his mind until he could think of nothing but you, you, you.

He turned his head back toward you, while a single lock of black hair curling over his forehead, as he caught sight of movement on the stage. He leaned to the side, and you followed his gaze in confusion, only to see the Nevermore Academy orchestra taking the stage. The loud speakers fell silent, and the pop music faded away. Some students groaned in annoyance, while others shouted "Finally!" across the room. You belonged to the latter group, knowing full well that a waltz was on the agenda.

The dance floor cleared quickly as more people moved to the sidelines, once again obstructing your view. But before you could dwell on your disappointment, cool fingers gently wrapped around your wrist and pulled you up a few steps. This gave you a perfect view of the stage, sparing you from having to peer over the shoulder of someone taller. Even though you could see clearly again, his fingers remained wrapped around your wrist, his index finger rested lightly against your pulse point.

And you knew instantly that he could sense exactly how fast your undead heart was beating because of him.

While the music teacher gave a short speech, you found you couldn't focus on her words at all. There was the sound of the clockwork heartbeat behind you, his subtle warmth nearly brushing against your back, and his hand slowly sliding down a few inches to interlace his fingers with yours.

Your breath hitched. "What are you doing?" Your voice was low. You didn't want to disturb the Outcasts standing in front of you.

"I'm trying to remember," Isaac murmured in an equally quiet tone.

You shook your head, even though he was standing behind you, he could still see the gesture. "Don't play games with me, Isaac, please. I know you don't believe a word I say."

"And yet, I'm curious," he replied without hesitation. His other hand grasped yours again, and a look of confusion crossed your features as you suddenly felt something cold and metallic, which he was pressing from his palm into yours. "Besides, I have a gift for you. Take a look."

You lowered your head and slowly opened your fingers, revealing something extraordinary: a locket. It clearly wasn't made of gold, nor were there any small gemstones adorning the inside, yet it was a locket he had crafted himself. It was small, assembled from copper and iron, with tiny gears and wires as decorations. You wouldn't call it beautiful in the conventional sense, but it held a unique charm that made it breathtaking nonetheless. The silver chain swayed gently in the air.

You couldn't believe it. "Isaac, I... I don't know what to say." A grin spread across his handsome face, and he rested his chin on your shoulder, burying his nose in your hair for a brief moment. He traced the two small bite marks on your neck, and your shoulders tensed. Not out of fear or nervousness, but because intimacy had become so foreign to you over time. Resting one’s head on a shoulder seemed to be something members of the Night family enjoyed, as Francoise liked to do that gesture too.

"How about a 'thank you'?" he murmured, his lips grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. His hands slowly stroked up your arms, as if he wanted to map every inch of your skin.

A lump formed in your throat, one you could barely swallow down. "Are you still searching for memories, Isaac? Or what are you doing here?"

"What do you think, Princess?" he whispered. Goosebumps raced down your neck and spread across your arms, which he could almost certainly feel. You felt as though you might faint at any moment.

On stage, the school’s vocal and music teacher stepped back after receiving lukewarm applause, and several students raised their instruments: strings, flutes, and a harp off to the far right. The string quartet set their bows aside, couples began to form, hands resting on shoulders or wrapping around a partner's waist.

You wanted to join in. You wanted to dance.

His lips ghosted over the curve of your shoulder, and you instinctively leaned against his chest before tilting your head to the side, your cheeks lightly brushing against each other. His skin was cool, yet yours was even cooler, even if it didn't feel that way to you. “Would you like to dance with me?” you asked him softly and yet more gently than the sun’s warm kiss upon your skin in the first light of spring.

His lips parted to answer; anticipation bubbled within you that felt almost like lava in an active volcano, ready to erupt, and you could already picture the two of you gliding across the dance floor when suddenly... a loud bang! Several of the police officers you had seen outside earlier rushed into the hall, and Professor Stonehearst stepped onto the orchestra’s stage. The music fell silent again instantly, before they had even managed to play for a full minute. Isaac’s hands tightened around your arm, and you instinctively gripped the new medallion in your right hand more firmly, as if it could offer you some sense of stability.

“Forgive the interruption, it won’t take long,” began the professor of applied sciences and physics. The officers— six of them, though you knew there were more— pushed their way past the students, as if searching for someone to arrest. A sickening feeling churned in your stomach, and you pressed yourself closer to Night, as if seeking protection.

“It appears that several murders took place here some time ago. We assumed these were merely missing persons cases, but now we know better," announced Augustus Stonehearst, standing before the microphone with his back straight and shoulders squared. "Georgie Loyd and our newcomer, Alejandro Cervantes, were both found dead in the woods surrounding Nevermore. Mauled, drained of blood, and clearly murdered."

