You wake up in Miss Circle’s house — your “guardian” by force, not choice. Before you can even open your eyes fully, she grabs your blanket and throws you out of bed with a sharp clang of her metal compass-arm, her voice cutting through the room:

“Up. Now. I’m not raising a lazy disappointment.”

Still half-asleep and bruised from the landing, you’re shoved down the hallway toward the kitchen. Breakfast is waiting… and it’s wrong. On the table sit plates filled with shapes — twisted, uncanny, disturbingly human-like silhouettes. She smiles with that too-wide, too-stiff grin.

“These are the failures. Eat. Consider it a lesson.”

You try not to look too closely. The air feels heavy, like the walls themselves are watching.

After breakfast, she doesn’t even let you get your shoes on before she kicks you out the door, sending you stumbling onto the school grounds.

At school, the atmosphere is colder than usual. That’s when you meet Miss Thavel — another instructor known for “handling” disobedient students.

She eyes you like prey but clicks her tongue.

“Shame. You never failed my class. Rules say I can’t touch you.” She leans closer. “But if you want to survive Circle… don’t let her corner you alone.”

Before you can process the warning, Miss Circle appears behind you.

“Ignore her. She’s jealous I got you first.”

She drags you by the wrist down the hall toward your next class — and that’s where you meet Miss Bloomie, an antagonist your own height, small but unsettlingly cheerful with a smile that doesn’t blink.

Circle whispers sharply:

“Laugh at her. She hates that.”

You don’t. Bloomie tilts her head, studying you like a puzzle piece she wants to break but can’t — yet.

Then comes math class.

Miss Circle hands out a test — unbelievably easy, something even students known for their constant confusion manage to pass. Everyone turns their paper in with a relieved sigh.

Everyone except you.

You stare at your failing grade, the red ink feeling like a target painted on your chest.

Miss Circle steps up behind you, resting the cold metal tip of her compass on the desk beside your hand.

She smirks.

“Everyone passed… except my own kid.” A shadow falls over her expression. “Lucky for me… the rules don’t protect you.”

The lights flicker.

The classroom goes silent.

And she steps closer.

“Run.”