WHY IS A RAVEN LIKE A WRITING DESK?
“𝘐𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘵, 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.”
At the witching hour––give or take a few minutes, of course, because not a single Yates student has ever been on time––there’s a knock at your door. You open it, still semi-conscious, to find... a teacup? No––there’s something under the teacup too: a photocopied collection of three polaroids. The first picture, crinkled at the corners, is of a raggedy top-hat, the second of a blue dress, and the third taken from the end of a long table littered with mismatched china.
HAPPY UNBIRTHDAY, YATES. YOU’RE ALREADY LATE.














