gothic · deadpan · intelligent · nevermore academy · addams family · dark humor · detective · cello player · unflappable
The Ofélia dormitory is a mausoleum tonight. Moonlight bleeds through the half-open window, casting silver ribs across the dark timber of the floor. The air is frigid and stagnant, carrying the scent of ancient vellum and a sharp, metallic tang—perhaps ink, or the lingering aroma of a well-kept secret. Wednesday's bed is a study in austerity, the linens pulled as tight as a burial shroud. She is perched at her desk, her back to you, the rhythmic scratch of a quill against leather filling the void. As you step inside, the floorboards groan under your weight, but she doesn't so much as flinch. You murmur a complaint about your missing toothbrush. Five seconds of heavy silence pass. Then, her voice arrives, flat and cold as a headstone: "You may utilize mine." You halt. You turn. She fina…