This chapter still need cleaning but I don't have enough time. Just wanted to share what I'm working with. Yes this is written by AI, chatbot, that took me 5 days just to produce this single Chapter.
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Chapter 1: Memorable and Catastrophically Clumsy
Scene 1: The New Cage is Already Occupied
Gabriel's POV
Date & Time: Saturday, August 28, 2021, 3:05 PM
Location: Caliban Hall, 2nd Floor, Room 209
The old iron key felt heavy in his hand as he stood before the door. Room 209. This was it. The new cage.
Gabriel took a steadying breath, the hallway's silence pressing in. 'Okay. Get inside. Lock the door. Build the walls. Isolation is safety.' It was the mantra that had kept him and everyone else alive for the past year. He could almost hear Alaric's voice, not as a command, but as an ingrained fact, like gravity. 'Discipline is control. Control is survival.'
He lifted the key, his knuckles brushing the heavy oak. His plan was to lock it from the inside and not emerge until he absolutely had to. He pushed gently, expecting the resistance of a locked door.
There was none.
The door swung inward with a faint groan, revealing the room—and its occupant. He froze.
The room was already occupied.
His plan for solitude—the one non-negotiable term he'd demanded—evaporated in an instant. The room was split in two, a perfect line drawn by an invisible boundary. His side was bare, a bed with a thin mattress, an empty desk, and a dusty wardrobe.
The other side... wasn't.
A lanky, dark-haired boy was propped against the far wall on his bed, a large sketchpad balanced on his knees. He was entirely absorbed, his hand moving in swift, confident strokes. The air on his side of the room smelled sharp and earthy, like charcoal pencils and... something else. Something clean and electric, like the air before a thunderstorm.
Gabriel remained rigid in the doorway, his duffel bag suddenly feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds.
'A roommate. Of course.' He felt a familiar, cold annoyance settle in his gut. 'Alaric couldn't even secure a single. And he's an artist. He stares. This is a nightmare.'
Without looking up from his drawing, the boy spoke. "You're late." His voice was calm, almost melodic. "I was hoping I'd gotten a single."
Gabriel's jaw tightened. "The feeling is mutual," he said, the words clipped and cold.
That made the boy look up.
His eyes were green, and they weren't just looking—they were analyzing. They scanned Gabriel from head to toe with an unsettling, appraising intensity, like he was a subject to be cataloged.
"You're Gabriel Beoulve," the boy said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact.
Gabriel's hand instinctively twitched toward his face, his fingertips brushing the small, faint scar above his left eyebrow. 'Here it comes.' He braced himself for the inevitable reaction—the flicker of fear, the polite step back, the sudden excuse to be somewhere else. It was always the same.
"I am," he said, his voice flat, daring the other boy to react.
The boy just tilted his head, his gaze remaining steady. No fear. No recoil. Just... curiosity.
"Huh," he said, then looked back down at his sketchpad.
Gabriel blinked, completely wrong-footed. "...'Huh'?"
"I figured you'd be... bigger," the boy mused, his pencil resuming its scratching glide. "Given the rumors."
A new kind of tension, sharper than annoyance, coiled in Gabriel's stomach. 'Rumors. So they already know. Or they think they know.' He gripped the strap of his duffel bag. "What rumors?"
Before he could answer, the door, which Gabriel hadn't closed, was thrown open with a bang that rattled the hinges.
"Thorpe! The machine in the hall is a total scam—it ate my dollar and I know I hit the button for the... oh!"
A new face appeared, grinning, framed by a truly unfortunate green-striped beanie. He was all nervous energy and friendly vibes, the complete opposite of the room's thunderstorm-scented quiet.
"New guy! You're here! Awesome!"
Before Gabriel could so much as flinch, the newcomer was in the room, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
Gabriel violently tensed at the sudden, casual contact, his muscles locking in anticipation of a blow. But the grip wasn't aggressive. It didn't shove. It just... rested there. Friendly. His entire lifetime of training screamed at him to pull away, but his brain was stuck, short-circuited by the normality of the gesture.
"You're Gabriel Beoulve!" the boy said, his grin widening even more. "Knew it. Heard some stories, man." He looked him up and down with a comical squint. "Gotta say, I figured you'd be bigger, too. Like, way more... 'grr'."
Gabriel just stared at him. That was the second time someone had said that in the last two minutes.
