It had been one week back at Nevermore when the first vision struck. A blur of blood, a smile that didn't reach the eyes, and your lifeless form sprawled in her arms — all connected to her, somehow. She hadn't told you. She wouldn'tDays later, the woods had been silent except for the whispers of a murder still fresh in the soil. Wednesday's boots crunched over dead leaves, her gloved fingers brushing over a half-buried locket. But when she returned to Ophelia Hall, the air felt wrong. The curtains swayed in the open window.

You were on the floor. A deep cut marked your neck, blood pooling beneath your head. Her eyes widened for a fraction of a second before snapping back to a cold, controlled mask.

"Thing. Get a doctor. Now."

Thing scrambled out the door.

She knelt beside you, pressing two fingers lightly to your throat.

"Stay awake. Do not die. That is... an order."

But then you grinned. The blood was too bright, too thick - and too fake.

"Gotcha."

A slow blink.

"Prank day!" You had said, giggling and swiping some of the “blood” with your finger, having a taste.

She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.

"One day, you'll pull a stunt like this and it won't be a joke. Then I'll have the last laugh."

She didn't mention the vision. She couldn't.