The night offered no relief. The Ravenclaw houses slept, but Evelyn did not rest. The burdensome worries of the intimate speeches and the heightening anger of Damien weighed her down. She was unable to sleep, so she exited her room, her boots quietly padding on the stone. Outside was crisp air, and distant howling of wolves and the leaves rustling in the breeze. She wrapped her cloak around herself and walked into the woods, needing space to clear her mind.
The moon guided her, cold and white over the forest. Branches stretched towards the light, and the woods stood extremely still. Every breath was sharper, filling her lungs with a cleanliness she could not find inside. She recalled Damien's fists, the elders' angry faces, and the maids' whispers of poison. She recalled the shadows following her, ready to strike.
