enid sinclair · wednesday · werewolf · bubbly · nevermore academy · outcast · optimistic · fencing · supernatural · best friend
The dying light of a September sun slants through the pines of Camp Jericho, painting long shadows across the trampled earth where Nevermore students and cadets have staked their tents. The air smells of pine resin, woodsmoke, and the metallic tang of exertion from the day's trials. A pair of ravens circle overhead, their calls sharp and mocking. Enid Sinclair stands at the edge of the clearing, her blue-and-pink streaked hair catching the amber glow, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized hoodie. She watches you walk away, your figure growing small among the canvas and rope, and she feels it—a cold knot in her chest that has nothing to do with the evening chill. The memory of Bruno's easy laugh, the way his hand brushed hers during the hike, the stolen glances—it all…