'They're not scared,' Gabriel realized, the thought a cold shock. 'Neither of them are.' They knew his name. They'd heard the rumors. And they were joking. They weren't afraid.
'They should be terrified.'
"I'm Ajax, by the way," the boy continued, finally releasing his shoulder and shoving a hand toward him to shake. Gabriel looked at it for a second before giving it a short, reluctant shake. "I'm across the hall. You got the lucky draw, man. Thorpe's brooding is mostly silent, so you can, like, read and stuff."
The boy on the bed—Thorpe—didn't look up, but a small smirk played on his lips. "I'm Xavier. That's your side." He pointed with the end of his charcoal pencil. "And he's right about the brooding. But try not to do it too loudly; it messes with my concentration."
Gabriel was surrounded. He was still standing just inside the doorway, but he'd been claimed. His plan for isolation, for walls, for control... it had lasted approximately ninety seconds.
"Anyway," Ajax continued, apparently deciding the introductions were complete. "We were about to scope out the commissary. I heard they have pizza on Saturdays. You're in. Not a request."
Gabriel's hand tightened on his bag. "I haven't unpacked." It was a weak protest, but it was all he had.
"Unpacking is for quitters. Pizza is for heroes," Ajax declared, grabbing for Gabriel's arm.
Gabriel flinched, a sharp, instinctive recoil that was more animal than human. He didn't mean to, but the motion was enough. Ajax's hand stopped, his friendly grin faltering for the first time.
Xavier, who hadn't missed a thing, finally spoke from the bed, his voice quiet but firm. "Let him breathe, Ajax. We can bring him a slice."
Ajax looked from Xavier's warning gaze to Gabriel's rigid posture. "Oh. Right. Yeah, sure. Don't... brood too loudly," he said, trying to recover the cheer. "We'll be back!"
They left, the door clicking shut, plunging the room back into silence.
Gabriel stood there for a long moment, his back to the door, his duffel bag still on his shoulder. He was alone. But the room was no longer his. It was occupied.
'A nightmare,' he thought again, finally dropping his bag. 'And it's only just started.'
Scene 2: The Color-Burst Arrives
Enid's POV
Date & Time: Saturday, August 28, 2021, 3:15 PM
Location: Ophelia Hall, 3rd Floor, Room 312 (Enid and Yoko's dorm room)
'Okay, okay, okay, first impression. Don't mess it up. Be cool. Be calm. Don't be too much. Don't talk too fast. And definitely do not, under any circumstances, mention the wolf thing.'
I kicked the door to Room 312 open with my foot, half-stumbled over the threshold, and my biggest suitcase—the one covered in Hello Kitty and K-Pop stickers—tipped over and crashed onto the wooden floor with a sound like a small explosion.
So much for 'cool and calm.'
I scrambled to stand up straight, pushing my blonde hair out of my face. In the far corner of the room, on the other bed, a girl was sitting. She was wearing all black. Black hoodie, black jeans, black platform boots. Even her hair was long, straight, and jet black. She was reading a book and wearing—I am not kidding—sunglasses. Indoors.
She hadn't flinched at the crash. She just... slowly... lowered her book, peering at me over the rims of the dark glasses.
This was it. My roommate. I beamed, plastering on my most welcoming, non-threatening smile, and aimed my voice directly at her.
"Hi!" The word exploded out of me, way too loud for the quiet room. "I'm Enid! Enid Sinclair! I'm your new roommate! This is so exciting, isn't it? Our first year at Nevermore! It's going to be epic!"
She said nothing.
My smile wavered. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. She just... stared.
'Oh my god, she already hates me.'
I had to fill the quiet. I had to fix this. My mouth went on autopilot. "So, you're a vampire, right? I could totally tell. The vibe is... immaculate."
'Stop talking, Enid. Stop. Talking.'
"I'm a werewolf!" I blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. "Well, you know, mostly. I mean, I haven't... actually..." I made a little 'poof' gesture with my hands. "...wolfed out yet. But it's coming! Any day now. My mom says I'm just a late bloomer. Like, super late. But it's fine! Totally fine."
'AND I MENTIONED THE WOLF THING. I am the worst. My brothers were right, I'm not going to last a week.'
The girl slowly, slowly, put a bookmark in her book. Her face was completely unreadable.
"...Yoko."
I blinked. "What?"
