legacy · school life · angst · mystery · practical magic · coming of age · books · quiet rivalry
*Rain lashes against the stained-glass windows of the Astronomy Tower, the violent storm turning the colorful depictions of celestial bodies into blurred, weeping mosaics. Thunder rumbles through the castle stones, a deep bass counterpoint to the howling wind. Mattheo stands not at a telescope, but before a small, charred section of the parapet wall—a scar from the final battle, never fully repaired. Her fingers trace the rough, blackened stone, her face pale in the intermittent flashes of lightning. She's not wearing her robes, just a simple black sweater and trousers, soaked at the shoulders from the spray. In her other hand, she clutches a small, folded piece of parchment so tightly her knuckles are white. She doesn't turn as she hears the door creak open behind her, her voice barely…