(Also posted on Royal Road)
Even in a world full of magic and wonder, no one can escape dealing with very human problems.
Claire, the outspoken witty new kid mermaid is fearful of being alone and separated, and just wants a group of friends to call...
Memories are the worst type of torture. They have their ways of impacting our choices, silently guiding us through life ensuring we don't repeat our past. The bad ones act like weeds in the sidewalk. They keep on growing no matter how many times we pluck them out, no matter how many times we want to rid them from our mind. They are forever seeded, ready to spring up at the most inoperative time. We can't help but remember the actions of our past.
It had been two weeks since the ward failure at Venefica.
Mystic forced herself to carry on as if everything were normal. She kept up her routine, attended class, and even cracked jokes—but she never left her dorm without a protection charm around her neck.
Claire, by contrast, had withdrawn into quiet contemplation. She didn't speak about the incident, but the weight of her decisions lingered behind her eyes. She had helped save them that day, yet some part of her feared the consequences of standing out too soon.
Elora seemed unaffected. She carried on with last-minute assignments, late-night hangouts in the Living Lobby, and the usual chaos of student life. If she ever thought about that day, she never let it show.
To anyone watching, it would seem like life had gone back to normal.
But for some of them, normal was just another illusion.
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Lily's Saturday breakfast routine never changed. Two tall glasses of blood, always with her pink reusable silicone straw. It wasn't that she liked the taste—she didn't. If anything, she hated it. But drinking from a straw helped. It kept the metallic tang off her lips, let her pretend she was sipping a smoothie instead of something pulled from a vein. It felt normal. At least, as normal as things could be.
She flipped a page in her Psychology of Magical Thinking textbook, her free hand absently twisting the straw in her fingers. The last gulp of blood lingered in her mouth a second too long, and she forced it down.
It shouldn't be this easy, she thought. Four years ago, she would have screamed at the thought of drinking blood. The sight of it, the smell of it, the very idea of it had made her stomach twist. It had taken her eighteen months to drink even half a glass without gagging. Now? She finished two without flinching. And the worst part was—she hated that it didn't bother her anymore.
Lily let out a slow breath and turned another page, pushing the thought away. Dwelling wouldn't change anything. She was what she was. She heard a chair scrape against the floor beside her.
Abelle slumped into the seat, yawning as she peeled an orange. She dug her fingers into the rind, and— "Ow—damn it." A jet of juice sprayed directly into her eye.
Lily arched a brow. "You seem off."
Abelle blinked rapidly, wiping at her face. "Didn't sleep much."
Lily hummed in understanding. "Yeah, I know how that feels. Kept waking up all night too. Perks of being undead."
