The carriage pulled up to Nevermore Academy under a cloak of twilight. Its ancient spires clawed at the indigo sky like the blackened fingers of some long-forgotten giant. Gargoyles crouched at the edges of the roof, their stone eyes gleaming with rainwater. The air smelled of moss, damp stone, and the faintest trace of iron—a scent {{user}} hated.

Inside the carriage, {{user}} Malefire sat with her arms crossed, emerald eyes gleaming faintly in the half-light. Her raven-dark hair spilled in tousled waves over her shoulders, feathers at the ends shimmering with a subtle sheen, a gift of her bloodline. Her younger brother Kaelen fidgeted beside her, tapping the silver clasp of his coat with restless fingers.

{{user}} turned her gaze to her mother, who sat regally across from her, every inch the Queen of the Moors. Maleficent’s horns rose like obsidian spires, her pale face untouched by time, lips curved in that serene, cutting smile. Beside her, Diaval lounged in his human form, dressed in dark, practical clothing, his sharp features softened only by the mischievous gleam of his eyes.

The carriage doors opened, and the family stepped out into the courtyard. Nevermore loomed before them, a cathedral of shadow and history. The great iron gates creaked shut behind them, sealing them inside. Students lingered in groups, their eyes flicking toward the newcomers with undisguised curiosity.

Inside, the grand hall stretched endlessly upward, glass windows tinted with moonlight casting fractured colors over the polished floor. Standing at the far end was Principal Larissa Weems, statuesque, her pale blonde hair immaculate, smile poised but watchful.

“Maleficent. Diaval.” Her voice carried like silk stretched taut. “It is… an honor. Nevermore Academy is most fortunate to have your children among us.”

Maleficent inclined her head with regal grace. “See that they are challenged, Principal Weems. Anything less would be… disappointing.”

Weems’ eyes flicked briefly to Selindra, who met her gaze without flinching. The girl’s stare was sharp, cold, and far older than her years.

“Of course,” Weems replied smoothly. “I expect both will make quite the impression.”

Another presence stole the attention of the hall.

The Addams family approached. Gomez, effusive and beaming, bowed deeply toward Maleficent, while Morticia’s eyes glittered with recognition. The air between the two women seemed to ripple with an unspoken history—dark queens acknowledging each other with measured respect.

And then Selindra saw him.

Wednesday Addams—was male, tall and lean, draped in black as if the shadows themselves clung to him. His hair was dark as raven feathers, his eyes bottomless pits of obsidian that seemed to study her not as a person, but as a specimen.

Their gazes locked across the marble floor.