Page 43 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

Don't go there, Gwen. Don't make this more complicated than it already is.

I finish the last touches of my makeup, appreciating how the products work together to create a polished look that somehow enhances both the masculinity and femininity of my appearance.

It's a delicate balance – enough makeup to make me feel confident and feminine but applied in a way that doesn't detract from the male facade I'm supposed to be maintaining.

At least when I add a bit of glamor to the mix.

Sunlight streams through the heavy curtains, painting strips of gold across the floor. I pause, the reality of my situation hits me anew.

I'm alive.

Not just alive – I'm standing here in broad daylight, inside Wicked Academy, very much female and very much not dead.According to everything I'd heard, this should be impossible. The ancient magic that protects these halls was supposed to be violently opposed to female presence, yet here I am, casually applying lipstick as if I belong here.

"Maybe the place is just sexist," I muse, adjusting my collar in the mirror. "Though that seems a bit pedestrian for ancient magic. 'No girls allowed' is more elementary school playground than prestigious supernatural academy."

The collar refuses to lay perfectly flat, and as I tug at it, something catches my eye. A marking on my neck, just below my jawline.

"What the..." I tilt my head to the right, leaning closer to the mirror for a better look.

The mark is unlike anything I've seen before – not quite a rune, but definitely magical in nature. Intricate lines weave together in a pattern that seems to shift slightly when I look at it too long, like trying to focus on smoke in the wind.

Something about it feels familiar, though I know for certain it wasn't there before I entered the academy. The design triggers something in my memory, like a word on the tip of my tongue that I can't quite grasp.

My fingers trace over it gently. There's no raised texture, and no temperature difference from the surrounding skin. If I wasn't looking directly at it, I wouldn't know it was there.

Yet somehow its presence feels...significant.

"Add it to the list of questions," I sigh, dropping my hand. "Right after 'why am I not dead' and 'how did you know my exact shade of lipstick.'"

Cassius will have answers – or at least, I hope he will. He seems to be at the center of most of my questions lately. The mark, the survival past sunrise, the impossible way his blood affected me...

The way he affected me.

I catch my own gaze in the mirror, noting the slight darkening of my cheeks at the thought. The woman staring back at me looks confident, put-together, ready to face whatever challenges await. But underneath that carefully constructed exterior, questions swirl like restless shadows.

The uniform hugs my curves in a way that somehow makes them less noticeable while still allowing me to move comfortably. The pants, in particular, are a masterwork of tailoring – fitted enough to be flattering but cut in a way that maintains the illusion of a male silhouette.

"You didn't do any of this halfway, did you?" I ask the empty room, smoothing down the front of my blazer. The gold emblem catches the light, reminding me of my precarious position here.

I'm an intruder who's somehow become...what, exactly? A guest? A prisoner? Someone’s ‘pet’?

The mark on my neck seems to mock me with its mysterious presence, a physical reminder of how little I understand about my current situation. Every answer I've found has only led to more questions, creating a web of mysteries that all seem to lead back to one shadow-wielding prince.

"Right then," I say, straightening my shoulders and lifting my chin. "Time to find some answers."

The woman in the mirror mimics my determined expression, but I catch the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Despite the perfect fit of the uniform, the flawless makeup, and the confident pose, there's no hiding the fact that I'm in completely uncharted territory.

I've survived the impossible – drinking Duskwalker blood, lasting past sunrise, bearing a mysterious mark that seems to pulse in time with my heartbeat.

The next challenge will be understanding why.

And more importantly, what it all means for my future.

My sister's face flashes through my mind, a painful reminder of why I came here in the first place. The Chalice of Restoration may have been a myth, but I'm still no closer to finding a way to save her.

"One thing at a time," I tell my reflection firmly. "First, find Cassius. Then figure out...everything else."

The mark on my neck catches the light one last time as I turn away from the mirror, like a silent reminder of all the mysteries still waiting to be unraveled.

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