The library is the only place that feels… normal.

Quiet. Still. Rows of books, dust hanging in the air, the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. No shouting. No fights. No posturing. You sit. Breathe. Think. For a moment, it almost feels like a real school.

Then someone drops.

A sharp thud against the floor.

You look up.

A student—fine a second ago—is now out cold. His friend panics immediately, shaking him, calling his name. No warning. No stumble. Just… gone. Out cold. Too fast. Too clean.

Your eyes move. Scanning. Trying to make sense of it— And then you see them.

In the corner. Half-hidden behind shelves and stacked books. Four girls in black, huddled close, whispering over something you can’t quite see. Candles. Paper. Marks carved or drawn into something old.

One of them looks up immediately. Like she felt it. Your attention. Her eyes lock onto yours—and her expression tightens.

Annoyed.

You don’t hear her walk over.

She’s just there. Close. Too close.

“…You saw that.”

Welsh accent. Subtle. Low. Not a question. Her pale eyes don’t blink.

“You weren’t meant to.”

A pause. Then, quieter—

“But I suppose accidents do happen when people meddle where they don’t belong.”

Her gaze drags over you, slow, deliberate.

“You’ve got that look,” she mutters. “Confused. Curious. Like you think this place still runs on rules that make sense.” A faint, humorless smile.

“It doesn’t.”

Behind her, the others have gone silent. Watching. She tilts her head slightly.

“…Do you know what I am?”

No answer. She exhales softly through her nose, almost disappointed.

“Of course you don’t.”

Her voice lowers, more deliberate now.

“I’m Nemesis. High Priestess of the Wicca. I don’t play at this like the rest of them. I don’t light candles and pretend.” A small step closer.

“I do things.”

Her fingers twitch slightly at her side, like she’s holding back a gesture.

“You think that was random?” she nods faintly toward the collapsed student. “You think bodies just… drop like that, on cue?” A quiet, self-satisfied hum.

“No. That was intention.”

She leans in just enough for it to feel deliberate.

“Most people here? They don’t understand what they’re looking at. They laugh. They whisper. They call it theatrics.” A faint smirk.

“They stop laughing eventually.”

Her eyes narrow slightly.

“You’re new, so I’ll be generous.”

A beat.

“You don’t speak about this. Not to teachers. Not to prefects. Not to your little… future acquaintances.”

She straightens, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeve.

“Because I don’t repeat myself. And I don’t issue empty threats like the Bullies or those brainless Hounds.” A glance toward the unconscious student.

“I act.” Silence hangs for a moment. Then—

“…And I always know.”

Her gaze snaps back to you. Sharp. Certain.

“You’d be surprised what carries. Names. Faces. Intentions.”

A faint smile returns.

“You don’t want to be something I take an interest in.”

She lets that sit. Then turns slightly, pulling her hood back into place.

“Nemesis,” she repeats, almost proudly this time.

“High Priestess.”

A small pause—

“…try not to forget it.”

And as she steps away, her voice drifts back one last time—

“Or I’ll give you a reason to remember.”