Page 118 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

A shift in the morning light reveals what I'd initially missed — Damien's presence lurking in the shadows of the photograph.

The revelation is so sudden it makes me wonder if it's the natural play of sunlight that finally exposed him, or if some magic had deliberately hidden him until now, choosing this moment to reveal another layer of truth.

He's dressed as elegantly as the others, his dark red suit and black tie speaking of the same refined taste. But it's his expression that catches and holds my attention.

The way he watches the group from his position in the shadows carries weight — something heavy with meaning that I hadn't noticed in our previous interactions.

Jealousy.

The realization clicks into place like a key finding its lock. The way he's looking at them...it's not the gaze of someone merely excluded from a moment. It's the look of someone watching something they desperately want but can't have.

Given Damien's personality and the hints I've picked up, it wouldn't surprise me if his preferences lean toward men. And among the three companions, Nikolai and Cassius would be the obvious draws. Though Nikolai seems his complete opposite in many ways, that very contrast could be part of the attraction.

My thoughts drift to Nikolai's features — the perfect balance of masculine strength and Fae beauty, the way he carries centuries of power with such casual grace. Even without my personal entanglement, I can understand the appeal.

Personal entanglement.

The thought triggers something — a memory trying to surface through the fog of recent sleep. There was a moment, wasn't there? When I wasn't quite unconscious but not fully awake either. Voices discussing... something important.

I frown, trying to grasp the fragments floating just out of reach. Words echo in my mind, disconnected from their context:

"No one will accept her as your Queen."

"Then let me die alone, as I was always destined to be."

The phrases ring with significance, but the full meaning stays frustratingly elusive. Like trying to recall a dream that dissolves faster the harder you chase it.

Sighing heavily, I pinch the bridge of my nose. A headache threatens to form, punishment for trying to force memories that aren't ready to surface.

Better to focus on immediate needs.

The bathroom beckons — the promise of basic hygiene and a moment to collect my scattered thoughts. But as I turn away from the photo, I can't shake the image of Damien in those shadows, watching his friends with such carefully hidden longing.

It adds another layer of complexity to an already complicated situation. Another thread in this tapestry of relationships I've somehow woven myself into. The political implications of my bonds with Nikolai and Cassius were daunting enough without adding emotional entanglements to the mix.

The morning light continues to stream through the windows, catching on the gold accents around the room. It creates an almost ethereal atmosphere as if I'm standing in some space between reality and dream. Fitting, perhaps, given how surreal my life has become since entering Wicked Academy.

My reflection in a nearby mirror catches my attention. The oversized shirt, my slightly disheveled hair, and the lingering softness of deep sleep still evident in my features — I look nothing like the determined infiltrator who first scaled these walls.

I'm not sure who I am anymore.

A sister on a desperate mission? Female Student in disguise in an all-male school? Mate to beings of incredible power that Ibarely know anything about? The roles blur together, each one carrying its own weight of responsibility and consequence.

Fragments of that half-remembered conversation continue to drift through my mind as I make my way to the bathroom. Something about queens and acceptance, about choosing solitude. The words feel important, but their true significance remains just beyond my grasp.

Another sigh escapes me as I reach for what I hope is a spare toothbrush. The mundane task of morning hygiene beckons, offering a moment of normalcy in what has become an increasingly extraordinary existence.

The crystal fixtures in the bathroom catch the morning light, throwing rainbow prisms across the marble surfaces. Even here, Nikolai's taste for balanced luxury is evident — everything elegant but not ostentatious, expensive but not gaudy.

It's a far cry from the utilitarian bathroom in my apartment back home. I should have been grateful to have something and not on the streets, but it carried its share of predicaments and burdens.

The thought of my sister sends a familiar pang through my chest, reminding me of my original purpose.

So much has changed in so little time.

I came here seeking a magical chalice, and instead, I've found...what exactly?

Power? Connection? Complications I never could have anticipated?

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