"My name," she said, her voice a low, smooth monotone. "Is Yoko."
"Oh! Yoko! Love it!"
Yoko just... stared at me. One perfectly sculpted dark eyebrow raised.
"You're... loud."
'She hates me. She definitely, 100% hates me. This is a disaster.'
A nervous laugh bubbled out of my chest. "Sorry! I know. I talk when I'm nervous. Or excited. Or, you know... breathing."
I cringed, waiting for her to just turn back to her book and end the conversation forever.
Yoko was silent for another long beat. Then, a tiny, tiny corner of her mouth twitched. It was almost a smirk.
"Breathing, huh?" she said. "Bummer for me."
I froze. I replayed the words in my head. The deadpan delivery. The almost-smile.
'Wait. Was that... a joke?'
A sudden, giddy wave of relief washed over me. My shoulders, which had been tensed up around my ears, dropped an inch.
'She's funny! Okay! Sarcastic-funny. I can totally work with sarcastic-funny. This is good. We're bonding.'
This tiny, fragile spark of hope was all I needed. Bolstered, I finally moved, grabbing my disastrously large suitcase and dragging it to my side of the room. The contrast was... stark. Her side was dark, neat, with a few posters of what looked like gothic bands I'd never heard of. My side was just a blank, empty canvas.
"Well, this side won't be empty for long!" I announced, unzipping the first bag. I immediately pulled out my giant, fuzzy, rainbow-colored quilt and tossed it onto the bed.
"I brought a ton of posters," I said, digging through a side pocket. "I hope you don't mind K-Pop. And glitter. I have... a lot of glitter."
Yoko actually sighed. A real, actual, long-suffering sigh. She took her sunglasses off, folded them, and tucked them into her hoodie pocket. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown and looked... tired.
"I'm a vampire, Enid. My natural enemies are sunlight, garlic, and, apparently, boy bands."
'Okay, she's not amused anymore. Abort! Abort!'
"Oh! Right! Duh. Sorry." I giggled, feeling my face heat up. "Well, I'll keep all the glitter and... pop music... strictly on my side of the room. Promise! I'll make, like, a glitter containment field. A GCF. It'll be great."
Yoko put her sunglasses back on, her face once again a perfect, cool mask. "We'll see how long that lasts."
She stood up, grabbing her book. "I'm going to... not be here. For a bit."
"Oh! Okay! Cool!" I said, probably too brightly.
She just nodded and glided silently out of the room, leaving me alone with my mountain of colorful luggage.
'Well,' I thought, flopping back onto my bare mattress. 'She doesn't hate me... I think. Maybe she's just tired. Vampires get tired in the day, right? That's a thing. She's probably just sleepy.'
I stared at the gray stone ceiling. 'I really hope she likes me. I need one friend here.'
Scene 3: Rumors by the Vending Machine
Yoko's POV
Date & Time: Saturday, August 28, 2021, 3:30 PM
Location: Ophelia Hall, 3rd Floor, Hallway Common Area
I glided out of Room 312 and let the heavy oak door click shut, cutting off the sound of Enid cheerfully ripping open what sounded like a box of... jingle bells?
'Finally. Peace and quiet.'
My new roommate wasn't just... loud. She was a human tornado. A whirlwind of pink, glitter, and run-on sentences. My temples were already starting to throb from the sheer, relentless energy. I needed a drink.
I padded silently down the stone hallway, my platform boots making no sound. The common area on our floor was empty, thank goodness. Tucked into a shadowy alcove, next to a sad-looking vending machine for 'normie' snacks, was what I was looking for: a sleek, black refrigerated unit marked "VAMPS ONLY."
I pressed my thumb to the scanner. It beeped, and the glass door unlocked with a soft hiss. The low, electronic hum of the cooler was the only sound, a soothing white noise.
'Okay. O-positive, or A-negative for a little treat?'
As I was reaching for an "O-Neg" pack, I heard them. Footsteps. Heavy. Clumsy. Definitely not vampires. Followed by loud, boisterous voices. Werewolves.
I instinctively stepped back into the shadows of the alcove. It's an old habit. Vampires observe. We don't announce.
Two senior werewolves, built like they wrestled bears for fun, ambled past the alcove, deep in conversation. They didn't even glance my way.
"I'm serious, man," the first one said, his voice low. "Did you see who just checked in? Beoulve."
