RAVENNA

Part 9

Author POV

After class, Nieve headed back to the library to patch up her failing relationship with chemistry. Halfway there, she caught sight of Rhett's shadow climbing to the third floor.

"Rhett?" she called softly.

He didn't answer.

Against her better judgment, she followed. The corridor narrowed into a webbed passage, dimly lit by pale sunlight slipping through a rusted grill window. The air smelled of dust and old stone. She trailed his figure until—vanished. Gone, as if swallowed by the walls.

In front of her: a door.
Behind her: only the same dim corridor, no clear way out. Calling for help wasn't an option—the headmistress's lectures were a worse nightmare than being lost.

With a hesitant breath, she pushed the door.

It creaked open into a forbidden space. The third-floor washroom.

Not at all like the scary stories whispered by students. Instead, it gleamed—marble floors polished like water, stained-glass windows throwing shards of color across the walls, and a grand carved mirror that caught the sunlight and filled the room with an otherworldly glow. Bigger. Cleaner. Stranger than any washroom should be.

scratch scratch

Nieve froze. The sound came from the last stall. Her heartbeat quickened. She crept forward, hand hovering near the handle, and flung it open—

Two screams tore through the air.

Nieve stumbled back, hitting the stall door. The other figure brandished a mop stick like a weapon.

Blinking, she steadied her breath. "G—Gazelle?"

The girl lowered the mop, silent, eyes blank. Her sleeves slipped just enough for Nieve to catch bruises across her arms.

"What are you doing here? Cleaning? But this area's restricted..." Nieve's voice trailed.

Gazelle only stared. Up close, her eyes were red and swollen, as though she'd cried for hours.

"You're always alone," Nieve said softly. "Why don't you ever stay with your friends?"

Still no answer. Only a flicker in Gazelle's gaze when Nieve added, almost whispering, "Guess you don't have any either. Like me."

That earned her something—a faint movement, a search through her pocket. Then Gazelle extended her hand. A handkerchief.

It was worn, blotched with ink stains and old oil. Yet to Nieve, in this moment, it was the most beautiful gift she'd ever been handed. A shoulder when none existed. She smiled, accepted it gratefully.

And for the first time, Gazelle smiled back—not the eerie, unsettling one, but something fragile and real.

She unclipped a pin from her own hair and fastened it gently into Gazelle's.

Then, without warning, Gazelle clasped her hand—stronger than she looked—and pulled her toward the center of the washroom.

"Uh—what are we doing?"

Gazelle raised her palm to silence her. Counted down with her fingers. Five... four... three...

At zero, the marble floor beneath them shimmered—melted into crystal-clear quartz.

Nieve gasped. She could see through it. The second-floor corridor stretched below, alive with students rushing to classes, trading snacks, gossiping. Even Mr. Klousky, misting someone with spit while yelling. She snickered—then startled back as one student glanced upward.