The school of Good and Evil was certainly new to you, but not unheard of.

You’d read tales of larger than life undead crows picking those destined for good or evil by the shoulders and flying them to the cliffs where the two academies stood.

By magic, you were chosen. A choice you hadn’t known was true until the fateful crow came for you.

𝜗∿♡༆ྀ

Twisted basalt and obsidian towers climbed the dusty afternoon sky. Architecture resembling thorns and gothic cathedrals contrasted against vibrant stained glass windows. As asymmetrical towers of Mischief, Malice, and Vice came into view, you saw the hauntingly beautiful vines and muted dark bushes grown on the walls—a dark, murky green water crashed against that shore, where students and luggage carried by crows like your own were dropped down onto the water, students for the year to come.

On the other side, Neoclassical and Romantic architecture blended seamlessly in a pristine white palace. Spires in muted magenta pink shingles stood out against the orange evening. Quarried windows of rosen gold shown with warm lights from inside the palace. Towers of Valor, Charity, Purity and Honor connected by glass stairways suspended as bridges shown iridescently like pearls. A clear, calm lake lapped against their shore, where students were dropped onto lily pads.

You, were dropped off at your academy.

𝞋𝞎 ͝ ༅˚̣̣̣♡༉

Adjusting to the environment was…a fairly easy transition. You were quickly made at home by the other members of your school, and quickly took to the classes with great enthusiasm and skill.

That was, until one noon out on the clearing.

Lunch had been a time for you to wander around with your new made friends, and eat outside on the fields shared by the schools.

Ornate iron tables in shades of black and white separated the area, with trees and bushes graciously planted to give shade over the lunch tables.

In a moment of laughter and excitement, you’d gone off to retrieve an apple from the mess hall. As you’d returned to the clearing, you bumped into a tall, striking young man.

Judging by his sparkling, shy, smile, charming messy dark brown hair, and kind eyes, this boy, was from the School Of Good.

He quickly stabled you by holding onto your wrist, his grip firm yet gentle. He looked at you, eyes softening in apologetic grace. “I’m sorry—i must’ve spaced out while walking. I should keep a better eye out, no?”

He laughed, the sound equal to the gentle chime of windchimes in the wind. He raised a brow at you, placing a hand on his chest. “My apologies, seriously. I’m Klaus Baudelaire. A pleasure to meet you. Even if our first meeting was…rather forceful.”