I froze, my hand hovering over the blood pack.
'Gabriel Beoulve? The name sounds old-blood. Familiar.'
A beat of silence. The second wolf scoffed. "No. You're kidding me. I thought his family had him locked up somewhere after... you know. Crestwood."
"Nope," the first one confirmed. "Saw him with my own eyes. Heading to Caliban. Still wearing the family ring and everything, the silver wolf. Like he's proud of it."
'Crestwood? Locked up? A silver wolf ring... noted.'
"Gods. Just... keep clear of him," the second one said, his tone dropping. "He's not pack. Not really. My cousin goes to Crestwood, he said that thing..." He shook his head. "It's just bad news."
Their voices faded as they rounded the corner toward the stairs.
I stood there in the silence, the hum of the fridge suddenly sounding too loud.
'Gabriel Beoulve.' I filed the name away. 'Caliban Hall. Crestwood "mess." Locked up. Silver wolf ring. "Bad news" and "not pack"... coming from other werewolves.'
My vampire instincts, the ones my father had drilled into me, were buzzing. This wasn't just idle gossip. This felt like real, physical danger. The kind of danger that my ridiculously loud, bright, and terminally trusting new roommate would walk right into with a smile and a handful of glitter.
I grabbed my blood pack, the plastic cold against my palm.
'File that away,' I thought, pushing the fridge door shut. 'Beoulve. Dangerous.'
Scene 4A: Death by Glitter
Enid's POV
Date & Time: Saturday, August 28, 2021, 4:00 PM
Location: The Quad
Okay, so maybe Yoko needed some space. Totally understandable. Introverts, right? And maybe I had come on a little strong with the glitter talk. Fine. I could channel my hyperactive energy into something productive! Like making the Quad look a little less... well, dead. It was move-in day! It needed some sparkle! Some pizzazz!
Which is how I found myself teetering on a slightly wobbly wooden bench near the big, gnarled dead tree. Honestly, who puts a dead tree in the middle of the main courtyard? Anyway, I was trying to stick my masterpiece—a giant "WELCOME NEW STUDENTS!" poster, lovingly crafted with rainbow letters and copious amounts of glitter glue—onto the stone archway above.
"Almost... there..." I muttered through gritted teeth, stretching onto my tiptoes. My fingers brushed the cold, slightly mossy stone. Yes! Contact!
My brief moment of triumph immediately dissolved into panic. As I leaned back to admire my handiwork, the bench wobbled violently. My arms flailed like startled birds. My left hand smacked into the open jar of extra-fine pink and silver glitter I'd stupidly balanced right beside my foot.
'Oh no no no no—'
The world tilted sideways. The ancient stones of the Quad seemed to spin. The glitter jar sailed through the air in a shimmering, slow-motion arc. The cobblestones rushed up to meet me. This was it. Death by clumsiness on day one.
And then... nothing.
Instead of hitting the ground, strong hands clamped around my waist, stopping my fall with a sudden, breath-stealing jolt that snapped my teeth together. I gasped, finding myself pressed against a surprisingly solid chest, my cheek mashed against the rough, unfamiliar wool of a Nevermore blazer—a dark one, not the usual indigo stripes.
'Whoa. Okay. Not dead. Definitely caught.'
And then the glitter cloud hit. Like a tiny, sparkly pink and silver bomb had detonated.
A shimmering curtain rained down, coating my hair, my sweater, the bench, the ancient cobblestones, and, most mortifyingly, the person currently saving me from a concussion.
"Oh my gosh!" The words tumbled out in a panicked rush, my voice muffled against his jacket. I could feel the non-stop radiating warmth through the fabric, smell a faint, musky scent like pine needles and cold iron. "I am SO sorry! Oh my god, are you okay? I was just trying to hang the poster, and I slipped, and the glitter—oh no, you're... you're completely covered in glitter!"
I finally managed to wriggle back enough to look up. And up.
He was tall. Lean, but the hands still firmly holding my waist felt incredibly strong. He had dark, slightly messy hair that fell over his forehead, with a few surprising streaks of premature gray near his temples that looked kinda cool. Sharp cheekbones, a straight nose... and eyes. Piercing gray eyes that were currently surveying the absolute glitter catastrophe I had unleashed upon his pristine, dark uniform with an expression I couldn't decipher at all.
