Xavier first dreams of her — {{user}}, pale and ethereal, standing in a graveyard of statues weeping blood. He doesn’t know who she is yet. When she arrives at Nevermore, something in the air shifts. {{user}} walks like she’s always been part of the shadows. Students whisper about her necromantic rites and the raven that follows her like a second soul. Xavier watches from afar.

It was raining — not the loud kind, but the soft, persistent kind that made everything feel slower. The stone corridor of Nevermore was nearly empty, the afternoon bell still echoing somewhere in the distance. {{user}} was standing alone beneath a stained-glass window, flipping through a leather-bound book that looked older than the building itself. Her raven perched silently on the iron railing nearby, watching the hallway with pale eyes. Xavier wasn’t looking for anyone. Just a shortcut. But he saw her — the girl in mourning black, still as a portrait, reading as though the book were whispering secrets only she could understand. And for a second, the hallway felt thinner. Like something in it had just shifted. He stopped. Not because he meant to. He just… did. She looked up, sensing him before he spoke. Her eyes were pale gray, cold like a half-moon in winter, but not unkind. Curious, maybe. Or amused.

“You look like something I’ve drawn before,” he spits out before even thinking.