The rain had not stopped all morning. It came down in thin, needling sheets, clinging to the glass of the carriage window and blurring the countryside into a gray smear. Seraphina Dusk sat stiffly with her arms crossed, chin propped against her palm, watching as the world outside grew darker the further they traveled.
The driver had said little since leaving the train station, but Sera didn't need words to know where they were headed. Every mile dragged her closer to the thing she dreaded — Blackthorn Academy, the place her parents insisted would "straighten her out," as if she were a crooked line on a page.
Her reflection wavered in the window: pale skin, black hair damp from the mist, and eyes that had learned too young how to hold a glare. She hated those eyes. They saw too much.
She flexed her fingers in her lap, remembering the last time she had touched something she shouldn't have. An old brooch in a pawn shop, its silver tarnished and bent. The instant her skin met the metal, her head had filled with screams — not hers, but another girl's, desperate, choking. She'd dropped the brooch, stumbled backward, and all the customers had stared.
Her parents had stared too, in that way they always did: like she was broken glass they didn't know how to sweep up. A week later, the letter from Blackthorn arrived. They hadn't asked her opinion. They never did.
The carriage jolted suddenly, throwing her shoulder against the side. The driver cursed under his breath.
"We're close," he muttered.
Sera sat up, wiping the condensation from the window with her sleeve.
And there it was.
The academy loomed against the cliffs, its towers stabbing the sky like blackened spears. The sea churned far below, waves breaking against jagged rock. Even through the rain, she could see how wrong the place felt: walls too tall, windows too narrow, the whole structure crouched like a predator waiting to spring.
The carriage rattled up the long, winding road to the gates — iron twisted into the shape of thorny vines. The driver pulled the horses to a stop, climbed down, and struggled with the lock. Chains scraped metal, and the gates yawned open with a groan that sounded almost alive.
Sera stepped out into the rain. It soaked her hair, plastered her shirt to her back, but she didn't move to shield herself. She just stared.
The gates swung shut behind her with a slam that echoed into her bones.
The driver tipped his hat, climbed back onto the carriage, and turned without another word. Sera stood there, a single figure before the monstrous shape of the academy.
Her first thought: It's worse than the rumors.
Her second: Too late to turn back now.
The main doors opened before she reached them. A woman in a black gown stood framed in the arch, her silhouette sharp as a blade.
"Seraphina Dusk," the woman said, her voice low and resonant, carrying even through the rain.
Sera stopped a few feet away. "Sera."
The woman tilted her head, dark eyes sweeping her like a measurement. "Here, names matter in full. Seraphina it will be."
Sera ground her teeth. She hated when people decided things for her.
The woman turned smoothly, her skirts whispering against the stone floor. "Come. The headmistress is waiting."
Inside, the academy was colder than outside. The air smelled of dust, wax, and something faintly metallic like old blood. Candles burned in iron sconces, throwing long shadows across the high-arched ceiling. Portraits lined the walls: grim men and women, their eyes following her as she walked.
Sera glanced at one, a man with hollow cheeks and a smile that didn't reach his eyes. For a split second, the paint seemed to ripple. His smile widened.
She blinked, and it was gone.
Her fists tightened at her sides.
They walked through many corridors, each one darker than the last, until they reached a pair of double doors carved with thorn patterns. The woman pushed them open.
The office beyond was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow. Shelves of books climbed the walls. A massive desk sat near the window, behind which stood a woman who could only be the headmistress.
She was tall, with iron-gray hair pulled into a severe knot, and eyes as sharp as broken glass.
"Miss Dusk," she said.
Sera kept her chin high. "Headmistress."
"Madame Draven," the woman corrected. Her gaze lingered on Sera as if she were cataloging every flaw. "I trust your journey was… uneventful?" Sera shrugged. "Carriage didn't crash. Horses didn't drop dead. Guess that counts as uneventful."
The faintest flicker of amusement crossed Madame Draven's lips before vanishing. "You'll find Blackthorn is not like other schools. We expect obedience. Discipline. Respect for our traditions. I trust you can manage that?"
Sera's mouth opened with a retort, but something in the headmistress's eyes stopped her. A warning, cold and clear.
"…Sure," she muttered.
"Good. You'll be assigned to Dusk Wing."
Sera raised a brow. "Seriously? That's a thing?"
"The wings are named for founders. Any resemblance to your surname is coincidence."
Coincidence. Right.
The headmistress slid a small iron key across the desk. "Room 313. Classes begin tomorrow at dawn. Curfew is midnight. Do not test it. There are… consequences."
Something about the way she said consequences made Sera's skin crawl.
The woman from before led Sera upstairs to her dormitory. The hallways grew narrower the higher they climbed, ceilings sloping like the spine of some vast beast. Finally, they reached a door with the number 313 carved faintly into the wood.
"Your roommate is already inside," the woman said. "Unpack, rest and remember Blackthorn does not forgive disobedience."
She left before Sera could reply.
Sera shoved the key into the lock and turned it. The door creaked open.
The room was small but warmer than the rest of the academy. Two narrow beds, two trunks, a single cracked mirror above a desk. One bed was already occupied — scattered books, a folded blanket, and a half-finished sketch of the academy tower.
On the other bed sat a girl with hair the color of moonlight, loose waves spilling over her shoulders. She looked up, eyes bright and curious.
"You must be Seraphina!" she said with a grin.
"Sera," Sera corrected automatically.
The girl hopped up and extended a hand. "I'm Elara. Elara Moon."
Sera eyed the hand, hesitated, then shook it quickly. A sharp chill jolted up her arm. For the briefest moment, the room seemed to flicker — the beds dissolving into darkness, the mirror cracking further, voices whispering in her ears.
She yanked her hand back.
Elara tilted her head. "Cold? Sorry. Happens a lot."
Sera forced a shrug. "It's fine."
But it wasn't fine. Nothing about this place was fine.
That night, long after Elara's breathing steadied into sleep, Sera lay awake, staring at the cracked mirror across the room.
In its reflection, she saw herself. Pale, restless, hollow-eyed.
And behind her just for an instant a shadow moved.
The whisper that followed was so soft she thought it might be her imagination.
"Welcome home".