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Chapter Text

Sophie Rose walked through the cobbled streets of Eldermere with her head held high, golden curls bouncing with every step. Her emerald-green eyes gleamed under the morning sun, and her pink dress, embroidered with delicate roses, swayed as she walked. She knew she was beautiful—flawless, even.

As she passed by, people greeted her with warm smiles. The baker’s wife waved. The blacksmith’s apprentice stumbled over his own feet just to hold the door open for her. She gave them her most dazzling, princess-like smile before continuing on her way.

Her destination? The library.

Every week, Sophie checked to see if the town had received a new fairy tale. She lived for them—the stories of grand castles, enchanted forests, and noble princesses falling in love with dashing princes. One day, she was certain she would have her own fairy tale.

But first, she had to pick up Agatha.

Sophie arrived at a small cottage on the outskirts of town. It was old, with dark vines creeping up the sides, and most villagers avoided it altogether. She knocked twice before the door creaked open, revealing Agatha standing there in her usual worn-out cloak.

Agatha was different. Where Sophie was golden and radiant, Agatha was dark and mysterious. Her jet-black hair fell to the middle of her back in messy waves, often tangled from sleep or the wind. She always wore plain, earth-toned clothes—browns, grays, and blacks—that made her look like she was trying to disappear into the background. Her skin was pale, almost ghostly, and her large black eyes—big and buggy—peeked out from beneath thick lashes.

Her mother used to say they were the cutest thing about her.
"Like a baby lamb," she’d murmur with a soft laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Agatha’s ear. "Big round eyes, always watching everything like you’re about to ask the stars a question."
Agatha would giggle and lean into her, cheeks flushed with joy. With her mother, she had never felt strange—only soft, safe, and deeply loved.

But that was, her mother was gone.

But the villagers didn’t see that.

To them, her eyes were eerie. Her pale skin was unnatural. Her silence, strange. They had made up their minds about her long ago.

A witch.

It didn’t matter that Agatha had never cast a spell or done anything remotely magical. The moment people saw her, whispered stories of curses and misfortune followed. Agatha didn’t care—at least, that’s what she claimed, even if deep down she sometimes wondered if there was truth in their fearful murmurs.

“You’re early,” Agatha muttered, pulling her cloak tighter around her as if to shield herself from the lingering stares.

“The library might have something new today!” Sophie chirped, clasping her hands excitedly. “What if it’s a story about a girl who discovers she’s actually a lost princess?”

Agatha groaned. “Fairy tales are stupid, Sophie.”

Sophie ignored her slight, grabbing Agatha’s wrist and pulling her along. “Come on, let’s go!”

The library was small, filled with dusty shelves and the scent of old parchment. Sophie rushed to the counter, her heart pounding.

The librarian, an elderly woman with round spectacles, looked up from her book. “No new fairy tales today, dear.”

Sophie’s face fell. “Nothing?”

“Afraid not.”

Agatha smirked. “What a shame. Guess we have to leave now.”

Sophie pouted. “This is the third time in a row. What if we never get another new story?”

“Then you’ll survive,” Agatha said, already heading for the door. “Maybe even read a real book for once.”

Sophie shot her a glare but followed.

As they walked through the market square, something changed.

The air turned heavy, the warmth of the morning fading into a sudden chill. The lively chatter of the villagers dulled, as if the world had momentarily paused.

And then, standing in the middle of the road, they saw him.

A tall figure draped in a deep blue cloak stood motionless, hood pulled low over their face. The fabric shimmered strangely, like the sky just before nightfall.

Sophie stopped in her tracks. Agatha tensed beside her.

“Let’s not talk to the creepy magic man,” Agatha muttered under her breath.

But before they could step away, the figure raised a hand and pointed directly at them.

“Do you believe in fairy tales?” the voice was smooth, neither old nor young.

Sophie gasped. “Yes! Absolutely!”

Agatha groaned. “Oh, great.”

The stranger nodded, as if pleased with the answer. Then, from beneath the folds of the cloak, they pulled out a book.

It was bound in deep violet leather, the title embossed in silver letters:

The School for Good and Evil.

The stranger’s voice was barely above a whisper. “This book holds the power to make your wish come true. Read from its pages, and you shall live your own fairy tale.”

Sophie’s heart skipped a beat. “You mean… I could be in a fairy tale?”

The hooded figure nodded. “For the price of ten coins.”

Agatha scoffed. “Oh, come on.”

Sophie, however, was already pulling out her velvet pouch. She tipped it open—only five coins clinked into her palm.

Her face fell.

Slowly, she turned to Agatha.

Agatha crossed her arms. “No.”

Sophie pouted. “Please, Agatha! It’s only five coins!”

“It’s a scam, Sophie.”

“But what if it’s not?” Sophie clutched Agatha’s sleeve dramatically. “Please, I’ll do anything!”

Agatha arched an eyebrow. “Anything?”

Sophie hesitated. “Yes.”

A slow smirk spread across Agatha’s face. “Fine. If the book doesn't work, you have to do my laundry for a month.”

Sophie groaned. “That’s highway robbery!”

Agatha shrugged. “Take it or leave it.”

With a dramatic sigh, Sophie snatched the five coins from Agatha’s hand and turned back to the stranger.

“Here,” she said, dropping the ten coins into his palm.

The figure nodded, placing the book into Sophie’s hands.

The moment she touched it, warmth spread through her fingers. The book’s cover shimmered for just a second before settling.

Sophie clutched it to her chest, beaming.

Agatha shook her head. “I cannot wait to rub this in your face when it turns out to be nonsense.”

But neither of them noticed the way the book’s pages flickered…

Or the way the stranger vanished into thin air.

Little did they know—

Their story was about to begin.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun cast dappled shadows beneath the sprawling oak tree at the edge of Eldermere. A gentle breeze rustled the golden leaves, carrying with it the scent of earth and the distant sweetness of freshly baked bread from the village. Sophie and Agatha sat beneath the tree, the heavy leather book resting between them.

Sophie’s fingers trembled as she unfastened the silver clasp and slowly opened The Book of Fates. Her heart pounded in anticipation. What kind of enchanted story would be inside?
Would it call her name?
Would it whisper of magic and destiny?
But as her eyes swept over the first page, her excitement turned to confusion.

It was blank.
She flipped to the next page. Blank.
Page after page, she turned frantically, her breath quickening, until she reached the very last one. Nothing.
Except—
At the very bottom of the final page, in small, delicate script, were the words:
Write what you truly want.
Sophie inhaled sharply. Her emerald eyes gleamed as she clutched the book tighter.

"This is it," she whispered. "This is how it works."
Agatha raised an eyebrow. "Or it’s just a fancy way of making you write in a really expensive journal."
Sophie ignored her. Someone like her, with those drab clothes, wouldn't understand what it meant, Sophie thought.
She pulled a quill from her pouch. Dipping it in ink, she pressed the tip against the creamy parchment and, with a flourish, began to write:

"I wish I was a fairy tale princess."
Agatha snorted. "That’s it? That’s the grand wish? How modest."
Sophie shot her a glare. "You don’t understand, Agatha. It’s not just about sitting in a castle all day."

She turned back to the book, her hand moving feverishly as she continued to write.
"I want to be married to a handsome, rich prince. I want thousands of gowns to wear, endless parties, and people who adore me. I want to be surrounded by people who look like me, act like me, and finally get me. Someone like you wouldn't understand someone like me."
"Oh," said Agatha, quietly, her voice small and sad. But Sophie didn’t notice. She kept writing.

The words spilled onto the page, filling it faster than Sophie intended. Her breath hitched as she paused, staring at the ink drying before her.
Agatha, who had been watching with slightly sad eyes, blinked in surprise. Finally said "I thought I got you, Sophie."

Sophie hesitated, her fingers hovering over the parchment. Then, quickly, she snapped the book shut. "That’s different," she muttered.

Agatha studied her for a moment before sighing.
"Alright, fine. Since you’re prying so much—what about you, Agatha?" Sophie asked, tilting her head. "What do you truly want?"
Agatha scoffed, stretching her arms above her head. "Nothing."
Sophie frowned. "That’s not true. Everybody wants something."

Agatha hesitated, looking down at her hands, tracing the dirt beneath her fingertips.
The wind played with her long dark hair, tossing wild strands across her pale face.

After a long moment, she spoke.
"If I could have anything…" Her voice was softer now, her usual sarcasm gone. "I’d want somewhere to truly belong. Somewhere I’m not looked at like a witch or a monster."
She paused, but in her mind, unspoken words formed—words she couldn’t bring herself to say aloud.
And someone who finally loves me for me.

Sophie, however, laughed. "That’s so boring. You should’ve just wished for a prince instead."
Agatha rolled her eyes and pushed herself off the ground. "Well, enjoy your grand fairy tale, Princess Sophie. Just don’t forget—you’re washing my laundry tomorrow."
Sophie huffed, watching as Agatha dusted herself off and started walking away.
"That’s not gonna happen," Sophie muttered under her breath, gripping the book tighter, hoping—praying—that the magic was real.

But neither of them noticed the way the book shimmered faintly in her hands.
Nor did they see the pages flipping on their own—inking Agatha’s every last word in dark, curling script.
Every single one.

Chapter Text

After parting ways with Agatha, Sophie was on her way home. She smiled at everyone she passed, giving regal little waves like a queen in disguise.

When an old woman hobbled past and offered her hand, Sophie forced a sweet smile and took it.
“Bless you, dear,” the woman rasped.

Sophie nodded politely—then the moment the woman looked away, she wiped her hand furiously on her dress.

She shuddered.
“Disgusting,” she muttered. “But totally worth it. That’s exactly what a princess would do.”

She had been training for her fairy-tale life for years. Doing every noble act she could think of—not because she believed in kindness or anything ridiculous like that—but because that’s what storybook princesses did.

She stopped briefly at the church, where she put on her sweetest, most innocent smile.
“Hello, High Priestess,” she said with a perfect curtsy.
“Hello, Sophie,” the priestess replied warmly. “Is there anything that needs to be done? Perhaps clean the mirrors?”
An old man nearby chuckled. “Yes, you can. If you want.”

Sophie sighed inwardly but smiled like it was a great honor. She walked to the dusty mirrors and began wiping them down.

As she worked, she muttered, “Cinderella had to clean before she became a princess. So that’s exactly what I’ll do.”

For the past few years, Sophie had been copying the things princesses did in books—hoping it would lead to her happy ending.

She gave food to the poor, like Princess Jasmine—
“Even though they don’t really need it,” she thought. “They stay fat all winter, somehow.”

She brushed a horse’s mane, like Snow White—
“Even though it smelled like wet hay and tried to bite me.”

She even talked to Agatha every day—
“Like Princess Belle did with the Beast,” Sophie told herself. “Even though Agatha is probably worse looking.”

She didn’t do these things because they were good or noble. She did them because they were part of the plan. The princess plan.

As the last bit of dust was wiped away, Sophie stepped back. The mirrors didn’t look any different. Typical.

She turned to leave—but just then, a boy rounded the corner.
“Hi, Sophie,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. It was Peter. One of the smelly, ugly, and completely invisible boys who always followed her around like flies.

“What is it, Peter?” she asked, already annoyed.

Peter, with his unfortunate orange hair and awkward brown vest, looked at her hopefully.
“I just wanted to know if I could walk you home.”

“No.”

“But… it’s getting dark—”

“I don’t care,” Sophie snapped. “I don’t want to walk with a disgusting boy whose teeth are as yellow as gold coins.”

Peter’s smile vanished. He turned and ran away without a word.

Sophie didn’t feel guilty for hurting his feelings. She felt annoyed—annoyed that she’d ruined all her carefully stacked “good deeds” by being mean.

“Now I have to start all over,” she muttered. “Maybe I can fix it by making Agatha prettier. Belle made the Beast handsome, didn’t she?”

She snorted.
“Not that anything could make Agatha pretty.”

Sophie made it home by sundown.

She lived with her father, her stepmother Honora, and her three stepbrothers—Rian, Robin, and Ross.
They were noisy, sticky, ugly, and loud. And Sophie hated every one of them.

She tried to sneak past the dining room and escape to her room, but a voice stopped her.
“Hello, Sophie.”

She gritted her teeth. That voice. That awful, fake-sweet voice.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Honora said.

“I’m not,” Sophie replied sharply.

Honora stayed calm, unfazed. “Well, I made all your favorites. Steamed carrots and spinach.”

“I don’t like that food anymore,” Sophie snapped.

“Oh…” Honora blinked. “I can make you something else—”

But before she could finish, one of the boys barreled into Sophie.

“Watch where you’re going!” she barked.

“Sorry,” the boy mumbled.

Then another boy slammed into her from behind, knocking her forward.

Sophie huffed in pure rage.
“Why are you running in the house!? Shouldn’t you be asleep!?”

“It’s almost dinner,” said Rian, shrugging.

“I don’t want to eat with you—” Sophie began, but a deeper voice interrupted her.

“That’s too bad,” said her father, stepping into the hallway.

Sophie turned and glared at him like she could set him on fire.

