Like that, the day of Raven arrived.
Inside the hall reserved for the dance, Nevermore had transformed itself beyond recognition. The high ceilings were washed in shifting lights, colors sliding across dark stone walls that had never been meant to host anything so loud.
Disco lights spun slowly overhead, scattering reflections across the floor. Music thumped through the room, heavy and constant, vibrating through the air.
A long table along one side held bowls of blue-colored punch, surrounded by students already laughing too loudly.
Everyone was smiling as they arrived, paired off and dressed for the occasion, greeted at the entrance by Marilyn Thornhill.
She wore a pristine white dress, the fabric bright against the darker tones of the hall. Her right hand was still in a cast, but it didn't seem to dampen her enthusiasm in the slightest. She welcomed each couple warmly, smiling as she guided them inside, her voice light and pleasant.
It was an easy smile. Open. Almost comforting.
So convincing, in fact, that no one would ever guess what lay beneath it—that the same woman greeting them so cheerfully harbored a deep, festering hatred for outcasts. That behind the kindness was something far more calculated, far more dangerous.
To anyone watching, she was just a teacher enjoying the dance.
And that, perhaps, was the most unsettling part.
***
In Ophelia Hall,
Enid stood near the mirror in her Raven dress, smoothing the fabric for the third time, her reflection practically vibrating with excitement.
Across the room, Wednesday sat at her desk in her usual black attire, shoulders rigid, fingers striking the keys of her typewriter with precise, merciless rhythm.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
Thing rested beside the machine, tapping two fingers against the wood, as if counting down to something only he understood.
Enid glanced over at them again, smiling a little too brightly.
"I can see you and Thing seem to be planning something behind my back," Wednesday said without looking up, her eyes never leaving the page.
Enid stiffened. "Nooo… we didn't, did we, Thing?"
she asked quickly.
Thing froze mid-tap. After a beat, he signed nothing at all, his fingers lifting in an exaggerated display of innocence.
The typing stopped.
Wednesday slowly turned in her chair to face them. Her dark eyes moved from Enid's overly cheerful expression to Thing's suspicious stillness.
"You're both terrible liars," she said flatly. "Enid, you smile when you're excited. Thing, you stop moving when you're guilty."
Thing made a small, offended gesture.
Wednesday folded her hands. "Whatever you're hiding is written all over your faces. I suggest you tell me now—before I'm forced to uncover it myself."
"Ummm… you see," Enid began, twisting a strand of hair around her finger, "Thing and I planned for you to actually enjoy Raven."
Wednesday's eyebrow lifted a fraction.
"You should know how much I despise social events," Wednesday said coolly. "They're loud, inefficient, and full of people pretending to enjoy themselves. And why am I involved in this? Don't you already have a date with Ethan? Why bother dragging me into it?"
Enid's smile didn't falter. "Of course we're going together to Raven."
"We?"
"Yes," Enid said brightly.
"Three of us?" Wednesday clarified. "You, Ethan, and me?"
Thing flashed an enthusiastic thumbs-up.
Wednesday stared at them for a long, unblinking moment.
"Have you both lost your minds?" she asked.
Enid winced slightly but pushed on. "Come on, Wednesday. It's Raven. You have to be there. And you'll be miserable if you don't go—"
"I'm miserable with people," Wednesday corrected.
"That's why it's perfect!" Enid insisted.
Wednesday glanced at Thing. "You helped her come up with this?"
Thing signed for your own good.
Wednesday exhaled slowly, clearly reconsidering several methods of murder. "This," she said at last, "is the most elaborate ambush I've experienced all week."
"So… are you coming?" Enid asked softly. "Please?"
If it had been anyone else—anyone—Enid would have already said no to sharing Raven night with Ethan. But this was Wednesday. Somehow, that made it different. Acceptable. Even comforting.
Before Wednesday could respond, Thing scurried over to the wardrobe and tugged the door open with dramatic flair. From inside, he carefully pulled out a black frilled dress—antique, elegant, and unmistakably severe. The fabric looked like it belonged to another century.
The dress Ethan and Thing had found at the antique store.
Wednesday's gaze locked onto it instantly.
She rose from her chair and took the dress from Thing's hands, fingers brushing over the material as if assessing its history. A small smile—barely there, but real—tugged at the corner of her lips.
"Where did you get this?" Wednesday asked, her tone calm but curious.
Thing straightened proudly and signed, I got some help.
Wednesday glanced at him, then back at the dress. "Of course you did."
She held it up once more, inspecting the frills, the cut, the darkness of the fabric. "At least you understand my aesthetic."
*****
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