You shook your head in shock and disbelief, murmuring a protest under your breath: "No, no, that’s not how it happened. He isn’t… I didn’t…"

A collective gasp of shock rippled through the hall. It was so quiet that if a darning needle had dropped, you would have heard it hit the floor. The Jericho Police Department pushed their way through the crowd, as if searching for someone specific.

"We found Georgie submerged in a lake, his body weighted down with stones, and Alejandro was discovered in an unmarked grave about two kilometers from here," he continued. Isaac’s fingers dug more firmly into your shoulders.

"The person responsible is here tonight." The professor scanned the crowd, searching. Your heart pounded so hard you could feel it hammering against your ribs. You had to get out of there. You had to run, and Isaac would come with you— whether he wanted to or not, because— Suddenly, your name was called out across the crowd, loud and clear. "Does anyone know where she is right now?"

"I have to go!" You tore yourself away from Isaac as fast as you could, grabbed the hem of your dress, and hurried up the marble stairs, hoping to find another exit. You loved Isaac, and that was why you had to protect him. No, he could not come with you. Not when he was Stonehearst’s favorite and already on the verge of falling out of favor. You would still be able to see him again, but right now, letting him go was the best decision you could make. Not forever— you hadn't waited half a millennium for that— but at least until you escaped this situation.

Reaching the top step, you saw another police officer running toward you. You had no choice but to turn around and try to run back down, even though that meant heading into the belly of the beast, where you would likely be caught quickly. Your shoes clattered loudly against the steps before Isaac’s hand grabbed your arm once more, his eyes wide as he looked at you.

"But you didn't do anything? You didn't kill him," he hissed under his breath, so only the two of you could hear. Rapid footsteps approached, and the crowd in front of you parted like the Red Sea.

"Not him..." you whispered back, shame casting a shadow over your lovely face. "But the other boy, yes."

His expression shifted instantly, but before you could offer an explanation, hands grabbed your shoulders and yanked you backward by the sleeves of your dress. Two police officers stood beside you, pulling you away from Isaac— away from happiness— and into a situation you had no desire to face. The instinct to fight back took over before you could even think, and you struggled to tear yourself free from their grip with all your might.

"Fuck, she's strong!" one of the men groaned as his fingers dug even deeper into your skin. The sudden, violent jerk to the side was accompanied by a loud sound, the tearing of fabric, as the sleeve of your dress ripped. You bared your sharp fangs at him and hissed like an animal ready to strike and draw first blood.

A panicked glance to the side shattered your heart. So many of the students you had come to know over the past few months were simply watching. They stared wide-eyed at the scene, as if they didn't know you or as if they simply didn't care. To your left, on the raised stage, stood Professor Stonehearst, and you couldn't hold back the rage boiling in your veins. You weren't just angry. You were furious.

With a surge of strength and despite the pain, you managed to wrench one hand free from the older officer's grip and raked your sharp nails across the face of the man who had been tugging at your sleeve. He screamed in agony and clapped a hand over his eye, from which bloody tears started streaming, before you bolted past him toward the stage. Your mask had long since slipped from your face and was caught in a strand of your hair. Stonehearst recoiled; your eyes were fixed on his neck and on his pulsating carotid artery, which you needed only to sever, but there were more than just two officers in the hall. Two strong arms grabbed you around the waist from behind and hauled you back before you could put up any kind of fight. You tried to kick and scratch at him, but the police officer carried you back as if you were a weightless doll.

"Let her go!" a female voice suddenly screamed, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw a blue dress break free from the crowd. "Let her go, she didn't do anything! It wasn't her, it was—"

"Francoise!" Isaac shouted, rushing toward her. In less than a second, he had wrapped his arms around her and pressed her head against his shoulder. That way, she couldn't speak. The truth had to be kept hidden, or else they would take Francoise away from him, and he wouldn't be able to cure her.

Isaac. Francoise. A cure.

A saving idea struck you, and your eyes lit up as you were forcibly dragged toward the exit, where, presumably, you would be put into a straitjacket without hesitation and taken to Willow Hill— Stonehearst’s little paradise that operated by its own rules.

You didn't want to say it. You didn't want to play that card, but it might have been your only way out. Your secret weapon, the one you knew would work:

"Isaac! I know a remedy! I know a cure! I can help her, I can save her from—"

A heavy blow to the back of your head silenced you in an instant, and the world around you suddenly went black.

The dividers were made by @uzmacchiato !

Series Taglist: @ashleygryffindor @nablablabla @raquelyoyo @beaul-full-of-ieu @musicmanagerial @jarofghostss @iv4n-ali3n @notyourfuckingbusinesss @dxrkheavensworld @taylorwelever @minttea07 @athenalesage @mrsnukola @mcufan2031 @stranger-chan @wringmyfaithfulheart

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