“Your mother made dinner for you,” he said firmly. “She made all your favorite foods. Now sit down and eat.”

“She’s not my mother,” Sophie hissed. “My real mother died. That’s just a fat woman pretending to be her.”

Honora flinched, but said nothing. Sophie’s father, Stefan, frowned deeply.

“That is not how you speak to her,” he said.

With no choice, Sophie sat down and picked at the food in silence.

Across the table, her stepbrothers stared at their plates like they were full of poison.

“What is this?” Rian asked, poking at the spinach.

“It looks like snot,” Robin whispered.

“Yeah,” said Ross, gagging dramatically. “Gross.”

Sophie felt her skin crawl just sitting near them. They were all so… plain. So common. Just like their mother.

Honora sat at the head of the table, warm and plump with frizzy hair and a kind smile. She wasn’t beautiful like Sophie’s real mother. She looked like someone who used to cook in a bakery. Probably because she did. Sophie had found a letter once in a drawer confirming it.

That was it. She couldn’t take any more.

Sophie shoved her chair back and stormed upstairs, ignoring her father calling after her.

She slammed her door and locked it, then flopped face-down on the bed.

Downstairs, she could faintly hear Honora whisper something to stop her father from following her.

Sophie didn’t care.

She wanted out.

Out of this house.
Out of this town.
Out of this life full of ugly, ordinary people who didn’t understand she was meant for something more.

She was meant to be a princess.

Sophie lay sprawled across her bed, staring at The Book of Fates with burning frustration. She had been waiting all night for something to happen. A spark of light, a whisper of magic—anything to prove that her wish had worked.
But the book just sat there, stubbornly ordinary.

Her emerald-green eyes narrowed in irritation.
"Maybe it takes time," she told herself.

Yet, as the first rays of sunlight slipped through her window, another thought crept into her mind—one far worse than waiting.
What if the book didn’t work at all?

Sophie sat up in alarm, suddenly remembering the deal she had made with Agatha.

Laundry.
A whole month of it.

“No, no, no!” she muttered, gripping her golden hair in frustration. “I am not scrubbing dirt out of Agatha’s ugly tunics!”

Her gaze darted back to the book. There had to be a way to make it work. She had wished, hadn’t she? She had written so much! But what if it wasn’t enough?

“Yes, that has to be it!” Sophie thought, sitting up straighter. “Maybe I have to fill the entire book for the magic to activate!”

She scrambled toward the book, eager to write more, but the moment her fingers touched the cover—
It wouldn’t budge.

Frowning, she tugged a little harder.
Nothing.

Sophie’s lips curled in frustration. She yanked the book with all her might, but it refused to open.

Panic bloomed in her chest.

Had Agatha done something to it? Maybe she spilled something sticky, or cursed it with one of her creepy little spells? Wouldn't be surprising.

Determined, Sophie planted both feet on the floor and pulled even harder, her fingers digging into the thick leather binding.
Still, the book remained firmly shut.

A frustrated growl escaped her lips.
“Open, you stupid thing!” she snapped.

She threw the book onto the floor with a loud thud and held her head in her hands.
“This is ruining my chance to become a princess!” she groaned. “And now I’m stuck doing laundry for the rest of the month because some know-it-all swamp witch tricked me!”

The thought made her even angrier.

Sophie shot to her feet, eyes blazing as she lifted her foot, fully prepared to kick the stubborn book across the room.
But just as her foot swung forward—
A golden barrier flashed into existence around the book.

Her foot slammed into the glowing shield, sending a sharp jolt of pain through her toes.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” Sophie cried, hopping backward and clutching her foot.

She gaped at the book, her eyes widening in shock.
“Wait… books don’t have barriers around them,” she whispered.

Her gaze locked onto the shimmering golden energy that pulsed around The Book of Fates—a radiant glow, flickering like sunlight reflecting off water.
Then, slowly… the light faded.

Sophie swallowed hard. Her heart hammered in her chest as she took a hesitant step forward.
She had to be imagining things.

Testing her theory, she lifted her foot once again and aimed another (slightly gentler) kick at the book.
Just before her foot could make contact—
WHOOSH!
The golden barrier flared back to life.

Sophie stared, completely mesmerized.
Then, a slow, smug smile spread across her face.

A second later, she was dancing around her bedroom, spinning in delighted circles as she chanted, “I knew it was magic! I knew it was magic!”

She giggled, imagining the look on Agatha’s smug little face when she saw the proof.
She would have to believe her now. There was no way even she could deny it.

Still grinning, Sophie snatched up the book and dashed out of her house, not even bothering to tell her parents where she was going.
She only had one thought on her mind—

The exact expression Agatha would make when she realized she would be the one doing all the laundry.

After all, once the book finally worked…
Sophie wouldn’t need to lift a finger ever again.

Chapter Text

Agatha was running.

The night air was cold against her skin, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear her own breath.

But she could hear them.

"Catch the witch!"

"Burn her at the stake!"

Their voices were everywhere, rising like an angry tide. She could hear the crunch of boots on leaves, the clatter of pitchforks, and the flickering glow of torches behind her.

Branches tore at her arms and legs, scratching deep into her skin, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

She lifted her hands to shield her face from the branches—

And that’s when she made her mistake.

A thick root coiled around her ankle like a snake, yanking her off her feet.

Before she could even cry out, another branch curled around her other leg, hoisting her into the air.

Then—snap!—two more twisted around her wrists, pinning her in place.

Agatha screamed, thrashing against the branches, but the more she fought, the tighter they squeezed, digging into her skin until thin lines of blood dripped down her wrists.

And then—

They were there.

A dozen villagers stood in front of her, their faces hard with hatred.

“There she is—the witch!” one of them spat.

Agatha’s breath hitched.

“No, no, I’m not a witch!” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “I just—I just—”

“You just what, witch?” a burly man sneered, stepping forward.

Agatha opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead, her eyes burned, hot tears slipping down her face.

A woman in the crowd scoffed. “She doesn’t look like us.”

“She even dresses differently!” another hissed. “And look at her eyes—almost see-through!”

“She must be a witch!”

“She must burn at the stake!”

“Yeah!” The crowd chanted, their torches blazing as they stepped closer.

Agatha’s body trembled.

“No—”

The flames inched toward her, heat licking at her skin—

She squeezed her eyes shut—

And screamed.

---

A sharp meow cut through the fog.

Agatha’s eyes flew open.

Her chest heaved, her skin drenched in sweat.

A soft weight pressed against her shoulder—Bramble, her cat, blinked at her with pale green eyes, rubbing his head gently beneath her chin.

She exhaled shakily, reaching to stroke his warm fur.

“Thanks, Bramble,” she whispered.

Her small, cramped room was dark, except for the pale glow of the moon outside her window. The dream still clung to her like cobwebs.

She pressed a trembling hand to her face.

“The same dream. Again.”

Her heart was still racing as she threw the blankets off and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“Why do I keep dreaming of that? I’m not a witch. I’m not evil.”

Shivering, she crossed the tiny room and peered out the window. The village rooftops stretched in the distance, peaceful under the moonlight.

It was just a dream.

Just a dream.

But she couldn’t go back to sleep.

With a sigh, she tiptoed down the hallway to check on her father.

“Father?” she whispered, easing the door open.

A weak groan answered her.

She stepped closer.

Her father lay in bed, his body frail, his breath shallow. He had been sick for months now, barely able to rise.

It had been just the two of them for as long as she could remember. Her mother had died when Agatha was a baby—killed by the village for “witchcraft.”

But her mother hadn’t been a witch. She had only been giving Agatha’s father medicine, trying desperately to save his life.

The villagers hadn’t listened. They hadn’t cared.

They’d dragged her mother away before it was too late.

Agatha’s father had never forgiven them.

And neither had she.

“Is that you, my little sheep?” his voice rasped.

She smiled faintly. “Yes, it’s me.”

“You look worried,” he murmured.

“It’s nothing,” Agatha said. “Just… nightmares.”

His faded blue eyes softened. “Nightmares… or things on your mind?”

Agatha hesitated.

“It’s that dream again,” she admitted.

Her father sighed, reaching a thin hand to pat her head.

“Don’t let those villagers’ thoughts get to you,” he said gently. “They’re just fools who don’t know any better.”

Agatha rested her head against her father's leg.

"I know," she whispered. "But I just keep thinking about it."

Her father watched her for a moment, his hand pausing mid-stroke through her hair. He could tell she was still weighed down by something. He sighed, then smiled faintly to himself.

"You know," he said, voice a little raspier now, "I guess it all started with a little sheep."

Agatha looked up, confused.

"When I first met your mother," he went on, "she was dancing. In a graveyard."

Agatha blinked. "Wait—what?"

He chuckled softly. "I had gone there to visit my father’s grave. He’d just passed. I wasn’t alone, though. Vanessa came with me—Sophie’s mom. She wouldn’t leave me alone back then. Thought dragging me around would make Stephen jealous. Clung to me for weeks like a burr on a boot."

Agatha leaned forward, surprised. This was new. She’d only ever heard silly stories of how her father stole bread from the village or once toilet-papered the church.

"Eventually, I got fed up," he continued. "I ran off to the only place I knew Vanessa wouldn’t follow me: the graveyard. She hated it—said it gave her 'wrinkle lines.'"

Agatha let out a small snort.

"And that’s when I saw her. Your mother. Dancing barefoot between headstones like the dead owed her applause. I’d never seen anything like it. She was… radiant. Wild. Free. I kept staring."

He smiled, eyes glassy with memory.

"And then she stopped. Just stared right at me and said, 'Do you need something, or are you just going to keep staring at me like a hawk?'"

Agatha’s mouth twitched. That did sound like something her mother would say.

"I was so nervous I couldn’t even answer. She walked right up and asked again. I finally said I was just trying to get away from someone. She laughed and said, 'Best place to do that is the grave. I can bury you if you like.'"

He chuckled at the memory.

"She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I didn’t understand why the villagers called her a witch. Said she had a hunchback, a long nose—lies. They were blind. I said it out loud, actually. Just blurted, 'You’re beautiful.' She looked shocked. Then she told me I was weird and walked away."

"But I kept going back, hoping to see her again. Vanessa got tired of dragging me around, anyway. Eventually, she moved on to Stephen—though he never seemed to like her much. Then suddenly, he did." He shrugged. "Didn’t matter to me anymore. Your mother had already started letting me visit. Then we talked. Then we laughed. Then… well, eventually I just stayed. And so did you."

Agatha sat still, stunned. She’d never heard this story. Her heart swelled… then dropped.

"Father," she said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"How… how was she beautiful? If I’m not?"

Her father looked at her, stunned. "What are you talking about, little sheep?"

"Don’t lie to me," Agatha said, her voice hard and fragile all at once. "Every day, Sophie tells me I’m just a witch in disguise."

He sat up straighter, anger flashing in his eyes. But she kept going.

"Was it just because she was pretty? Is that why you fell in love with her? Because if that’s the reason, then no one’s ever going to love me."

"That’s not true," he said, firm and low.

"Then why? Why do people ignore me unless they want something? Sophie only talks to me because she thinks it’s a princess thing to do."

Her father’s shoulders sagged. "Then why do you keep talking to her?"

"Because I have no one else," she confessed.

Tears spilled over her cheeks. Her father reached out to comfort her, but she turned her face away. Still, he gently rubbed her shoulder.

"One day," he said quietly, "someone will see you—not just for your outside, but for the inside too. Like I see you."

"I’m not beautiful, though," she muttered. "Not like Sophie."

He chuckled. "You're way more beautiful than Sophie. Inside and out."

Agatha looked at him, confused. He continued:

"One day, someone will fall in love with Sophie’s face, sure. But the longer they stay, the more they’ll realize there's nothing underneath. It’s all a mask. The fake smiles, the sweet words—it won’t last. People like that can only hide so long."

"How do you know that?" she asked.

"Because it’s the truth. People who hide behind beauty and false kindness always crack eventually." He exhaled deeply. "Vanessa was the most beautiful woman in the village… and the least kind."

Agatha tilted her head. "What did she do?"

He hesitated, then spoke slowly.

"One day, I heard her threatening your mother. Said if she didn’t give her what she wanted, she’d tell the village that she was a real witch."

Agatha gasped.

"I stepped in and told her no one would believe her. But for some reason, your mom gave in. They went inside. Three hours later, Vanessa came out holding a potion. I don’t know what it was. After that, your mom stopped leaving the house."

His voice grew quieter.

"I didn’t leave her side. Not until we ran out of food. I went back to the village to get more. That’s when I saw Stephen and Vanessa—she was flashing a ring in everyone’s faces."

He shook his head. "I didn’t care. But as I left, I bumped into someone. A girl. She was crying. All her things spilled everywhere. I helped her pick them up. She said sorry but couldn’t stop crying."

He paused.

"I decided I was never going back. Your mom and I started planting our own vegetables. We only went to the village in winter. A whole year passed like that."

Agatha leaned forward, hanging on every word.

"Then one night—someone knocked. I didn’t answer. But I heard crying. I opened the door. There was a baby in a broken basket, cold as ice. I felt awful for not answering sooner."

