The group of thirty students followed the violet sprite down the wide second-floor hallway, their gazes darting to every detail of the castle's décor. The moving paintings were enough to catch anyone's eye, but even the seemingly mundane—candles in ornate sconces, statues resting in alcoves—radiated an air of enchantment.
It felt as though they'd stepped into an entirely different world the moment they crossed the castle's threshold.
"Meow."
A sleek black cat landed gracefully on a nearby table, its amber eyes glowing faintly as it studied the students with a slow, deliberate sweep of its gaze.
"Oh my goodness, a kitty!" one of the girls squealed, unable to resist stepping forward.
Michael flinched.
He didn't like cats—or perhaps it was more accurate to say cats didn't like him. Every one he'd encountered in his life had treated him like a walking scratching post.
