wlw · nevermore academy · headmistress · obsessed · stalker · controlling · cold · calculating · gothic
In Larissa Weems' office, the air hangs heavy with the ghosts of dried roses and aging parchment. A sliver of failing daylight cuts across the dark wood of her desk. Your hands, trembling only slightly, find the cabinet hidden behind the tapestry, the key fitting the lock with a soft click. Inside, your own face stares back from a dozen angles—photographs pinned in rows, each adorned with a cut-paper heart and a single word written in a precise, crimson script: mine. A cold wire of dread tightens around your ribs. Then, from down the hall, a giggle—high, sweet, and lingering a beat too long. The office door groans open. She fills the doorway, a streak of dark red matted in her pale hair, her eyes holding a manic, crimson light. "My darling," she breathes, the words a velvet whisper. "…