He looked down at her, voice warm.

"Your mother came downstairs, leaned over my shoulder… and took you in her arms. She just said, ‘You must be hungry. Hope you like lizard and onion soup,’ then laughed."

"And that’s how you came home. And how I met your mother."

Agatha wiped her face. The crying had slowed to soft sniffling.

Her father wrapped an arm around her. She stayed by his side that night, curled against him as the moonlight crept across the room—and finally, finally, drifted into peaceful sleep.

Chapter Text

The next morning, a loud banging at the door startled Agatha awake.

Her heart was already pounding—not from the noise, but from the memory of last night’s dream.
The torches.
The word witch.
The flames.

And then there was Sophie, who had laughed when Agatha shared what she wanted.
Like she was a joke.
Like she was less.

The banging came again, harder this time.

“Agatha! Agatha, open up!”

Sophie’s voice.

Agatha groaned, rubbing her eyes. She glanced at her father—still asleep—then dragged herself toward the door.

She cracked it open, her voice low and tired.
“Sophie. It’s early. You can wait until evening for me to wash your clothes,” she mumbled.

Sophie’s green eyes sparkled with excitement. “Actually, no. You can wash my clothes in the evening—because my book works!”

Agatha blinked. “What do you mean, the book works?”

Sophie huffed, as if she were repeating herself for the hundredth time. “I mean the book works! It’s magic! It’s doing something!”

Before Agatha could respond, Sophie shoved past her and bolted up the stairs.

“Hey—!” Agatha scowled and chased after her.

By the time she reached her room, Sophie had already tossed The Book of Fates onto the floor.

Then—kick!
A glowing golden barrier flared to life around it.

Agatha’s jaw dropped.
“Oh my gods,” she breathed. “How is this…?”

“See?!” Sophie twirled dramatically, beaming. “Told you it was magic!”

Agatha eyed the book cautiously. “Sophie… just because something glows doesn’t mean it’s good.”

“Of course it’s good. It’s mine,” Sophie said, flipping her hair. “That book is going to make me a princess.”

Agatha frowned. “You have no proof of that.”

“Yes, I do!” Sophie snapped open the book. “Just look at the page I wrote on!”

Agatha leaned over, and sure enough, the ink shimmered with strange black energy. Tiny golden dust particles floated off the parchment like fireflies.

A chill ran down her spine. “I don’t know, Sophie… this doesn’t look normal. Maybe we shouldn’t touch it anymore.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. “Gods, Agatha, could you be more dramatic? Not everything is a curse just because you’re afraid of everything.”

Agatha flinched. “I’m not afraid of everything.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sophie muttered, flipping through the book again.

Agatha’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing now?”

“Writing more!” Sophie chirped. “The more I write, the more I get. That’s how wishes work.”

“And where exactly did you get that ridiculous idea?” Agatha asked.

Sophie didn’t answer. She suddenly froze, staring at one of the pages.

“Wait… what is this?”

Agatha peered over her shoulder. “Didn’t you write it?”

The page was filled with familiar words:

"If I could have anything, I’d want somewhere to truly belong. Somewhere I’m not looked at like a witch or a monster."
"And someone who finally loves me for me."

Agatha’s blood ran cold.
Her heart sank.

“What the hell?” she whispered.

She snatched the book. “Sophie, did you write down what I said?”

“What?” Sophie wrinkled her nose. “Why would I waste ink on your sad little trauma speech?”

Agatha stared at her. “Then who did?”

Sophie scoffed. “I don’t know! But I definitely didn’t write that. Ugh, it’s so gloomy. All this crying about being different. It’s like—newsflash, Agatha, we know you’re weird.”

Agatha’s throat tightened. “Wow.”

Sophie kept going. “I mean, I’m sorry, but it’s not my fault you live like some cursed graveyard witch. Honestly, it’s a miracle I’m still friends with you.”

Agatha didn’t speak. Her fingers gripped the book tightly.

Sophie leaned in closer, trying to flip back to her own page. “Seriously, if this thing is working, I can’t have your pathetic little sob story ruining my perfect fairy tale.”

“I said don’t touch it!” Agatha snapped.

Sophie blinked. “Why are you being so dramatic? It’s just some random page. No one’s going to care that you want love or whatever.”

Agatha’s voice cracked. “You think it’s funny?”

“I think it’s sad,” Sophie said. “But not in the cute, lovable way. Sad in the way that makes people uncomfortable.”

That did it.

Agatha stormed over to her dresser, yanked open a drawer, and grabbed an eraser. She marched back to the book and began furiously scrubbing the page.

“What are you doing?!” Sophie shrieked.

“I don’t want my words in your book!”

“You’re going to ruin everything!”

“Then I’ll rip the page out!”

They grabbed at the book, pulling and yelling—

Until—

The golden particles floating off the page began to multiply.

“Uh… Agatha?” Sophie’s voice faltered.

“What now?” Agatha hissed, still furious—

But then she saw it.

The tiny golden specks were spinning faster, brighter—until they lifted into the air like a glittering cyclone.

“AH!” Agatha screamed, swatting at the glowing dust as it clung to her. “Where is all this coming from?!”

“I—I don’t know!” Sophie shouted. “Maybe because you tried to erase the magic! Nice job!”

The glowing whirlwind spun around them, pulling pages into the air, flinging hair into their faces.

“Sophie, grab my hand!” Agatha yelled.

Sophie reached out—eyes wide with panic—just as the golden storm collapsed inward, wrapping around them like a glowing cocoon.

The book snapped shut.

And Sophie and Agatha were gone.

Chapter Text

Sophie and Agatha screamed as they spun wildly in the golden tornado. The world blurred around them—golden sand, flashes of light, the twisting force of magic pulling them deeper and deeper until—

Thud!

The tornado vanished in an instant, dropping them from the sky. They crashed onto a thick canopy of leaves, tumbling through branches like ragdolls before landing in a pile of soft moss.

Agatha groaned, rubbing her aching back.
“Ugh… ow…”

Sophie, on the other hand, sat up with a wide grin.
“We made it!”

“Made it where?” Agatha snapped, brushing dirt off her dress.
“We’re in the middle of the woods! How is this a good thing?”

Sophie clapped her hands together, practically glowing with excitement.
“Don’t you see? This is my chance! I knew that book was special. This world—it’s where I belong!”

Agatha frowned.
“What are you talking about?”

“This is my destiny!” Sophie declared, twirling in place. “I’ll become a princess, live in a castle, and a handsome prince will find me. It’s perfect!”

Agatha folded her arms.
“And how exactly are you planning to become a princess in the middle of nowhere?”

Sophie rolled her eyes.
“Ugh, you just don’t get it.”

Agatha sighed, turning away—then spotted something glimmering on the ground.
“There’s the book!”

She rushed forward, picking it up. She tried to pry it open, but the cover wouldn’t budge.
“Come on, come on…” she muttered, tugging at the edges.

“What are you doing?” Sophie asked.

“Trying to open it! Maybe it can zap us back home.”

But before she could try again, Sophie snatched the book from her hands.
“No!”

“Sophie, give it back!”

“What if opening it sends me home too?” Sophie argued, clutching it tightly.

Agatha stared at her.
“Really? That’s all you care about? What about my dad? He needs my help. What about your parents—your father?”

Sophie’s face twisted.
“I don’t care about my father. Or his fat wife. Or his three ugly replacement kids.”

Agatha’s voice sharpened.
“Well, I care about my father,” she said firmly. “I want to go home.”

Sophie huffed.
“You’re worrying for no reason. We don’t even know where we are yet. Let’s just look around first,” she said with a forced smile.

Agatha’s chest tightened from the sting of Sophie’s words, but with no other option, she silently followed her deeper into the forest.

They walked for what felt like hours. Sophie filled the silence by rambling about her imagined future—silk gowns, ballroom dances, servants fanning her with peacock feathers.

Agatha trudged beside her in silence, arms crossed, keeping an eye on every shadow.

Then—Agatha froze.

“Be quiet,” she hissed.

“Excuse me?” Sophie blinked.

“Shhh!” Agatha strained her ears.
Yes—there it was. Faint music. Laughter. Voices.

“I hear something… music.”

Sophie’s eyes lit up.
“A royal parade! They must be celebrating me! We have to go!”

Before Agatha could stop her, Sophie took off running toward the sound.

“Sophie, wait!” Agatha groaned, racing after her.

The deeper they ran, the more the forest changed. Roots gave way to a dirt path, and the trees thinned into a large clearing.

Before them stretched a bustling town. Colorful banners rippled in the breeze. People danced in the streets. Vendors called out from stalls with sweet-smelling food. A banner arched over the square:

Congratulations to the New Students!

Sophie gasped.
“See? A celebration! For me!”

But Agatha wasn’t so sure.

She scanned the crowd and noticed something odd—two groups of children.

On one side: boys and girls in gold-trimmed uniforms, sparkling gowns, and polished boots, laughing and twirling with the villagers.

On the other: students dressed in dark, simple clothing. They stood in the shadows, silent. Each one held a book like Sophie’s—only theirs were jet black.

They didn’t smile.
They didn’t dance.
They watched.

Agatha’s stomach churned.
“Sophie… look.”

But Sophie had already rushed toward the dancers.

“Hello, my fellow princesses!” she greeted cheerfully. “Where did you get your dresses?”

The girls turned toward her, then burst into laughter.

“A princess?” one of them scoffed. “Dressed like that?”

Sophie’s smile fell.
“What?!”

Agatha caught up just in time to see Sophie standing frozen.

“Sophie, listen to me,” Agatha said. “Look around—everyone has a book like ours, but the colors are different. Something’s not right. We need to leave.”

Sophie didn’t respond.
“Leave?” she scoffed. “No way. Once I get a real dress, they’ll see I’m a princess.”

“They laughed at you.”

“That’s because I’m not dressed right! And honestly, they probably left because you showed up.” Sophie waved her hand. “And don’t stand too close to me. I don’t want them thinking we’re friends.”

Agatha recoiled as if she’d been slapped.

“Once I fix that, they’ll know who I really am!”

“You don’t even know what’s going on!” Agatha snapped, grabbing her arm. “We have to go—it’s not safe!”

“I’m not leaving!” Sophie shouted, pulling away.

They wrestled over the book—

Then—

“AHEM.”

The voice was low, gravelly, and came from the ground.

They looked down.

Standing between them was a tiny creature barely reaching their knees. A squat, grumpy gnome with a twisted beard, a pointy red hat, and glowing yellow eyes. He held a crooked staff and glared at them like they’d stepped on his mushrooms.

“Where’s the key?” he growled.

Sophie screamed.

“WHAT IS THAT?!”

The gnome gave her a deadly glare.
“I’m the Keeper of Entry. Not a that. Now, where’s your book?”

“D-don’t eat me!” Sophie squeaked, hiding behind Agatha.

The gnome sighed like he was exhausted by her existence.

He reached out one stubby hand, waved it over their book—

The cover burst open, golden symbols flying out and forming a floating key in the air.

The book dimmed, fell to the ground like an ordinary one.

Sophie gasped. "My book!"

She rushed over and picked it up, turning it over in her hands like it might come back to life.

"What did you do to it?! All my dreams- everything I wrote!"

"I turned it into your entrance key," the gnome grunted. "Now it's just paper."

Agatha stepped forward. "What is this place?"

The gnome grumbled, tugging at his beard.

“This is the School for Good and Evil. Where future heroes and villains train. You’re lucky I’m the one who found you and not the squirrels. They bite.”

Sophie peeked out from behind Agatha, still suspicious.

“Wait… did you say princess school?”

The gnome paused.
“Yeah. Good side trains princes, princesses, fairy tale heroes. Fancy gowns, magical tutors, blah blah blah.”

Suddenly, Sophie shoved past Agatha, beaming.
“Well why didn’t you say so?! Lead the way, sir!”

Agatha blinked.
“Unbelievable…”

The gnome rolled his eyes and muttered, “Humans.”

He tapped his staff on the ground.

A black carriage with golden trim appeared from the trees.

“Get in before I change my mind,” he said.

“I call window seat!” Sophie chirped, racing toward the carriage.

Agatha followed slowly, a heavy dread in her chest.

She wasn’t sure if this place was magical or dangerous—or both.
But one thing was clear:

There was no going back now.

Chapter Text

As soon as Agatha was pushed into the carriage, she didn’t feel right. She often said she didn’t feel good, but Sophie was too busy admiring the inside of the carriage to notice.

Sophie, practically vibrating with excitement, ran her fingers over the embroidered cushions.

“Oh, look at the fancy decorations in here, Agatha!” she exclaimed.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Sophie,” Agatha said. “This is just… strange.”

Sophie turned to her. “It’s okay, Agatha. When you get put into the evil school, I’m sure you’ll feel better.”

“What?” Agatha blinked. “What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sophie said, waving her hand. “It’s obvious I’m going to the princess school, and you’re going to the one where you learn how to do evil things.”

“What would make you assume that, Sophie? I’ve never done anything bad in my life!”

“Yes, but you look the part,” Sophie said. “People who look evil usually are.”

