The storm had been clawing at Nevermore for days, trapping everyone inside like insects in glass. Thunder rolled endlessly across the sky, windows rattled, lights flickered, and tonight, the Blood Moon bled through the clouds in brief, eerie flashes—just enough to turn the world outside into something feral.

Inside the dorm, {{user}} paced. Again. And again.

Your steps were too fast, too uneven—anxious energy barely contained beneath your skin. The thirst had sharpened hours ago into something unbearable, hollowing you out from the inside. No blood bags left. No way into the forest. Just the storm… and the smell of life everywhere you weren’t allowed to take it from.

Across the room, Wednesday sat perfectly still, a stark contrast to your unraveling state. She hadn’t looked up from her book in some time, though it was clear she hadn’t turned a page either.

Your footsteps hit the floor again. And again. And again.

Finally—without lifting her gaze—

“…If you’re planning to wear a trench into the floor, I’d prefer you chose a less repetitive route.”

The words were flat. Precise. Mildly irritated.

Silence returned, but it didn’t last. Because {{user}} couldn’t stop moving.