Page 102 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

It was odd because I saw it all unravel far differently than I’m sure Damien, Cassius, and Mortimer did. I should have witnessed it happening to Gabriel. To watch the male crumble at the cost of pushing past limits none of us knew could be broken, but I witnessed a different perspective.

A golden privilege of beauty and undeniable grace.

Even now, just taking a second to look at Gabriel, I can blink and see her feminine version in a heartbeat. See those long silky white strands and the energy that pulses through them. How her aura hums across her flesh that’s still rather pale in comparison to her peachy color complexion. How her bruised red lips are slightly parted and the way her expression which should reflect a peaceful slumber is stricken with exhaustion, despite her unconsciousness.

To them, they see Gabriel…

But to me…I see Gwenivere…

The real unanswered question is why that is? Why I have been privileged to see past the facade of masculinity to admire the serene beauty that taunts me in more ways than one.

That makes my cock harden and twitch in want for her.

Fighting to pull out of my thoughts, I can only think of how we really could have lost such a unique individual without interference.

If it hadn't been for Grim's intervention...

Speaking of which, I glance at the strange figure hovering near Cassius and Gwenivere.

Grim's new form is still jarring to behold —— no longer just a skull wreathed in shadow, but a fully manifested being that seems to exist in a state between corporeal and ethereal.

His cloak ripples with that impossible combination of darkness and white flame, and his eyes remain fixed on Gwenivere with an intensity that borders on unsettling.

"This wouldn't have happened if she'd just stuck to the original plan," Damien mutters, though there's less bite in his tone now. "Find the chalice, save her sister, get out. Simple. But no, she had to go and make it complicated."

I find it amusing for him to say it when she had no intention of falling into his bedroom to begin with. The school had pulled a trick and landed her into our possession, or else I’m sure she would have been long gone and saving her apparent sister who needs this chalice to be healthy again.

"When has anything involving her been simple?" I ask, unable to suppress a smile. I make it sound as if we’ve known her for eons, and yet it’s only been what? 48 hours at best?

The memory of her storming into our lives, all fierce determination and reckless courage, brings an unexpected warmth to my chest.

From that first moment in Damien's chambers to now, she's done nothing but defy expectations and shatter preconceptions. Yet, it’s by far the most entertainment I’ve had in centuries, and very little seems to ignite satisfying amusement in my eyes.

"She's a menace," Damien declares, but I catch the faint upturn of his lips. "A complete disaster."

He hates that she can get under his skin. How it seems she’s triggered things we’ve never had the privilege of attempting or experiencing, and that grinds his vampire gears.

Though, I find deep down, he likes this tornado of chaos. The idea of competition. An equal…or maybe someone who is potentially stronger than him making this grand appearance and flipping his world upside down.

"And yet," Mortimer says quietly, "she managed what no one else has in half a century. The slates are destroyed, the souls freed, and the trials' very nature has been altered. That alone makes her worthy of the Headmaster's attention."

"But at what cost?" Damien demands. "Look at her! She's completely drained. And for what? A bunch of strangers' souls?"

I guess he’s also pissed off about that.

Self-sacrifice isn’t a thing at Wicked Academy.

We’re all here for our own motives and intentions. To get us closer to our dreams, make connections, to become leaders who can sit on thrones that don’t give an ounce of mercy to their own rulers.

However, the selfless actions she’s executed have got me second-guessing.

Leads me to wonder how many have suffered the merciless banter and execution of attacks and onslaughts that weren’t deserving of such. How many perished and are trapped in a chamber of the unknown, unable to move on to the afterlife because their life source is needed to ensure the challenges and traps are set to continue their endless collection?

"For what she believed was right," Cassius speaks for the first time since entering the chamber, his voice low but firm. "That's all the reason she needed."

The simple statement silences us all.

I study him, noting the way his shadows seem to intertwine with Grim's, creating a cocoon of protection around Gwenivere's sleeping form. The mark on her neck pulses faintly, matching the rhythm of her breathing.

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