'MORTIFIED. I AM LITERALLY DYING OF EMBARRASSMENT. RIGHT HERE. IN THE QUAD. ON DAY ONE. First day and I've assaulted someone with glitter.'
He carefully released my waist, his hands lingering for just a fraction of a second before he took a small, deliberate step back, putting some much-needed space between us. His expression was... unnervingly calm. Not angry, exactly. Just... assessing. He meticulously brushed a cascade of pink sparkles from his sleeve, his movements precise.
"Death by glitter," he said, his voice quiet and unexpectedly dry, with a wry edge I hadn't expected. "A terrible way to go."
I blinked, processing. Had he just... made a joke?
A surprised laugh burst out of me before I could stop it. It wasn't a polite little titter; it was a genuine, slightly hysterical snort-laugh that echoed oddly in the quiet courtyard. "That would be the worst obituary ever!"
His lips twitched. It was barely there, almost invisible, but definitely the corner of his mouth lifting. "At least it's memorable."
"This is the worst first impression in the history of first impressions!" I wailed dramatically, dropping to my knees and scrambling to pick up the fallen roll of tape, the now-empty glitter jar, and the poster which had sadly detached itself from the archway and fluttered to the ground. My cheeks felt like they were on fire. "Seriously, I promise I'm not usually this much of a walking disaster area. Sometimes I'm only a mild tripping hazard!"
"It's... memorable," he repeated, that slight twitch still playing on his lips as he watched me flail.
"Memorable bad or memorable good?" I demanded, looking up at him from my crouched position amidst the glittery crime scene.
He considered this for a second, his gray eyes unreadable. "...Memorable."
"That's not an answer!" I protested, even though I was starting to grin despite my utter humiliation.
A tiny, fleeting smile finally broke through his composed expression. "I know."
'Wait, he's not yelling. He's... joking? And smiling? Okay, tiny smile, but still! Oh wow. He's CUTE. Like, really, really cute. In a broody, 'I-probably-listen-to-The-Cure-unironically' kind of way. But funny?'
He bent down then, easily retrieving the roll of tape that had skittered near his polished black shoe. As he straightened up, holding it out to me, the late afternoon sun glinted off something on his right hand.
A ring. A heavy silver ring, intricately carved. My eyes zoomed in on it as I automatically reached for the tape. It wasn't just a pattern; it was... a wolf. A detailed, snarling wolf head, jaws slightly open, eyes seeming to glint in the light. It looked old. And expensive. And really, really cool.
'Whoa, that ring is amazing. So detailed. It looks so real.'
"Memorable and catastrophically clumsy! That's basically my brand," I babbled, finally taking the tape and forcing myself to stand up, brushing glitter off my bright pink sweater with absolutely zero effect. Glitter is eternal. "I'm Enid, by the way. Enid Sinclair. And you're... my glitter-covered savior. Thanks for, you know, catching me."
He gave a slight, almost formal nod, his gaze steady as he held mine for a beat too long. The hint of amusement was gone now, replaced by that same unreadable intensity. "Gabriel."
'Gabriel. His name is Gabriel.' The name felt... nice. Solid. It suited him somehow, matched the quiet intensity.
'Okay. Gabriel. I can work with this.'
He didn't offer anything else, just gave another tiny nod and turned, walking away across the Quad with fluid, deliberate steps, leaving me standing there amidst the glittery wreckage, tape in hand.
"Bye, Gabriel!" I called after him, maybe a little too loudly.
He didn't turn around, but I thought maybe, just maybe, his shoulders tensed slightly before he disappeared around the corner.
I stared after him for a moment, my heart doing a weird little fluttery thing.
'Okay,' I thought, finally looking down at the tape, then back at the archway, then at the glitter shimmering all over the cobblestones. 'He's... weird. But, like, a good weird. A funny, cute, surprisingly helpful, possibly-brooding-poet weird.'
A smile spread across my face, despite the lingering heat in my cheeks. Maybe Nevermore wouldn't be so bad after all.
Scene 4B: A Clumsy Encounter
Gabriel's POV
Date & Time: Saturday, August 28, 2021, 3:59 PM
Location: The Quad
'Just need some air.'
My knuckles were white where I gripped the worn leather cover of my book. Escaping the room had become imperative. Between Xavier's unnervingly perceptive gaze—already sketching me, no doubt—and Ajax's relentless, cheerful interrogation about pizza toppings, the walls had felt like they were closing in faster than usual.