Agatha stared at her. “Are you seriously saying this? I thought we were friends.”

“We are,” Sophie replied, without looking at her. “But you’ll make new friends at your school.”

Agatha was too hurt to respond. She stayed silent for the rest of the ride, staring out the window. But Sophie didn’t notice—she was too busy watching the other girls outside.

Girls in elegant gowns stepped into grand, golden carriages, their polished surfaces gleaming in the moonlight. Meanwhile, those dressed in black climbed into rickety, horse-drawn carts that looked like they could fall apart at any moment.

A sad feeling crept into Agatha’s stomach. She wondered, What do those girls have that I don’t? Would Sophie make new friends at her school? And if Agatha really had been sent to the evil school… what would happen to her? What would happen to her father?

A single tear rolled down her cheek. She turned to see if Sophie noticed—but her friend was still staring out the window, lost in her thoughts. Agatha wiped her face quickly before Sophie turned back around.

Sophie had always imagined leaving her dull, ordinary town in a blaze of glory—wrapped in golden light, whisked away to a magnificent palace where she would finally be someone important.

But not like this.

She frowned, glancing at the other carriages. Theirs wasn’t nearly as grand as the golden ones.

“That’s not fair,” Sophie muttered. “If anyone deserves the best, it’s me.”

She opened her mouth to complain—

Then the carriage lurched.

At first, she thought it was stopping. But then she felt it—an eerie weightlessness, like the ground had vanished beneath them.

Sophie’s breath caught in her throat. She turned to the window just in time to see wings unfurl from the sides of the carriage, shimmering in the moonlight. Slowly, they began to ascend, lifting higher and higher.

Sophie gripped the seat. “Oh my god…”

Agatha didn’t move. She was still stunned from what Sophie had said earlier.

The wind howled around them as the carriage jolted forward, throwing Sophie against the cushions. Below, the children dressed in black were left behind, their carts rattling along the dirt roads.

Then—

“Agatha!” a voice shrieked.

Agatha slammed into the seat beside her, pale-faced and gripping a book with white knuckles.

Sophie glanced at her. She noticed Agatha’s eyes were watery, but didn’t know why.

The carriage surged forward faster, the world below a blur of darkness.

Agatha finally snapped out of her sad trance. She pressed her hand against the window, scanning the other carriages. Inside, she recognized children from their village. But their expressions weren’t nervous.

They were excited.

A shadow loomed above them.

Sophie’s stomach twisted.

A figure stood at the front of the carriage—not quite human, not entirely real. It wore a black cloak, its face hidden beneath a heavy hood. Shadows clung to it, shifting unnaturally.

When it spoke, its voice was like silk unraveling.

"Welcome, children, to your new home."

A gust of wind swallowed the words, but Sophie didn’t need to hear them to understand.

They weren’t being brought to a school.

They were being taken.

She turned to Agatha, searching for answers, but her friend’s expression had changed. The fear was gone.

Agatha wasn’t scared anymore.

She was furious.

“Sophie,” Agatha whispered, “whatever happens, stay close to me.” Even though she was still hurt, she wasn’t about to let them take Sophie—or herself—without a fight.

The carriage plunged into a wall of thick fog.

And then—light.

Below them, stretching as far as the eye could see, were two castles—mirror images of each other—separated by a vast, bottomless chasm.

One gleamed with golden spires, towers reaching toward the sky. The other was jagged and black, its twisted spires curling like claws.

The dark castle lay beneath the light one, like a shadow cast by its golden twin.

Sophie’s heart pounded in her chest.

The carriages split in two directions—some drifting toward the golden castle, the rest toward the dark.

Before Sophie could even process what was happening, her own carriage tilted sharply.

“No,” she gasped. “No, no, no!”

She grasped the sides to steady herself, dropping the book in the process.

Agatha lunged forward and caught it—but as she did, the carriage shook violently. She lost her grip on the railing.

Then everything turned upside down.

The top of the carriage swung open—and Sophie was the only one who fell out.

She screamed as she plummeted downward.

Agatha’s hand shot out—and caught her.

Their fingers locked tightly for a moment. Agatha held on with all her strength.

But gravity had other plans.

A powerful force yanked them in opposite directions—Agatha pulled upward toward the golden light, Sophie dragged down into the shadows.

“SOPHIE!” Agatha screamed.

“AGATHA!” Sophie cried, her eyes wide with panic.

But their hands slipped apart.

Agatha was yanked back into the carriage by some unseen force.

The top of the carriage slammed shut above her, locking her inside.

A moment later, the carriage’s wings flapped hard—and it soared higher into the sky, carrying Agatha toward the gleaming castle above.

Below, Sophie fell.

She slammed into the ground, pain exploding in her limbs. Rough stone scraped her palms as she pushed herself up, gasping for breath.

Around her, other students groaned, disoriented.

She staggered to her feet—

And froze.

Towering figures stood in the shadows, watching.

Waiting.

A sick feeling twisted in her gut.

Then a voice, smooth and mocking, echoed through the darkness.

“Welcome, my dear students,” it purred. “To the Umbral Academy—the School for Evil.”

Sophie’s blood turned to ice.

This was a mistake.

A terrible, terrible mistake.

Her eyes darted around the dark courtyard.

But Agatha was gone.

And so was the book.

Sophie was alone.

Trapped in the Umbral Academy of Shadows.

Chapter Text

Sophie opened her eyes to find herself floating in a foul-smelling moat, thick with black sludge. The stench alone could kill a lesser girl. Fog wrapped around her like a wet shroud. She tried to stand, but her feet couldn’t find the bottom. She sank, and the ooze shot up her nose, burning her throat.

Choking, gasping, panicking—this was not how a princess arrived at school.

Her hands grabbed something solid. Hopeful, she looked down—only to find it was the half-eaten corpse of a goat. She shrieked and shoved it away, gagging. This had to be a dream. A curse. Something meant for someone else.

Above, bloodcurdling screams. Sophie looked up and saw monstrous black birds dropping children into the moat like trash. One after another, they plummeted into the sludge with shrieks and splashes.

This was chaos. This was madness. This was not hers.

A bird dove straight for her—she swerved—and got a cannonball of slime to the face.

She wiped it off—and came face-to-face with a boy.

He had no shirt. His skin was pale and puny, with a long nose, yellow teeth, and stringy black hair flopping over beady eyes. He looked like a sewer rat someone had tried to dress up as a boy.

“The bird ate my shirt,” he said, unbothered. “Can I touch your hair?”

Sophie recoiled like he’d asked to lick her face.

“They don’t usually make villains with princess hair,” he went on, dog-paddling toward her.

She searched for a weapon. Stick, stone, rotting goat—anything.

“Maybe we could be bunkmates. Or best mates. Or—”

Before he could finish, a shrieking child crashed between them. Sophie seized the chance and swam off blindly through the fog.

Shapes moved ahead—children clinging to trunks, searching for their luggage. Sophie followed them, desperate to find something familiar. Anything that didn’t smell like wet death.

Then the fog cleared.

Wolves. Towering wolves on two legs, in bloodred soldier jackets and black breeches. They snapped riding whips, herding the children into line.

Sophie clung to the bank and hauled herself out—but froze when she saw her reflection in the black water.

Her hair—her beautiful golden hair—was crawling with worms. Her face slick with grime. Her dress ruined beyond repair. She didn’t look like a princess. She looked like she'd been dragged through a sewer.

She tried to speak—“Help! I’m in the wrong sch—”
—but a wolf grabbed her and shoved her into line.

She opened her mouth to protest—but then saw Rat Boy paddling after her, waving. "Wait for me!"

She said nothing and stayed quiet.

The other children shuffled forward, dragging trunks, wiping sludge from their clothes. If anyone dawdled, a wolf cracked a whip. Sophie kept pace, trembling, mourning her lost luggage.

They approached the gates: iron spikes covered in barbed wire—or wait, snakes. Actual snakes, hissing and writhing. Sophie squeaked and scurried through.

Over the gate, twisted in rusted iron:
THE SCHOOL FOR EVIL
EDIFICATION AND PROPAGATION OF SIN

She didn’t even bother reading it. Whatever this place was, it clearly wasn’t the Princess School.

The building ahead looked like something from a nightmare. A black tower, hunched and bloated, with red vines oozing down the sides like blood. It loomed over them, watching.

The wolves herded them through a tunnel shaped like a crocodile’s open jaw. Because of course it was.

The inside stank of rotten fish. The floor dripped. Gargoyles glared from the rafters. A statue of a bald hag held up a poisoned apple like some demented fairy godmother.

Columns lined the walls. On one: a giant black letter N covered in imps and trolls. Then came E, then V…
Sophie rolled her eyes. She didn’t need spooky letters. She needed answers.

And then—she saw them.

The other students.

She stopped breathing.

One girl had a single eye in the middle of her forehead and hair like dying moss. A boy looked like rising dough—bulging, bald, and sweating. Another girl’s skin was green. A boy in front of her was so hairy he could’ve been part bear.

They all looked about her age—but that was the only similarity.

They were disgusting. Misshapen. Feral. And their faces—like they’d bitten something sour and liked it.

One by one, their eyes fell on Sophie.

The golden curls. The fair skin. The slippers.

A princess among swamp monsters.

Great, Sophie thought bitterly. Surrounded by mud creatures and bog hags, and I’m the one who looks out of place? Honestly, that boy looks like a burnt potato with arms.

She gagged on the smell—sweat, mold, despair. The very air reeked of hopelessness.

And every single one of them was glaring at her.

She took a deep breath. Smile through it. A real princess never loses her poise.

She gave them a radiant smile. Not that they deserved it.

“Not to question your...management skills,” she said sweetly to a nearby wolf, “but is there someone in charge I could speak to? There’s been a huge mistake—I’m not supposed to be here. I belong at the Princess School.”

The wolf roared in her face, drenching her in spit.

Sophie wiped her cheeks, trembling. Savages.

No escort? No enchanted welcome? No royal introduction?

Instead, an ogre dropped a stack of books into her arms.

Best Villainous Monologues, 2nd ed.
Spells for Suffering, Year 1.
The Novice’s Guide to Kidnapping & Murder.
Embracing Ugliness Inside & Out.
How to Cook Children (With New Recipes!)

And, naturally, the books were tied with a live eel.

Sophie shrieked and dropped them.

A spotted goat-man shoved a ragged black uniform at her. She held it up and almost screamed again. It looked like something a witch used to mop the floor.

Around her, the other girls slipped into their uniforms without a second thought. Laughing. Comparing schedules. Like this was normal.

Sophie looked down at her ruined dress. Her sludge-slick hair. The black tunic in her hands.

And that’s when she realized.

Her book—the one she packed herself, the one with her fairy tales, her proof, her dreams—it was gone.

She gasped.

Agatha.

She must have taken it.

That’s why the birds got confused. That’s why Sophie was dumped into this horror instead of arriving in golden sunlight with her crown and her welcome parade.

She planned this.

Agatha always wanted to leave. Always lurked in graveyards. She probably thought this was an upgrade.

And now Sophie was here.

In the wrong school.

In the wrong life.

Because of her.

Sophie’s fists curled tight as stone. Her face hardened.

She wasn’t supposed to be here.

This was all wrong.

She wasn’t one of them. She didn’t belong with trolls and monsters and children-cooking cookbooks.

This wasn’t a mix-up.

This was sabotage.

And Agatha—creepy, gloomy, witchy Agatha— did this to her.

Chapter Text

Agatha had watched in horror as Sophie was swept away, her carriage spiraling toward the dark school below. She had screamed her name and reached out—but Sophie was already lost to the mist, locked behind towering black gates.

And now, Agatha was rising higher, the golden castle looming above.

She should have felt relieved. She should have been grateful.

But something about it all felt wrong.

When the carriage landed and the doors swung open, golden sunlight poured in, warm and welcoming. Agatha hesitated, clutching the book to her chest before stepping onto gleaming marble steps. The air smelled of roses and honey. Ahead, a courtyard shimmered with fountains, their waters sparkling in the daylight.

She turned, scanning the crowd, hoping—praying—to see Sophie.

But she was gone.

Around her, the other girls stepped out of their carriages. They were draped in shimmering silks, delicate tiaras glittering in their hair. Every movement was graceful, as if they’d been born knowing how to curtsy.

Agatha shifted uncomfortably, glancing down at herself. Plain boots. A simple dress. The book clutched tight.

She didn’t belong here.

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

“Ew. What is that?”

“She’s not a princess, is she?”

“Must be a mistake.”

Agatha stiffened.

Then—

“Silence.”

The voice sliced through the whispers like a dagger.

A girl stepped forward, her posture regal, her golden curls arranged in a perfect braid. She carried herself like she ruled the place—graceful, confident, untouchable.

“Are you all right?” the girl asked with a honeyed smile.

Agatha hesitated. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Good to hear,” the girl said. “I’m Beatrix by the way.” After three seconds of silence, she added, “So… are you here to carry our bags?”

“What?” Agatha blinked.

Beatrix raised an eyebrow, eyes sweeping over her from head to toe—muddy boots, plain black dress, not a shimmer or sparkle in sight.

