Page 90 of Academy of the Wicked, Year One

“Elena?” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “What’s wrong?”

She turns to me, her sad smile not quite reaching her eyes.

The sight of it makes my chest tighten. I realize then that my voice sounds different, higher, lighter. I glance down at myself and gasp softly.

I’m a child again?

My hands are small and uncalloused, my form unburdened by the weight of years and pain.

The scene shifts in the blink of an eye.

One moment, we are children standing hand in hand before our parents’ graves, and the next, we’re adults. Our hands remain joined, but now my form is taller, my limbs stronger.

My gaze shifts to Elena, only to see the faint shimmer of tears pooling in her eyes. Her hand squeezes mine tightly, grounding me.

“Life isn’t fair,” she says softly, her voice cracking.

“Why would you say that?” My voice trembles, and I frown deeply. “Is it because…our parents left us? They’re in paradise now, aren’t they?”

Elena shakes her head slowly. Her tears spill over, trailing down her cheeks as she exhales shakily.

“It’s not just that,” she whispers. “The world is too wicked, Gwenivere. Too wicked for people like you.”

Her words hit me like a blow, and I struggled to comprehend their weight.

Before I can respond, the world shifts again.

It’s disorienting, like being tossed into a new reality without warning. My breath catches as I look down at myself. My form has changed.

I’m no longer Gwenivere.

I’m Gabriel.

Elena’s appearance shifts, too. She stands before me, a perfect reflection of myself, only in stark contrast.

While I’m clad in white, she is adorned in black. Her features mirror mine, but her eyes are darker, her presence heavier.

“Why are we different?” I ask, confusion knotting my brow. “We’ve always been the same. We’ve acted the same.”

Elena’s lips curve into a sad smile, her hand still gripping mine.

“You’re right,” she says softly. “We’ve always been the same. But…we were destined to be opposites.”

Her words make no sense, and I shake my head, my frustration mounting.

“I don’t understand,” I say, my voice tinged with desperation. “Something is wrong with me, but I can’t figure it out. Everything feels…cold. Frightening. How did I get here? I can’t even remember.”

Elena’s gaze softens, but she doesn’t answer.

The scene shifts again, and my form changes once more. I’m back as Gwenivere, and standing before me is Elena once more as she pulls me into an embrace.

Her arms wrap around me tightly, but the warmth I expect never comes. Instead, there’s a hollow chill, a haunting emptiness that makes my chest ache.

“The boys were destined to be cruel,” she whispers into my ear. “The environment…it was woven to be diabolically ruthless. Ancient words seek refuge, and your agony…your agony will be the catalyst of a revolution no one is ready for. Not even you.”

Her words send shivers down my spine. When she pulls back, I see the tears glistening in her eyes. She cups my face gently, her hands trembling as she holds me.

“I didn’t have a fighting chance,” she says, her voice breaking. “That’s why things are the way they are. But you do, Gwenivere. You can do this. You just have to rely on those who’ve been placed in your path.”

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