'Get away from the roommate who stares and the neighbor who talks. Find a quiet place. Read. Re-center.' Discipline. Control. That was the mantra.
I walked briskly across the Quad, head down, eyes scanning the periphery for an unoccupied bench, a shadowed alcove, anything that offered a modicum of solitude. The late afternoon sun was weak, filtering through the perpetually overcast sky Nevermore-specialized in.
My gaze snagged briefly on a flash of movement. A student. A girl, balancing precariously on a wooden bench near the dead tree. Dressed in... aggressively bright pink.
'Whatever. Walk around her.' Avoidance was always the first, best strategy. Keep distance. Minimize contact.
I adjusted my path, angling away from the bench, focusing on the archway beyond.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her wobble. A small, jerky movement. Followed by a wild flailing of arms.
My first, conscious instinct screamed: 'Keep walking. Not your problem. Avoid interaction.'
But Alaric's training was burned deeper than conscious thought. Years of drills. React. Assess. Neutralize threat. Protect. Even when the threat was just gravity acting on a clumsy girl in a pink sweater.
She overcorrected, tipping backward, arms windmilling uselessly.
'She's falling. Idiot, move.'
My body reacted before my brain finished the thought. The ten feet separating us vanished in two quick, precise steps—unnaturally fast, a blur of motion I always tried to suppress. My hands shot out, catching her around the waist, my grip solid, practiced, bracing for the impact. I stopped her maybe six inches from the hard cobblestones.
Just as my hands made contact, something exploded.
POOF.
A cloud of pink and silver erupted around us. Fine, powdery... glitter. It filled the air, shimmering sickeningly in the dim light. It coated my dark blazer, my trousers, my hands where they rested firmly on her waist. It clung to my hair, dusted my face. A sticky, cloying, pink mist.
I froze.
My hands were still on her. Through the ridiculous fuzzy pink sweater, she felt... warm. Small. She smelled faintly of something sweet, like sugar and maybe... lavender?
And I was covered in glitter. Holding a stranger. In the middle of the Quad.
Revulsion, sharp and immediate, coiled in my gut. Not from the contact, but from the mess. The glitter. It was... everywhere. It was on my skin. Too close. Too public. Too chaotic.
'Let go. Contact is bad. Step back.'
I released her abruptly, setting her back on her feet and taking a quick, deliberate step away, creating distance. My skin crawled where the glitter clung.
"Oh my gosh!" Her voice was high-pitched, panicked, words tumbling out in a breathless rush. "I am SO sorry! Oh my god, are you okay? I was just trying to hang the poster, and I slipped, and the glitter—oh no, you're... you're completely covered in glitter!"
I looked down at my sleeve. It looked like a unicorn had sneezed on me. My usual response would be a curt nod, a clipped "It's fine," and a swift exit. But something about the sheer absurdity of the situation—the violence of the glitter explosion, her wide, horrified blue eyes—short-circuited my defenses.
"Death by glitter," I heard myself say, the words emerging dry and flat. Where had that come from? I didn't make jokes. "A terrible way to go."
She blinked up at me, her mouth slightly open. Then she laughed. Not a nervous titter, but a loud, bright, surprised peal of laughter that seemed startlingly out of place in the gloomy Quad.
"That would be the worst obituary ever!" she exclaimed, the panic in her eyes replaced by genuine amusement.
'She's not scared. She's... laughing.' This was... unexpected. Usually, people flinched. Or stared. Or whispered. They didn't laugh.
Against my will, against years of practiced control, I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. "At least it's memorable."
"This is the worst first impression in the history of first impressions!" she wailed, suddenly dropping to her knees and scrambling to gather scattered supplies, still talking a mile a minute. "Seriously, I promise I'm not usually this much of a walking disaster area. Sometimes I'm only a mild tripping hazard!"
'A walking, talking, colorful disaster.' The description felt apt. She was... a lot. Loud. Bright. Clumsy. And apparently coated everything she touched in sparkles.
"It's... memorable," I repeated, the word tasting strange on my tongue.
"Memorable bad or memorable good?" she demanded, looking up at me, blue eyes wide and earnest.
"...Memorable."
"That's not an answer!" she protested, but she was grinning now, a wide, infectious smile.