“You’re clearly not one of us,” Beatrix said smoothly. “No tiara, no ribbon, no perfume. You look like you got dropped off at the wrong tower.”

Agatha’s jaw tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Beatrix tilted her head with a mock-pitying smile. “I mean, look at you. You’re dressed like someone from the School for Evil. Not someone training to be a princess.”

Agatha’s fists clenched around the book in her arms. “I never said I was trying to be a princess.”

Beatrix gave a slow blink, then smirked. “Yeah. We figured.”

Before Agatha could react, Beatrix grabbed her arm.

“Wait—what are you doing?” Agatha demanded.

“Helping you,” Beatrix said. “Mistakes like this probably happen all the time.”

Agatha yanked her arm away. “You don’t even know that!”

“No, I don’t,” Beatrix said smoothly. “But based on the way you look, you clearly don’t belong here.”

“So what gives you the right to decide?” Agatha snapped.

“Excuse me?” Beatrix asked, her smile stiffening.

“You heard me.”

Beatrix’s eyes narrowed. “Okay, fine. Everyone who thinks the little witch doesn’t belong—raise your hand.”

Agatha turned to find a ring of girls surrounding her. Hands shot up.

She barely had time to react before they started pushing her toward the ledge of the courtyard. Beatrix took the lead, tugging her forward.

Agatha’s stomach flipped.

Below them, far beneath the clouds, was the School for Evil. Jagged towers. Endless shadow. Waiting.

“The Shadows will catch you,” Beatrix said lightly. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?!” Agatha’s heart pounded.

“I always wondered how they return mistakes like you to the right place,” she added.

Two girls shoved her from behind. Agatha struggled. “Let go of me!”

But Beatrix just smiled that same sweet smile and said, “Have fun down there.”

Then—

“Is that any way to treat our guests?”

A new voice rang out, calm but sharp.

Beatrix froze.

A boy stepped between them, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips. A sword hung at his side. Unlike the stiff posture of the other boys, he looked like someone who made mischief for fun and his golden hair and blue eyes seemed to shine in the sun—he was beautiful for sure.

“Oh, Teddykins,” Beatrix said with a practiced smile. “I was just helping her.”

He cringed at the nickname. “She looks terrified to me.”

He glanced at Agatha. “You definitely don’t look like one of the average princesses here.” As he looked her up and down.

Beatrix scoffed. “Average? Who are you calling average? I’m absolutely divine.”

The boy grinned. “My bad. I meant she doesn’t look like one of us.”

She blinked. “So you’re saying I’m beautiful?”

The boy didn’t understand how the girl got to that conclusion but, not wanting to hear her complain anymore, said, “Sure.”

Agatha stood frozen, heart still racing. They were going to push her off a ledge. And now they were flirting.

“They’re crazy,” she muttered to herself.

The boys, starting to be surrounded by the girls, began to back away instead.

“I’m gonna—” the boy began.

Before he could finish, Agatha shoved past him and the girl named Beatrix, knocking the golden-haired girl into a puddle.

“My dress!” the girl shrieked.

Gasps echoed as Agatha ran.

She darted through golden halls, ignoring startled nobles and fluttering banners.

Then—

She crashed into something.

No.

Someone.

It wasn’t human.

It hovered off the ground, glowing blue hair drifting like smoke, deep violet skin, eyes like burning white stars.

“Are you okay?” it asked.

Agatha bolted again.

She turned a corner, spotted a door, flung it open, and slammed it behind her.

Peace.

Finally.

Until—

A cough.

She turned.

Four boys stood in towels.

One raised a brow. “Uh. Excuse me?”

The others grinned.

“Well, well,” one said. “Looks like a little Shadow snuck in.”

Another smirked. “Not surprising. Have you seen the guys at their school? Not exactly charming.”

Agatha flushed. “That’s not what happened! This was a mistake!”

Sure, that's what all the other girls say too when they accidentally went to our room.

Agatha's whole face was red.

Before she could make another defense, the floating creature reappeared.

“You’re breaking school rules on your first day, seriously,” the creature said.

Agatha flailed as it lifted her off the floor.

“Wait—where are you taking me?!”

No answer.

It flew her through golden corridors to a set of enormous double doors.

They opened.

Agatha stared.

Hundreds of girls fluttered around—perfume flying, fairies zooming with brushes, mirrors, ribbons, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, every accessory you can think of.

The creature dropped her.

“You’d best get ready for orientation. You can’t go in looking like that.”

Then it vanished, slamming the door behind it.

Agatha stood, stunned. The girls around her sparkled. All different skin tones, body shapes—each one beautiful, glowing, confident.

She tried to back away.

“Hi! I’m Kiko! What’s your name?”

Agatha turned. A tiny girl was smiling up at her.

“…Agatha.”

“Do you need help with your uniform?” Kiko asked.

“Uniform?” Agatha echoed.

Kiko pointed. Almost everyone wore matching pink dresses. Those who didn’t were getting laced in.

“Oh.”

“It’s easier with two people,” Kiko said, grabbing her hand.

Agatha was pulled to a mirror. She looked away.

Kiko began brushing her hair. “Your hair is so soft! What do you use?”

“Just regular shampoo,” Agatha muttered.

Kiko groaned. “Wish that worked for me. Mine frizzes like a lion if I even look at it wrong.”

Agatha snorted.

“What do you use for acne?” Kiko asked. “Your skin’s like porcelain.”

“I, um… I don’t go outside much,” Agatha said. “Maybe that’s why I’m so pale.”

“I wish I had skin like yours,” she added quietly.

Kiko looked surprised. “Really?”

“Maybe then people wouldn’t call me a witch.”

Kiko’s eyes widened. “A witch? But you’re beautiful!”

Agatha blinked.

“You don’t think I look… evil?”

Kiko laughed. “More like Snow White. Pale skin, red lips, dark hair—textbook beautiful.”

Agatha’s face flushed red.

“And anyone calling you a witch is probably just jealous,” Kiko said. “You’ve got the whole fairytale princess look: shiny black hair, big eyes, delicate nose…”

Agatha blinked again. “Pretty?”

“Duh!” Kiko chirped. “You’re adorable.”

Flustered by the comment, Agatha scrambled to change the subject. "Do you need help with your dress?"

Kiko giggled. “I already put mine on, silly.” Agatha, dumbfounded by the compliment, didn’t even notice and just said, “Oh, yeah.”

She grabbed Agatha’s hand and twirled her in front of the mirror.

“Now you look like a real princess.”

Agatha stared.

She looked different.

And for the first time—she smiled.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I do.”

A bell rang.

The hall was massive—shimmering pink gowns, glittering blue suits, golden bleachers glowing under a glass ceiling.

Kiko and Agatha were swept along with the crowd and nudged into two open seats near the middle row. They landed side by side with a bounce.

Kiko leaned over, grinning. “Okay, so—did you see some of the boys around here? Because I spotted at least three that look like they stepped out of a dream.”

Agatha blinked. “I just got here.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t already have a crush,” Kiko said with a wink. “It’s never too soon for fate.”

Agatha gave a soft laugh. “You sound like someone who’s had a few fairytale crushes already.”

“Guilty,” Kiko said proudly. “If I’m not in a love triangle by next week, I’m doing something wrong.”

Agatha laughed again, more relaxed now.

Then her eyes caught movement across the bleachers.

Beatrix stood on the opposite side of the hall, arms folded, lips pursed. Her gaze met Agatha’s and lingered—sharp, smug, like she was trying to size her up.

Agatha met her stare with a raised brow, completely unfazed.

Kiko followed her gaze. “Is that the one who tried to toss you over the ledge?”

“Yeah,” Agatha said flatly.

“Well,” Kiko said, flipping her hair dramatically. “She wishes she could look this good in pink.”

Agatha cracked a grin. “She really does.”

Across the hall, another set of bleachers emerged—twisted, blackened, wrong.

The doors creaked open.

Figures in black robes filed in—books in hand, eyes sharp, steps slow.

And among them—

Sophie.

Her dress: black.

Her face: terrified.

Agatha stood.

The floating creature blocked her.

“What’s happening to her?!”

A clap cut the air.

“Now that all the children are seated… let us begin.”

Chapter Text

Sophie sat on the bench, furious. She had been shoved into line with the other hideous students and thrown into some filthy hall wearing an ugly, black potato sack of a dress. This wasn’t the royal welcome she had expected.

She looked across the room and saw the other girls in pink uniform dresses sitting on shining gold and silver bleachers. They glowed under the torches like actual stars. Sophie stared at them in awe, her heart thudding.

That should be me.

This is all Agatha’s fault, she thought, tightening her fists.

She glanced down at her own dress—if you could still call it that. It was soaked in swamp slime and clung to her like a wet rag. Her hair—once her shining halo—was frizzy, flat, and still smelled vaguely like something dead. She tried to smooth it down and sit up straighter, angling herself so the princesses across the room might notice her—and see that one of their fellow princesses was in danger of being in the wrong school.

Her whole body still itched from the moat. And the students around her? Trolls. Ghouls. And people who looked like they hadn’t taken a bath in years.

This is all wrong.

She had expected rose petals, trumpets, and a red carpet. Not shrieking bone birds, a moat full of goat guts, and a rodent-faced boy asking to touch her hair. A royal princess doesn’t get dumped in a swamp like she’s trash. This place wasn’t her story. This place wasn’t her destiny.

As she brooded, she spotted Agatha across the room.

Agatha was whispering something—probably something annoying—but Sophie didn’t look up. She was too busy stewing.

That freak. That thief. That ugly rat-faced troll.

Not only did she take my spot, she took my book too.

My storybook. The one filled with fairy tales and dreams. The one Sophie had packed, believing it would guide her to her happy ending. She was supposed to have it with her—and step into her rightful story.

And instead? She was here.

Soaked. Ragged. Miserable.

And Agatha? Sitting there like she belonged. And worse—she was talking to someone. Agatha didn’t talk to people. Agatha didn’t have people to talk to besides her. That was the whole point of Agatha.

She’s not supposed to be over there.

I am.

She glanced back at Agatha.

There it was—her book, lying right beside her like it belonged to her.

Sophie’s hands twitched. She could march right over and rip it back.

But then she saw the wolf from earlier—standing guard at the end of the bleachers, eyes locked on her, as if daring her to try.

She didn’t move.

Her thoughts turned sharper, darker.

I know she planned this. Agatha. Always sneaking around, always lurking. Always pretending like she didn’t care about princes or parties. But what if it was all fake?

What if she just wanted to ruin everything? Because I have it so good.

Her fists clenched. Her chest burned with rage.

The wolf growled softly. Sophie straightened, swallowing it down.

No scene. Not yet.

She stared ahead as Lady Lesso droned on in her jagged-shouldered suit, draped in iron chains like it was jewelry. Sophie rolled her eyes, almost laughing.

Honestly, she looked like a crow that got tangled in a chandelier.

But then Sophie caught sight of her reflection in the brass trim of a nearby torch holder.

A wet black sack of a dress. Dirt on her cheek. Hair like a bird's nest.

Suddenly, the woman’s ridiculous outfit didn’t seem so funny anymore.

Lady Lesso’s voice rang out again: “I will make sure every one of our future villains triumphs in every challenge this year.”

Sophie barely heard the rest. Her stomach twisted.

She wasn’t a villain.

She was a princess. She had practiced her curtsies since she was five. She had styled her hair like Cinderella’s. She’d even volunteered at the orphanage—twice! She deserved a fairy tale.

And then—

“Excuse me, Lady Lesso,” a voice interrupted, “but I need to make my introduction too.”

Sophie turned—and gasped.

“Hello, my bright students,” said the woman. “I am your dean, Professor Dovi, of the School for Good—also known as the school for heroes.”

Sophie’s mouth fell open.

Professor Dovi was radiant. Her gown shimmered like pure sunlight, gold flakes drifting off it like snowflakes from heaven. Her crown was small but perfect. Her scepter sparkled with magic.

That’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen, Sophie thought, her stomach tying into knots.

Professor Dovi smiled. “Unlike Lady Lesso, I will make sure every one of you shines until you reach the top of the world—just like our school.”

Lady Lesso rolled her eyes.

But Dovi kept talking like she didn’t notice.

“Our institution has produced the greatest fairy tale heroes—Peter Pan, Cinderella, Snow White. They earned their stories by being the best, the most heroic, the most noble.”

Sophie’s breath caught.

They got their own fairy tales?

Then why am I here?

I wrote it in the book. I wished for a princess fairy tale. So why did the carriage drop the wrong girl?

Her eyes slid back to Agatha.

That cursed book was still there, right by her legs.

Sophie thought again, she took it. She stole my place.

Her whole body buzzed with disbelief.

This wasn’t a mistake.

This was sabotage.

And now she was stuck. In a filthy black dress. Surrounded by ugly people.

Professor Dovi lifted her chin with a twinkle in her voice. “And to celebrate the start of a beautiful year, the School for Good’s best and brightest young men will be putting on a performance.”

Sophie’s spine straightened.

Princes?

That’s right. She hadn’t seen a single boy on the other side.

