Little Missy Muffet comes from a peticular family: human from a mother, spider from a father, she knows her nursery rhyme by heart, and arrives at Monster High slowly, carried by the spidery strangeness of her childhood. But the relationship between...
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˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ ˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ ˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ ˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ ˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚
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Bloodgood had a most invigorating day, a rigorous exercise in some flame and river. Commonplace, really.
She had begun with the breakfast - to make recalcitrant Deans back-pedal on the involvement of Humans in their medical and school affairs, had replied to at least three vehement letters from families demanding the cessation or reduction of the time of their progeny's punishments, when they had been responsible for acts of vandalism and harassment outside Monster High, directed against schoolchildren, often young ones. They had weighed the horror of such ingratitude against the prestige of her position, how she had to regard all these wards as part of a single community.
Nora had never given in, and had been content to support the school's responsibility for even every senior wrongdoer... Starting with the favor, that the school took the liberty of offering by her solitaries acts, when a young delinquent found himself pitted against the justices of both sides of their world. It was the penalty of a second chance, or one of a judge.
Oh... And she's eating toast, too.
With nut butter, the toast, to be exact.
Breakfeast is such a treasure...
Leaving her home, Nightmare igniting her muzzle with an invigorating symbiosis, she took the Road of the Ravens to the less-frequented rear of Monster High, which even the teachers hardly secured in density.
The forests were clear in the morning from the last moles of moonlight and the red slicks of late, and she came across a few solitary creatures, children returning home with their parents, and at that moment, even in the winds, she would never have known the difference between a peaceful people and the rivalry of New Salem.
When the Road of the Ravens, lined with wooden graves and conifers, so heavy with mold thundered almost from sky to earth, the Nevermores (in place where their rights lay) uttered no song or bewilderment. Their lack of beaks seemed to frighten the New Salem officials more than their blessedly macabre and solitary song. Sometimes, certain Monsters concerned with the Obscure World and its state, could have sworn they saw these latter, outside their windows, with no solution other than their duties leaving them swept away by blankets of extinguished blue.