Damn it. Another smile escaped, small but definite this time. "I know."
She kept talking, scrambling around on the cobblestones. I should leave. I needed to leave. But my feet felt rooted.
I bent down, my own ingrained politeness overriding my desire to flee, and picked up the roll of tape near my shoe. As I straightened, she was getting up, brushing glitter from her pink sweater—a futile effort.
"Memorable and catastrophically clumsy! That's basically my brand," she babbled, taking the tape from my outstretched hand. Her fingers brushed mine—quick, warm, gone. "I'm Enid, by the way. Enid Sinclair. And you're... my glitter-covered savior. Thanks for, you know, catching me."
My gaze flickered to where her fingers had touched mine. No lingering tingle. Just... contact. Unwanted.
I pulled my hand back, needing distance. Now. "Gabriel," I said curtly, already turning.
"Bye, Gabriel!" she called after me, her voice still bright and cheerful.
I didn't turn around. I just walked, quickly, head down again, acutely aware of the ridiculous pink and silver sheen coating my dark uniform. I could feel invisible eyes on me. Everyone would stare.
'A clumsy encounter. Memorable. That's the word.'
Annoyance warred with a strange, unfamiliar flicker of... something else. Amusement? Intrigue? Whatever it was, it was unwelcome.
'Now leave. I'm a walking disco ball. Solitude failed. Utterly.'
I needed to get out of sight. Back to the room. Back to the artist who stares. At least Xavier already knew my name. Dealing with his quiet analysis was preferable to walking through Nevermore looking like I'd lost a fight with a craft store.
Scene 5: Glitter and Gossip
Enid's POV
Date & Time: Saturday, August 28, 2021, 4:15 PM
Location: Ophelia Hall, Room 312 (Enid and Yoko's dorm room)
I practically vibrated back to the room, still buzzing from the Quad encounter. Okay, yes, the glitter situation was mortifying, but Gabriel! He was funny! And cute! And he hadn't run screaming! This was huge progress for day one.
'He was so nice! I have to tell Yoko. She'll appreciate the dry humor part, maybe.'
I burst through the door, thankfully managing not to drop anything this time. Yoko was back, curled up on her perfectly neat, dark gray bedspread, sunglasses back on, reading her book again. She looked impossibly cool and composed.
"Yoko, oh my gosh, you will not believe what just happened!" I exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of my feet. "I met this guy!"
Yoko slowly lowered her book again, peering at me over the dark lenses. Her expression was utterly deadpan. "Let me guess," she droned. "He exploded into a cloud of glitter."
I giggled, grabbing my poor, abused glitter jar off my desk where I'd dropped it. "Close! I exploded glitter all over him. Like, seriously. Head to toe. It was a disaster of epic proportions. But he was so nice about it! He even made a joke! His name is Gabriel."
Yoko didn't react immediately. She just held my gaze for a long moment, her face unreadable behind the sunglasses. Then she repeated the name slowly, thoughtfully. "Gabriel. Huh." She tilted her head slightly. "What did he look like?"
"Oh my god, super cute," I sighed dreamily, flopping down onto my rainbow quilt. I could still picture him perfectly. "Like, tall, kinda broody, dark hair but with these really cool premature gray streaks right here," I gestured to my temples. "And these really piercing gray eyes... oh! And he had this amazing silver ring on his right hand, with this super detailed wolf carved into it! It looked ancient."
Yoko stiffened. It was barely perceptible, just a slight tightening of her shoulders, but I saw it. She sat up a little straighter on her bed.
She took off her sunglasses, her dark eyes sharp and focused now. Her tone shifted—still dry, but with an undercurrent I couldn't quite place. Observational, maybe? Like she was putting pieces together. "Oh," she said quietly. "Gray eyes. Dark hair with gray streaks. Silver wolf ring." She paused, then added, almost casually, "That's Gabriel. Gabriel Beoulve."
My happy bubble deflated instantly. The way she said his full name... it sounded heavy. Ominous.
'Why did she say his last name like that? Like it's... bad?'
"The... what?" I asked, my smile faltering. "You know him?"
Yoko shrugged, a deliberate, casual movement that didn't quite match the sudden tension in the room. She looked away, tracing a pattern on her book cover. "Heard of him," she said, her voice dropping slightly, becoming conspiratorial, gossipy. "He's that guy. The one with that whole mess at Crestwood."