Maybe if one of them sees me, they’ll realize I don’t belong here. Maybe they’ll help me fix this.

She ran her fingers through her tangled curls, adjusted the miserable black dress, and sat up taller.

Even in sludge and swamp stink, a princess could rise above.

Then, suddenly, the doors burst open.

Seven boys with swords strode into the hall.

Sophie smiled.

Finally.

A glimmer of hope.

Chapter Text

Tedros could already hear the clash of blades as he rounded the corner.

The boys were in the middle of their entrance, swords flashing in practiced routine. Nevers booed. Evers cheered. It was all noise to him.

He held Excalibur in one hand—his father’s sword, passed down through the line of King Arthur himself. Its edge gleamed with pure firelight, a symbol of everything the School for Good was meant to be. He didn’t need to rehearse. The spotlight came naturally.

When the time came, Tedros stepped into the hall and said casually, “Fight me if you dare.”

Two other boys lunged at him, blades drawn. The girls screamed and shouted his name. One fainted.

With a smirk, Tedros flipped his golden hair, winked at the crowd, and raised his sword. The fight was over before it began. He danced through them, his blade flashing, clashing, twisting through the air. Each move was graceful, effortless, glinting with precision. When the last boy stood swordless and stunned, Tedros sheathed his own blade and shrugged like it meant nothing at all.

But it meant everything.

The princes now had a king.

Even the Nevers didn’t boo. They just stared.

The Ever girls swooned. They’d always known that every princess finds a prince, so they hadn’t felt the need to fight. But when the boys pulled roses from their shirts—especially when Tedros pulled his rose—they all seemed to forget what they were here for.

Tedros tossed his rose into the air, not caring where it landed. The girls leapt to catch it. One weird Never girl—Sophie—missed, and the Wolf dragged her back to her seat.

Tedros thought to himself, Did she really think she was gonna catch it from all the way over there? What a strange girl. He laughed to himself and turned to see where the rose had landed.

It landed in the lap of a pale girl with black hair and deep brown eyes—she looked nothing like the others, and that’s what made Tedros stare. Too quiet, too still, like she didn’t belong here at all. Maybe she didn’t want to, either.

She didn’t try to catch it. In fact, she looked at the rose like it had personally insulted her. And when the other girls lunged at her in a fury, she tossed it into the air, terrified.

The girls dove off the bleachers trying to catch it. One nearly tackled another.

Tedros was still staring at the girl.

Why would she throw it?

But while Tedros was lost in thought, he didn’t see the ogre charging.

A Never had hurled an axe to the ogre, and now the hulking beast was barreling straight for him.

The Nevers roared.

Tedros got up, brushed off his pants, and pulled Excalibur once more. He struck the ground with the tip of the sword—a surge of fire flared from the blade.

He smiled.

“Come on then,” he said.

The ogre laughed, swinging the axe with both hands. Tedros flipped clean over him, landing behind him in one flawless motion. The ogre spun, blocking and shoving him back with brute force. Tedros rolled, slid between the ogre’s legs, slashed upward, and the ogre roared.

Another swing. Another dodge. Another flash of Excalibur.

The blade sank into the ogre’s back.

The room went silent.

Tedros stood, catching his breath.

Then he turned, cool as ever.

“Anyone else want to face me? Or would you rather wait for graduation?”

No one answered.

“Thought so,” he said.

He scanned the bleachers.

Where to sit?

Then he had a brilliant idea.

He started walking toward the girl who had thrown his rose.

But before he could get far, a voice shrieked, “Teddy!”

Beatrix, the girl who wouldn’t stop clinging to him, latched onto his arm. She held up her own arm, showing all the roses she’d collected.

“You can sit with me,” she said, beaming.

Tedros opened his mouth to say something—anything—but Beatrix already plopped him down beside her. A flock of other girls swooped in around him, blocking him in.

He sighed.

But his eyes drifted.

Back to the girl with the dark hair and the look that said she had no idea what she’d just done.

He didn’t know her name.

But he intended to find out.

---

Agatha saw Sophie move too late to catch the rose—only to catch a wolf instead.

The rose landed in Agatha’s lap. She locked eyes with the boy who had thrown it. He looked at her like he was seeing something unfamiliar, something strange. Agatha immediately looked away.

He’s probably only staring at my hideous face, she thought.

Agatha looked away quickly and turned toward Kiko.

“Oh my goodness, you caught it! You caught the rose!” Kiko whispered excitedly. “All the girls are going to be so jealous.”

“What?” Agatha said, panicking.

She looked behind Kiko and—sure enough—a crowd of Ever girls were glaring at her like she’d just stolen their glass slippers. Agatha’s breath hitched. She hurled the rose into the air like it was cursed. The glaring girls dove for it, fighting over the petals.

Meanwhile, a wolf dumped Sophie on the Evil side. Sophie gawked wide-eyed at Agatha.

Meanwhile, a wolf dragged Sophie—now back in her seat on the Evil side—down beside the other Nevers. Sophie’s jaw dropped when she saw Agatha.

She caught it?

That’s not fair.

Sophie stared, her eyes burning with jealousy.

“I can’t believe it,” Sophie muttered. “Why would he throw it to her? She’s not even pretty. And then she throws it like it’s garbage!”

Still, she kept glancing toward the boy, trying to catch his attention.

But then a voice hissed beside her.

“Turn yourself into a mirror. Then you’ll have a chance.”

Sophie turned to find a girl with tangled black hair, a red streak cutting through it, and a black-and-red tattoo of a dragon curling up her neck. She tried to scoot away from the tattooed girl.

The girl just laughed. “Anadil, can you believe this? This idiot tried to catch a rose from an Everboy—three feet away!”

"I do believe it," said Anadil, a white-skinned, white-haired girl with red eyes-and three rats on her back, each with an extra red blinking eye-that stared right at sophie.

Sophie screamed.

“What? See something you like?” Anadil licked her teeth.

Another girl chimed in—plump and dark-skinned with two puffballs in her hair and a bar of chocolate in her hand.

“Hester, Anadil, stop. That’s just mean.”

Sophie looked at her. She was the only one who hadn’t made fun of her yet. Sophie judged her silently, noting how morbidly obese she looked.

Hester, the tattooed girl, gave a crooked smile. “We’re only being friendly, Dot.”

“Yeah, she’s just sensitive,” said Anadil.

“If this is you being friendly, I don’t want to see you being mean,” Sophie snapped. She got up and ran to the far side of the bleachers, away from the cackling girls.

Agatha had seen it all. Her nerves twisted tighter by the second. Kiko nudged her.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“I’m just... worried about my friend,” Agatha said, pointing to the blonde in a burlap sack now sprinting across the bleachers.

“What do you mean?” Kiko asked, confused.

“I mean... she’s supposed to be here,” Agatha said, fear in her voice. “They made a mistake.”

“There’s no way,” said Kiko. “This school is designed to sort Good and Evil perfectly.”

“But it has to be a mistake,” Agatha whispered. “Sophie is Good.”

Before Kiko could respond, a monstrous thud echoed across the hall.

A giant two-headed dog marched onto the stage. One head looked proper and cute. The other… not so much.

“Welcome to the School for Good and Evil,” said the nice head.

“I’M CASTOR,” barked the other. “ASSISTANT WELCOMING LEADER. AND EXECUTIONER FOR ANYONE WHO ACTS LIKE A DONKEY.”

Even the villains looked scared.

Pollux—the nicer head—smiled patiently. “All children are born with Good or Evil souls—”

“AND SOME SOULS ARE CRAP,” Castor shouted.

Pollux tried again, “You may feel confused, but we will train your soul until it is pure.”

“AND IF YOU FAIL, YOU’LL DISAPPEAR FOREVER,” Castor added with glee.

Kiko whispered, “See? They said it. You can’t switch sides.”

But Agatha wasn’t listening. Her whole body had gone cold. Sophie wasn’t going to be moved to Good no matter what.

Suddenly, both sides of the room broke into chants.

“EVERS! EVERS!”

“NEVERS! NEVERS!”

Wolves dumped water on the Good kids. Fairies rained sparkles over the Evil ones.

Pollux continued. “You were chosen because your souls are rare. Pure Good or Pure Evil.”

“If we’re so pure, what’s that?” shouted a Never, pointing at Sophie.

“We have one too!” Beatrix pointed at Agatha.

The insults came flying.

“She smells like flowers!” a Never boy said.

“She pushed me in the mud!” said Beatrix.

“Ours won’t stop smiling,” Hester stated.

“She threw our dearest Teddykins’ rose!” Beatrix screeched.

Sophie turned beet red. Agatha was about to shout back, but a dog’s bark cut her off.

Pollux raised his voice. “Every year, we bring two Readers here. They’re just like you. Some of our greatest students have been Readers.”

“Two hundred years ago,” Castor muttered.

Students murmured, some openly judging Sophie and Agatha. Sophie glanced at Agatha, her eyes screaming, This would all go away if I had what was mine.

Pollux snapped, “Respect each other, or our world will perish.”

The room fell silent. Agatha’s stomach twisted.

Castor suddenly shouted, “WHY DOESN’T EVIL EVER WIN?!”

A riot nearly broke out. Pollux calmed it with threats and scolding.

Sophie, embarrassed and humiliated, peeked at Tedros—who was staring at her. Her heart raced.

Suddenly—WHACK!

A book hit her in the face. She shrieked.

It was the book. The one meant to help them find their story. Sophie gasped with joy—until she saw the whole hall staring.

She gave a sheepish curtsy and sat down.

She opened the book and froze. Agatha had written in it:

“We need to meet.”

Sophie rolled her eyes. Too late. I don’t need you anymore, she thought. Once they fix this mistake, I’ll never have to talk to you again.

Back with the villains, Hester and Anadil glanced at each other and grinned. “We like her,” they said in unison.

Even the rats squeaked in agreement.

Pollux droned on about tracks—Leaders, Followers, Mogrifs—how rankings would work, and the punishments for failure. Sophie only half-listened, more interested in watching Tedros. Beatrix was way too close to him.

Sophie picked at the silver swan on her robe, trying to hide it—but it moved to her chest like a tattoo. She shuddered. Not so cute anymore.

“Do we have Groom Rooms?” Sophie asked hopefully.

Pollux smiled. “Nevers have Doom Rooms, dear.”

“Where we get our hair done?” Sophie asked again.

“Where you’re tortured.”

Sophie sat down fast.

Pollux moved on. “Top-ranked students will become Class Captains after the Trial by Tale…”

Sophie’s brain raced. If she could just get to the right school, she’d not only be Class Captain—she’d be the most famous Ever.

Agatha, meanwhile, wanted out. Beautification class? With all those perfect girls?

She turned to Kiko. “Can I borrow your lipstick?”

“Sure,” Kiko said.

Tedros, still watching Agatha, squinted. What’s she up to?

Pollux gave final warnings. “Never go into the Woods after dark.”

“What happens if we do?” Agatha’s voice rang out.

Silence.

The two-headed dog leapt from the stage and landed inches from her.

“ "You don't," they said. "And just for asking that... you have detention.”

Nymphs grabbed her, dragging her toward the East door. As Agatha passed Sophie, she held out a piece of paper toward Sophie.

Sophie ignored her. Her eyes were locked on Tedros.

Agatha was shoved through the door.

Right then and there, the truth crashed down on Agatha.

She wanted her friend back.

But a friend had never been enough for Sophie.

Sophie now wanted a prince.

Chapter Text

Sophie stood in the middle of the now-empty hall, staring at the rose-stained floor. The cheering had stopped. The spotlight had shifted. The crowd had moved on. And there she was—alone.

A Wolf with glowing green eyes loomed beside her. "You need to get going," it growled. "Back to your side."

Sophie blinked. "But there's been a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here. I belong in the School for Good."

The Wolf didn’t care. With a low grunt, it shoved her forward.

She stumbled, straightening her robes as she was marched through the dark stone hallway. The air was colder here. The torches flickered green. The floor creaked. Everything screamed wrong.

She was alone in the corridor, walking in silence, unsure where to go. Her steps echoed. Her confidence didn’t.

Then—voices.

Sophie turned a corner and saw other students up ahead. Girls. They were gathered in a crooked line, grabbing what looked like schedules and room assignments from a surly nymph with a clipboard made of thorns.

Sophie straightened her back and marched over.

“Name,” the nymph barked.

“Sophie of Gavaldon,” she said crisply, hoping that would trigger some sort of correction or apology.

Instead, the nymph sneered and handed her a scroll. “Room 66.”

She unrolled it, expecting something elegant. Maybe gold script. Maybe a little swan watermark.

It was handwritten in what looked like blood.

Room 66. Lower East Wing. Sharing with 3 other girls. No names listed.

No other information either.

With a groan, Sophie followed the corridor deeper into the school. The walls got narrower. The air got damper. The smell of sulfur burned her nose.

Room 66 had a door shaped like a coffin lid. Of course it did.

Sophie knocked. No answer. She pushed it open.

The room was a dungeon. Literally. Stone walls. Rusty pipes. A single torch on the wall sputtered. Three bunk beds stood stacked in uneven corners. There was a cauldron bubbling in the center for no apparent reason.

