Page 83 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

The darkness that follows carries no threat, only promise of restoration and renewal when next I wake.

Morning Adjustments In The Faerie

~GWENIVERE~

The new uniform fits me perfectly, which is both impressive and slightly unnerving.

I examine my reflection in the full-length mirror, turning to assess how the tailored black blazer accentuates my natural curves while maintaining a professional silhouette.

The golden embroidery along the lapels catches light with subtle shimmer, intricate patterns that suggest ancient runes woven into seemingly decorative design. The matching skirt falls to just above my knees, the pleated fabric moving with surprising fluidity despite its structured appearance.

Even the white blouse beneath the blazer feels custom-made, the material simultaneously crisp and comfortable against my skin. The royal purple tie adds the perfect accent, the color somehow enhancing the silver of my hair rather than clashing with it.

The entire ensemble screams elite education, paranormal prestige wrapped in deceptively mundane packaging. If normal humans glimpsed this uniform, they'd simply see expensive private school attire.

Only those with magical sensitivity would notice the subtle enchantments woven into every thread, protection and enhancement spells layered with such delicate precision that they're nearly undetectable.

I'm enjoying the rare privilege of wearing this uniform in my true feminine form, knowing that once I step beyond our dorm's threshold, Mortimer's clever warding will automatically trigger my transformation back to Gabriel.

The scholar's magic has proven both practical and surprisingly considerate.

"The wards not only protect us from potential threats or unexpected academy challenges," Mortimer had explained yesterday while showing us the intricate magical architecture surrounding our living space, "but they're also designed to conserve energy within these walls. Hence your automatic reversion to your natural form upon entering, Gwenivere."

The thoughtfulness behind this design touches me more than I care to admit.

After spending so much time and magical energy maintaining Gabriel's form, the ability to simply exist as myself within our shared space feels like unexpected luxury. The constant strain of holding a glamour —even one I've grown accustomed to— takes a subtle toll that becomes obvious only in its absence.

Yesterday had passed in a blur of much-needed rest. Despite obvious curiosity about the trial's aftermath and Year Two implications, everyone had respected my need for recovery.

Even Nikolai —correction, Nikki— had refrained from prodding for explanations or planning sessions. The unspoken agreement that strategy could wait until proper restoration had been achieved spoke volumes about how our dynamics have evolved.

Besides, as Atticus had pointed out with characteristic directness, planning might prove pointless given Year Two's unpredictable nature.

We could face immediate trials like those that dominated Year One, or experience something entirely different — regular classes, standard academic progression, challenges that build gradually rather than exploding upon arrival.

"Everything is very swift-paced in Wicked Academy," Mortimer had warned during one of my brief periods of wakefulness. "Time isn't foolishly wasted in paranormal realms."

His expression had grown thoughtful then, scholarly assessment replacing casual observation.

"That said, Faerie operates differently. Time moves significantly slower here compared to the upper world. We could spend what feels like a few short days attending classes as normal elite students, while above, time speeds by at alarming rate."

The implication hadn't escaped me — slower time might feel like blessing for us, but for Elena, whose condition worsens with each passing day, this temporal distortion could prove catastrophic.

The memory of her dream appearance, increasingly frail and translucent, sends fresh anxiety coursing through my system.

I had shared that dream with the others once I'd managed sufficient coherence, describing the withering flowers, the barrier between us, Elena's cryptic messages about "revealing the true purpose in the heart of the wicked" and "unraveling different realms."

Though I'd struggled with recalling certain details — especially something she'd mentioned near the end, possibly related to my shifting between forms.

"I could prepare a memory-enhancing remedy," Mortimer had offered with characteristic academic interest. "Something to help recover those missing fragments."

I'd declined, unwilling to waste his scholarly magic on what might be inconsequential dream details unless absolutely necessary. The chalice remains my priority —finding it, understanding its properties, using it to save Elena before time runs out.

A gentle knock at my bedroom door pulls me from these reflections.

"Breakfast is ready," Cassius's voice carries through the wood, his tone carrying that subtle warmth reserved exclusively for private moments. "Mortimer says we should discuss class schedules before departure."

"Coming," I call back, giving my reflection one final assessment before turning away.

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