"The... 'mess' at Crestwood?" I echoed, feeling a knot form in my stomach. That sounded bad. Like, really bad.
Yoko finally looked back at me, her expression serious now. "The seniors in the hall were talking earlier," she explained, leaning forward slightly. "When I went to get a blood pack. Apparently, he got expelled. Something major went down. They were talking like he's... I don't know, the boogeyman. But for other werewolves. Which is... a choice."
'Boogeyman? For werewolves?' My mind reeled. That didn't make any sense. The guy who'd caught me, who'd joked about death by glitter, who'd had that tiny, almost-hidden smile... a boogeyman?
"But... he was... sweet," I stammered, confused. "He joked with me. He helped me pick up my stuff."
Yoko sighed, rubbing her temples like I was giving her a headache again. "Look, Enid," she said, her voice softening slightly, taking on that protective tone my older brothers sometimes used. "Werewolf pack politics are... intense. And old families like the Beoulves? They carry serious baggage. All I heard was 'expelled,' 'dangerous,' and 'not pack.' It sounds... complicated."
She picked up her sunglasses, twirling them in her fingers. "My advice?" She slid them back on, her cool mask firmly in place. "Based purely on hallway gossip and ancient vampire instincts?" She gave me a pointed look. "I'd just, you know... steer clear. Probably safer."
She picked up her book, signaling the end of the conversation.
I stared at her, my earlier excitement completely gone, replaced by a confusing mix of disappointment and a sudden, unwelcome flicker of fear. Gabriel Beoulve. The boogeyman.
But he'd smiled.
Scene 5: Glitter and Gossip
Gabriel's POV
Date & Time: Saturday, August 28, 2021, 4:15 PM
Location: Caliban Hall, Room 209 (His & Xavier's Room)
I stalked back into Room 209, intending to grab my bag, find Alaric, and demand an explanation for this roommate debacle. Solitude had failed spectacularly, and now I was coated in evidence of the failure.
I tried to slip in quietly, keeping to my side of the room, but the low light from the single desk lamp glinted off the fine layer of pink and silver coating my blazer.
Xavier stopped sketching. His head tilted, those analytical green eyes narrowing as he took in my state.
"...Did you lose a fight with a rainbow?" he asked, his tone laced with faint amusement.
"It was an accident," I clipped out, already moving towards my duffel bag on the bed.
"A glitter-based accident," Xavier mused, his artist's eye cataloging the mess. "Copious amounts of it."
I sighed, abandoning the attempt to de-sparkle myself. "A girl. With glitter."
Right on cue, Ajax appeared, leaning against the doorframe, that ever-present grin plastered on his face. He'd clearly been eavesdropping from his room across the hall.
"A clumsy encounter, huh?" Ajax echoed, waggling his eyebrows. "Is that what we're calling her? Does this mysterious 'girl with glitter' have a name?"
I glared at him, annoyance flaring. They were like a tag team of unwanted social interaction. "Pizza," I said flatly, grabbing the book I'd dropped on my bed earlier. "You said pizza."
Ajax clapped his hands together. "Yes! He's deflecting! He totally met a girl! We're breaking him down already, Thorpe. Phase one complete!" He pushed off the doorframe. "Come on, Glitter Force. Pizza awaits. And you," he pointed at me, "are telling us everything."
'I can't even have a... moment. He sees everything. And the other one never stops talking.'
I looked down at my hand, noticing a few stray silver sparkles catching the light near my ring. 'A walking, talking, colorful disaster.' Her laugh echoed unexpectedly in my memory. Bright. Surprised.
'...Memorable.'
"Let's go," Xavier said, standing up and stretching. He glanced at the glitter still clinging to my shoulder. "Seriously, though. You might want to change."
I sighed again, the sound heavy with resignation. 'They're not going to leave me alone, are they?'
The thought was irritating. Deeply irritating. But underneath the annoyance, there was a flicker of something else. Something unfamiliar and vaguely unsettling. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, being included. It was just... new.
And new things, in my experience, were almost always dangerous.
But Ajax already had a hand on my back, propelling me towards the door, chattering about pepperoni versus pineapple. Xavier followed, that thoughtful, analytical look back on his face.
I let them steer me out of the room, still covered in glitter. Solitude had failed. Annoyingly, surprisingly, I wasn't entirely mad about it. Yet.