And three girls already inside.

Sophie’s stomach dropped.

It was them.

Hester looked up from a pile of black clothes. Anadil had one rat perched on her head, and another reading over her shoulder. Dot was already in pajamas, eating chocolate straight from a box.

"Oh no," Sophie whispered.

Hester grinned. "Welcome home, Roomie."

Sophie didn’t speak.

She could feel the heat rising in her face, her hands curling into fists.

A buzzing sound rose in her ears.

Her vision blurred.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

---

Agatha was carried out of the hall by fluttering fairies, their tiny wings shimmering with gold dust. She squirmed in their grip.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked.

The fairies didn’t answer.

They flew her up a long spiral staircase, past stained glass windows and murals of famous Ever heroes. At the top, they shoved open a pair of elegant white doors and dropped her into a cozy, book-filled room.

A woman with kind eyes and a soft pink dress looked up from her desk.

“Ah,” she said. “You must be Agatha. Take a seat, dear.”

Agatha sat stiffly in the velvet chair. “Professor Dovey,” she began, “I think there’s been a mistake.”

“Yes,” said Professor Dovey. “You’ve already caused quite a stir. Sneaking into the boys’ locker room, disrupting the ceremony, nearly sparking a riot—and classes haven’t even started.”

Agatha’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t sneak into the locker room! I got lost!”

Professor Dovey raised an eyebrow. “Mm-hm. Regardless, you’re a bright student. I can see that. But something seems... distracted in you. Like your mind is somewhere else.”

Agatha clenched her fists. “That’s because I don’t belong here!”

Professor Dovey paused, pen in hand. “I’m sorry?”

“I said, I don’t belong here,” Agatha repeated, her voice rising.

Professor Dovey studied her. “And what makes you think that?”

“Look at me!” Agatha said, standing up.

Professor Dovey looked her up and down, then gave a gentle shrug. “I don’t see anything wrong.”

“You don’t get it,” Agatha muttered. “I don’t look like the other girls. I don’t look like Sophie.”

“Sophie?” Professor Dovey asked. “Who’s that?”

“She’s my friend. She was supposed to be here instead of me. But something got mixed up.”

“No, it didn’t,” Professor Dovey said calmly.

“Yes, it did!” Agatha snapped. “The school made a mistake!”

“The school makes no mistakes,” Dovey said firmly. “If she’s there, she’s there for a reason. And if you’re here, then so are you.”

Agatha opened her mouth to argue again, but Professor Dovey held up a hand.

“As of now, your only job is to get a good night’s sleep. You have Beautification class tomorrow morning, and the first step in beauty is rest.”

She stood. “I’ll have the fairies bring your schedule and take you to your dormitory.”

Before Agatha could say another word, Professor Dovey gently pushed her out the door.

“Start with a fresh mind tomorrow, dear,” she said, smiling. “You belong here like everyone else.”

The fairies jingled in front of Agatha, leading her down a hallway of pale marble and soft flower-scented air. Eventually, they stopped at a door with gold trim and a swan-shaped handle.

Agatha opened it.

The dorm room sparkled with light from crystal windows. There were four canopy beds with silk sheets. Two were empty.

In the far-left bed, a familiar face peeked out.

“Oh! You made it,” said Kiko brightly.

Agatha gave a small wave. “Weren’t there supposed to be more girls sleeping here?”

Kiko looked down. “Yeah… about that.”

Agatha frowned. “What is it?”

“It’s just… when the other girls found out they’d be rooming with you, they… moved out.”

“What? Why?” Agatha asked.

“They said with all the things you did today, they were scared. They didn’t want to be in the same room. They thought you might… jinx them too.”

Agatha lowered her eyes. “Oh. I see.”

“I don’t get why they think that,” Kiko said, trying to cheer her up. “They’re missing out on your coolness.

Agatha gave her a skeptical look.

“Besides, you’re not that bad. I mean, yeah, you tried to look in the boys’ locker room, but I would too! The only difference is—you got caught.”

Agatha flushed. “I wasn’t trying to look inside. I just got lost.”

Kiko giggled. “See? You’re hilarious.”

The two girls kept talking, and slowly, Agatha felt her nerves unraveling.

“I can’t wait for class tomorrow,” Kiko said.

“Why?” Agatha asked.

“It’s all about beauty! We get to enhance our looks tenfold.”

“Yeah. You do,” Agatha said softly.

Kiko rolled her eyes. “Stop talking like that. You act like you’re not pretty. But you are.”

“I don’t believe you,” Agatha muttered.

“Why not?”

“Because all my life, people told me I wasn’t. The people in my village… the girls. who moved out of this room…”

Kiko looked thoughtful. “First of all, those girls were just scared. Not because of how you look. Because they thought you’d curse them or something. Second—those villagers? They sound jealous. Just like your so-called friend, Sophie.”

Agatha smiled a little. “She was the only one nice to me.”

“Nice?” Kiko scoffed. “She wouldn’t know nice if it poked her in the behind.”

Agatha burst into laughter.

“Anyway,” Kiko said, climbing into bed, “you have me now. And more friends to come, I’m sure.”

Agatha lay back on her pillows. “We should probably get to sleep. First class tomorrow.”

“Exactly,” Kiko said. “Sleep is the number one rule in beauty.”

Agatha smiled. “Now you sound like Professor Dovey.”

“Good. She’s right.”

Agatha turned over, finally feeling a little more at peace.

“Goodnight, Kiko.”

“Night, Agatha.”

Here’s the full chapter with your new lines added exactly as you wanted:

---

Chapter 4: The Climb

Sophie’s POV

“AHHHHHHHHHHH!” Sophie screamed, spinning in circles. “I’m not staying with you!”

“Wow. Dramatic much?” said Hester from the top bunk.

“It’s not like we want you here, either,” said Anadil, perched beside a rat combing its whiskers. “Told you we’d get stuck with her.”

“Cut it out, guys. She didn’t mean it,” said Dot, clutching a melted piece of chocolate.

“This isn’t right!” Sophie panicked. She was pacing in frantic circles now. Her dress was torn and dirty, her once-glossy hair dull and frizzy. She sniffed.

She smelled.

Her face twisted in horror.

“This place is disgusting,” she snapped. “And you all live like rats.”

Hester glared. “What did you say.”

“You heard me,” Sophie spat. “This room smells like moldy soup, your clothes are wrinkled, and your hair looks like rats nest in it. Oh wait—they probably do.”

Dot frowned. “That’s not very nice…”

“And what’s this?” Sophie asked, walking to Hester’s bunk. She pointed to a crooked frame hanging over the bed. It showed a scary-looking woman with a long black dress and candy stuck in her hair.

“Is this what you think is art?”

“That’s my mother,” Hester said coolly.

Sophie rolled her eyes and looked at the picture again, ready to scoff—until she paused.

She leaned in closer.

The woman in the frame had a crooked nose, wild black hair tangled with bits of candy, and a dark grin stretched across her face. The background was a gingerbread house.

Sophie’s breath caught.

No.

It couldn’t be.

That wasn’t just some creepy woman. That was the witch. The witch.

From Hansel and Gretel.

Hester repeated coolly, “My mother. The witch. From Hansel and Gretel.”

Before Sophie could make another rude comment, the tattoo of a dragon on Hester’s neck flared to life. Its eyes glowed red. Its mouth opened.

Sophie screamed as the magical dragon lunged at her.

She darted to the window, fumbled with the latch, and burst onto the balcony. Her book clutched tightly in her hands.

The dragon tattoo charged. Sophie shrieked again.

But before it could reach her, the gargoyles lining the balcony shifted. Stone cracked. Wings unfolded.

The dragon froze midair, its glowing red eyes locked onto Sophie for one last, seething moment.

Then, slowly, it hissed—low and guttural—before turning back toward the room. The dark shape curled through the air like smoke, slithering past the doorframe. Sophie watched in horrified awe as it melted back into Hester’s neck, disappearing into the skin beneath the glowing tattoo.

Sophie stood panting, gripping her book like a shield, heart racing.

That’s when she noticed movement from the corner of her eye.

One of the gargoyles on the balcony twitched. Stone cracked. Wings unfolded. Its stone eyes turned toward her.

A rush of hope surged through Sophie.

“Oh thank god,” she breathed, stumbling toward it. “You’re here to protect me. Right? You’re one of the good ones.”

The gargoyle blinked.

Sophie reached out a trembling hand.

Then it lunged.

Its massive claw swiped at her, slicing the air—and catching the edge of her cheek. Sophie cried out, stumbling backward, her hand going to the warm scratch just beneath her eye.

She stared at the creature in disbelief. “You’re not here to help…”

Sophie ran—right to it.

“Help me!” she cried.

The gargoyle slashed. Its claw nicked her cheek. She stumbled back, holding her face, her breath caught in her throat.

She dashed along the balcony railing, her eyes wild and unfocused from the speed. Without thinking, she missed a step—

—and tumbled over the edge.

The wind howled as she fell, falling—

Her whole life flashed before her eyes—memories, regrets, and wild laughter echoing in the rush.

Just as darkness threatened to swallow her, the book in her hands burst open.

From its pages poured a swirling black wind, crackling and twisting like living smoke.

The shadows wrapped around her like wings, catching her gently.

Sophie floated down, carried by the fierce, magical gale.

She landed with a thud in the dirt, shocked—but alive.

She stared at the book, breathless. “I knew you were magic,” she whispered, grinning.

Once she gathered herself, she walked to the edge of the shadows beneath the school. Above her, the School for Good shimmered like a palace in the stars.

“How do I get up there?” she whispered.

Sophie wandered through the Evil campus. Statues of past villains lined the pathways—hook-nosed witches, horned demons, shadowy kings. The moon hung in a navy blue sky, casting ghostly light across the twisted trees.

“How is the moon even down here?” Sophie muttered. “Are we underground or…?”

She kept walking.

Then—footsteps.

Sophie ducked behind a crooked statue. A Wolf and a fairy were whispering ahead.

She crept after them.

They headed toward a shadowy alley and into the woods. Sophie remembered Castor’s warning—Don’t go in the Woods.

But her curiosity burned.

She followed anyway.

She watched as the Wolf and fairy slipped through a hollow tree—disappearing inside it like smoke.

Sophie gasped. “It’s a portal.”

She approached the tree slowly and reached out. Her hand phased right through the bark.

“Oh my God,” Sophie whispered.

With nothing to lose, she stepped in.

She shot upward through the tree like a cork from a bottle. The world flipped—

—and she tumbled out the other side.

Still in the woods.

“What?” she said. “Did it not work?”

She turned to head back to Evil…

And stopped.

The school before her was white stone, glowing spires, golden towers.

The School for Good.

Sophie laughed, stunned. “It was a portal.”

She started to run forward, her heart bursting—

Then stopped again.

Sophie realized Agatha never came to get her like she said she would.

“ugh, that witch. She never planned to come get me in the first place.” Sophie tightened her fist in anger, but then a sly smile spread across her lips. “If she won’t come to me, I’ll just go to her,” she said, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

She adjusted her book under her arm and looked toward the shining gates of the School for Good. “ besides It’s about time I i get to see my school anyway and kick that ugly bitch out of it to.”

She stepped forward, an evil smile curving her mouth.

Chapter Text

The School for Good shimmered under moonlight, too perfect, too golden like a dream someone else was living.

Sophie slipped through the towering gates and crept across the marble steps, clutching her book like a shield. The halls inside glowed with soft, enchanted light quiet and still. Everyone was asleep. She could feel it. The whole school slumbered like a pampered beast.

She moved quickly, ducking behind velvet curtains, weaving past statues of beaming princesses and glass-eyed unicorns. Every detail of this place made her grind her teeth. It sparkled like a fairy tale but it didn’t feel like hers.

“Where are the dorms,” she hissed under her breath, eyes darting.

Eventually, she spotted a golden plaque that read:
Second Years – Girls’ Wing

Sophie smirked. “Bingo.”

She padded silently down the hall, past closed doors and gilded arches. Her fingers brushed against carved roses and swan-shaped doorknobs. The hallway curved and there it was.

A small nameplate etched in silver:
AGATHA OF GAVALDON

Sophie froze.

For a moment, something tugged inside her. She stared at the name like it belonged to a stranger.

Then she grabbed the doorknob and turned it slowly.

The door creaked open.

The bed was neatly made. The curtains swayed in the open window. A single book lay on the pillow, its pages fluttering.

But Agatha was gone.

Sophie stepped forward, her brow furrowing until something outside caught her eye.

She moved to the window and blinked.

A long, knotted rope of bedsheets dangled from the windowsill, swinging slightly in the breeze. Sophie’s eyes followed it down 

And spotted Agatha.

Cloaked and hooded, she crept through the moonlit garden below.

“Agatha?” Sophie called, louder than she meant to. “What are you doing?”

The girl below stopped cold.

Slowly, Agatha turned and looked up, wide-eyed. “Sophie?” she said. “What are you doing here? I-l was going to look for you.”

Sophie narrowed her eyes. “Were you?”

Agatha hesitated, then sighed and began climbing up the bedsheet rope.

It took her a few wobbly seconds, her feet slipping once on a knot, but soon she was pulling herself back through the open window and landing lightly beside Sophie.

She dusted off her cloak and caught her breath. “Yes,” she said. “I was.”

Sophie stared at her, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

She wasn’t sure if she believed her.

Agatha dusted off her cloak and looked up at Sophie, her face tight with guilt and something else Sophie couldn’t read.

“What took you so long?” Sophie asked, her voice sharp but quiet. “You said you’d come for me.”

“I wasn’t just going to throw myself off a cliff into a black cloud!” Agatha whispered back, frowning. “I had to figure out how to even get there.”

Sophie huffed. “Well, now that I’m here,” she muttered, brushing dirt off her dress, “you can give me a gown. I’m not walking around this place looking like a clown.”

From a nearby bed, Kiko stirred. “Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, half-asleep. “Tell her to borrow mine…”

Sophie turned toward a puddle of water beneath the windowsill and squinted at her reflection. “Is my face even?” she said. “I can’t go to class looking like a clown.”

Agatha blinked. “Class?”

Sophie straightened up, already slipping into performance mode. “Agatha, darling! About time you came to your senses. Your Uglification class starts in two minutes and you definitely don’t want to make a poor first impression.”

Agatha stared at her. “What are you—”

“Of course,” Sophie interrupted, tugging at Agatha’s sleeve. “We have to switch clothes first. Come, off they go.”

“You’re not going to class, darling,” Agatha snapped, her cheeks flushing. “We’re going to the School Master’s tower. Now. Before we’re stuck here forever.”

Sophie blinked, then scoffed. “Don’t be a boob, Aggie. We can’t just storm a magical tower in broad daylight. Besides, if you’re going home anyway, you might as well hand over your dress so I don’t fall behind on assignments.”

Agatha yanked herself free. “Okay, that’s it!” she hissed. “Now listen to—”

But Sophie’s eyes had wandered. They landed on Agatha, standing pale and disheveled among the quiet dorm room.

Sophie smiled faintly. “You’ll blend right in here.”

Agatha’s anger faltered. “Because I’m… ugly?”

“Oh for goodness’ sake, Aggie,” Sophie said, rolling her eyes. “Look at this place. You like gloom and doom. You like suffering and unhappiness and… um, burnt things. You’ll be happy in Evil.”

Kiko mumbled again, shifting beneath her blankets.

Agatha’s eyes flicked between them. Was Sophie right? Could she be happy here?

Her stomach churned. She didn’t want to be Evil. Not when Sophie was Good. They were supposed to escape this place together.

“I’m not leaving you!” Agatha blurted, stepping toward Sophie.

“No one’s asking you to leave me, Agatha,” Sophie said coolly. “We’re just asking you to leave your clothes.”

Agatha’s jaw dropped. “No!” she said. “We’re not switching clothes. We’re not switching rooms. We’re not switching schools!”

Sophie’s smile faded.

Agatha’s voice cracked. “We’re going home. We can be friends there on the same side. No Good, no Evil. Just us. Like it was meant to be.”

The room went still.

Sophie looked away.

“Oh my god,” came Kiko’s voice sharp and clear from across the dorm.

Sophie turned to see random girl that she never met  sitting up, eyes blazing on her. “Are you actually serious right now?”

Sophie raised her brows. “What?” she axed in confusion

“You storm in here in the middle of the night, wake everyone up, demand Agatha’s dress like it’s your royal right, and act like she’s the villain in all this?”

Agatha shrank back, quiet.

Kiko stood, tossing off her blanket. “You’ve called her names, made fun of her face, treated her like she’s beneath you and now you’re mad she didn’t leap off a cliff to come save you?”

Sophie scoffed, but didn’t answer.

“You don’t just get to waltz in here and pretend you belong,” Kiko said, voice rising. “Not when you treat people like dirt. Not when you act like you're better than everyone else.”

She pointed at Sophie.

“You might think you’re meant for Good, but from where I’m standing, you don’t belong here at all.”

The room fell silent.

Sophie took a step back.

“OUT.”

Kiko shoved her toward the door.

“Kiko stop,” Agatha tried, but it was too late.

Sophie stumbled into the hallway 

Just as another door down the hall opened.

An Ever girl peeked out, sleepy-eyed. She froze when she spotted Sophie’s black dress.

Her eyes widened.

“A Never!” she screamed. “There’s a Never in the Good wing! FAIRIES!”

All at once, enchanted alarms chimed and a golden blizzard of tiny fairies burst from the ceiling, armed with glowing spears.

“INTRUDER!”

“SEIZE HER!”

“STOP THAT WITCH!”

“Run!” Agatha cried.

Sophie turned and bolted, Agatha racing after her.

Fairies buzzed behind them, shouting and flashing like lightning bugs on fire. The chase exploded down glittering staircases and through velvet-draped halls.

Sophie slammed into a unicorn statue, shoved off it, and kept running. “WHY are they armed?!” she shrieked.

“Don’t stop!” Agatha yelled, grabbing her wrist.

They burst out the nearest door into the woods and the forest swallowed them whole.

Their footsteps pounded through the marble corridors, echoing off the high glass walls. Fairies zipped after them, their wings a blur of gold and rage.

“This way!” Sophie cried, tugging Agatha down a side passage.

They burst through a back exit, racing into the woods behind the School for Good. Tree branches slapped Sophie’s face as they tore through the forest, ducking under roots and vaulting over logs. The fairies shrieked behind them, lights flashing in the dark.

By the time they reached the gnarled old tree with the carved face in its bark, the glow of their pursuers had faded into the distance.

Sophie stopped and turned to Agatha, chest rising and falling. The sky above was softening as the first pale light of dawn crept through the branches.

“Okay… okay, this is our chance.”

Agatha gave her a wary look. “Our chance for what?”

Sophie pointed to the tree behind them. “Not the tree. Everyone else. They still think I’m Evil, right? But what if they saw me in your dress? They’d see I belong with the princesses. That I’m Good.”

Agatha’s face softened, but her brow furrowed. “Sophie…”

Sophie stepped closer. “Just let me wear it. Just for a little while. Please.”

Agatha shook her head gently. “It won’t change anything.”

Sophie blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You can wear the prettiest dress in the world, but if your heart stays the same… people will still see that.”

Sophie’s mouth dropped open slightly. “But… if they just saw me the right way…”

Agatha’s voice was quiet, not angry. “They have seen you. They saw what you did to Kiko. How you treat people. That’s what matters.”

Sophie looked down, swallowing hard. “I didn’t mean to… I just… I wanted to belong.”

“I know,” Agatha said, voice almost a whisper. “But trying to look like someone else isn’t the way. You have to be someone else. Someone kinder.”

There was silence between them, the kind that made the forest feel too loud, even as the sun began to rise.

Sophie suddenly reached for Agatha’s dress, desperate, as if trying to fix everything with one gesture.

She pulled the golden gown over her head, hoping.

The magic between them flared. Their clothes glowed then snapped back into their rightful forms.

Sophie was back in her black potato sack.

Agatha’s golden dress settled softly over her dark blue nightgown.

Sophie stared at her hands, stunned.

Agatha looked at her sadly. “It’s not the dress that decides where we belong.”

She turned toward the glowing towers of the School for Good in the distance.

“I have to go.”

Sophie reached out. “Agatha, wait—”

But Agatha was already walking away, shoulders heavy and quiet.

“I’m sorry,” Sophie called after her, but the words hung in the trees with no reply.

Sophie sank to her knees beneath the ancient tree, her anger fading into a cold emptiness.

Now there was only the sadness and the soft pink light of dawn breaking through the branches.

_________________________________

By the time Agatha stepped back through the enchanted gates of the School for Good, the sky had already softened into a rosy pink. Mist shimmered like silver lace over the garden beds, and morning sunlight began catching the edges of the flowers. Her legs ached with every step, her hair hung in snarled knots, and thin scratches stung her arms from the forest underbrush. Her dress was torn and dirty, the edges singed from Sophie’s temper tantrum of a gown.

She climbed the marble steps slowly, each one heavier than the last.

Just inside the golden glass doors, Kiko was pacing in tight circles. Her head whipped up the moment she saw her.

“There you are!” Kiko gasped, rushing forward. “Where have you been?! I-I thought something happened! You left with Sophie after I told her to get out!”

Agatha didn’t stop walking. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine! You look like you rolled through a graveyard!” Kiko followed closely behind her. “What happened?”

Agatha didn’t answer. Her mind was still in the woods with Sophie’s voice ringing in her ears, the cruel way she’d walked away, the dress that had melted from her body like it was never meant to be hers.

They turned down the golden-tiled hallway. Kiko was still talking. “Seriously, Agatha, you’re bleeding! What did she do to you?”

Before Agatha could reply or ignore her completely someone stepped into the corridor, and she walked straight into them.

She stumbled backward.

Strong hands caught her by the waist.

It was Tedros.

He blinked, caught off guard, his hands still gently steadying her. “Whoa. Are you okay?”

Agatha froze, eyes wide, then quickly pulled out of his grasp.

Tedros’s gaze dropped to her arms. His brows knit as he took in her dirty, torn dress and the scratches lining her skin.

“What happened to you?” he asked, frowning.

“She was out in the forest—” Kiko started.

Tedros's head snapped toward her. “The forest? That’s forbidden! Why were you even outside? You’re supposed to be in your rooms before dawn!”

Kiko crossed her arms, not missing a beat. “Well, you’re out too. So?”

Tedros faltered. “I-I heard someone sneaked into the school!” he said hastily, glancing at Agatha. “As a prince, I have to, you know... protect people.”

He waved his hand as if that explained everything.

Kiko raised an eyebrow. “So you were sneaking.”

“I was guarding!” Tedros huffed, his voice rising a pitch. “Well… trying.” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

Agatha swayed on her feet, her vision tunneling. She stepped back from both of them, mumbling, “I was in the forest. But it’s fine. You can give me detention, or tell the fairies whatever. But right now, I just want to sleep.”

Tedros stepped toward her again. “You don’t just look tired. You look like you’ve been through a war. Did something happen?”

“She had a fight with Sophie,” Kiko said.

“In the forest?” Tedros’s brows rose. “Wait… were you two fighting out there all night?”

Agatha cut them both off sharply. “I said I’m fine. Can we go?”

Her voice was clipped, drained. Kiko nodded, but before they could continue, Tedros stepped in front of them and held out an arm.

“It’s not safe for you to sleep like this. You need to see the nurse.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes. “Why would I go to the nurse?”

“She’ll ask me what happened, and if I tell her the truth, they’ll expel me. Maybe even turn me into a pumpkin. So no, thanks.”

Tedros stared at her. She could barely stand.

He exhaled. "Then I'll take the blame. Just go to the nurse, please," he begged

Agatha opened her mouth to argue but the second she turned to walk away, her knees buckled.

She collapsed forward right into Tedros’s arms.

Kiko squeaked. “Oh my god!”

Tedros held her steady, gripping her tighter. “That’s it,” he said, and without asking, he lifted her into his arms.

“Put me down—” Agatha mumbled weakly, squirming.

“Not a chance,” he muttered, already turning down the hallway with her in his arms.

Kiko scrambled after him.

By the time they reached the nurse’s office, Agatha had passed out completely, her head resting against Tedros’s shoulder, her breathing shallow.

Tedros kicked the door open gently.

The nurse a tall woman with a no-nonsense bun and robes the color of seafoam looked up from her herb pots.

“She was attacked,” Tedros said, carefully laying Agatha on the cot. “In her dorm. By a Never student.”

Kiko blinked at him then nodded quickly. “Y-yes. That’s what happened.”

The nurse didn’t ask more questions. She waved her hands, glowing green, over Agatha’s injuries and started treatment.

“I can stay,” Tedros said, but the nurse cut him off sharply.

“You shouldn’t even be out. Back to your room, Prince.”

He looked reluctant to leave, but her glare left no room for argument.

Tedros cast one last glance at Agatha then turned and disappeared down the hall.

Kiko stayed.

She sat by Agatha’s bed in silence until the nurse was done. Once Agatha was bandaged and resting, the nurse sent them both back to their dorm.

Later That Morning…

When they finally reached their room again, Agatha walked straight to her bed and sat on the edge.

Kiko stood at the doorway, hesitant. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Agatha shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re sure?”

“I think we should just sleep before class. The sun’s already up.”

Kiko nodded slowly and crossed to her bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. “Alright. Good night, Agatha.”

Agatha didn’t respond.

Her mind was still in the woods. Sophie’s words echoed like curses.

She’ll never belong here.

Agatha looked down at her raw, scraped hands… then turned to the window, where the sunrise bathed the towers in gold.

Her chest tightened.

Don’t let her get in your head.

She clenched her jaw.

They put me here for a reason. I’m going to succeed. I’m going to make it through this school… with or without her.

And with that final thought, Agatha lay down and closed her eyes, letting the warm sunlight lull her to sleep.

Suddenly, Kiko’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Agatha, we have to get ready. School starts in an hour!”

Agatha shot up, eyes wide.

“Oh my f**king God!”