paranatellon

The Witches of King City Academy are nothing if not elusive, exclusive, and intrusive. They know you down to the last detail; keep track of all your secrets, and keep a million of their own on wine-laced lips.

For Ivory Blue, they turn her world upside down overnight. Her worst fear becomes her greatest shame, and in a small city like hers, there's nowhere to hide.

So, in her desperation, she seeks out the company of Archer Finley: defiant loner-boy extraordinaire. He takes her to a place that Witches can't touch; a place outside of time and reality and anything that exists to chain them down.

Soon enough, their life on the flipside feels like home. Away from the rumours. Away from the lies. Away from the blood on their hands.

And away from the world on the surface, because not everything there is quite as it seems.

On the Flipside

SLEEP-DEPRIVATION MARKS THE HOLLOWS beneath my eyes in black ink, purged by the bright sunlight kniving the gaps in my blinds, half-tilted open to allow the gold of early afternoon to pour in.


In the mirror, my eyes are bloodshot and my hair dishevelled; lips slightly parted to steady the breathing that runs rampant in my lungs, conflicted with the rush of last night's emotions flooding back into my body. 


Though my hands smooth down my hair, run down my face, fixing my outside appearance doesn't seem to fix what is broken inside. The tart taste of loss and humiliation still lurks on my tongue, and it seems to resonate throughout my whole body, even if I'm the only one that can see it.


It takes a moment to register yesterday's dress hanging in all the wrong places, hot mortification bleeding through me and a headache hammering through my skull at the thought of Mr Rose's watchful eyes and the intent gaze that raked my body—hungry, desperate, merciless—and every other thought running through his head, communicated by the small, devilish smirk touching his parted lips. 


I race to change my clothes, covering every inch of skin from the soft September chill, incessant despite the brightness of the afternoon. 


And when I finally emerge from the recesses of my bedroom, Ebony is awaiting me.


Arms piled across his chest, stance rigid and broad. Having inherited our father's height, he's a head taller than me, and like our father, his features scarcely give away anything, remaining expressionless until it drowns him.


But for the barest moment, I swear I see a flash of concern.


Maybe the strain on my body isn't as invisible I'd like.


"Did Rebel drop you or did you drop Rebel?" He asks, and though his skin hasn't got the red flush of mine, the shadows slicing across his face etch just the same. 


I play with the cuffs of my jumper, dropping my gaze slightly. "She dropped me from being a Witch. I told her that I didn't even want to be an IP. She replaced me with a firster,"


The words are bitter-tasting on my tongue. I hate the way they simmer tauntingly, spanning the distance between my brother and I. Physically, we've remained close, but emotionally, we've never been further apart.


Until a single word in the stark silence captures my attention.


"Hey." The surprising softness of his voice is what draws my gaze up. A word I would never use to describe the enigma that is my brother, but when I look at him, nothing seems to be more fitting. "I—I'm proud, you know."


His words are hesitant and plunging. I can only scoff. "You just hated Rebel."


"Yeah, 'cause she pushed you around." He frowns. "She was a terrible friend to you. I'm proud that you ended things."


"Seriously?" My fingers release their death grips on my sleeves. His words are revolving around in my head—pitter patter to the beat of my heart—and the only thought I can seem to form is that Rebel was the driving force between me and my brother.


She is the sole reason that each of us forgot to care. And now I'm floundering, and he's extending an arm, and I don't want to let this go to waste.


Ebony should have always been the first priority, and I wish I had never forgotten that. "Uh, thanks...Eb. I'm sorry I chose her to begin with."


"It's fine." My brother holds out his fist, motioning for me to do the same. Our knuckles bump against each other, and it feels like an achievement. An olive branch; a testament to a new era. "It isn't too late."


Unsaid words burn on my tongue—because I don't know my brother anymore, not really—but I smile regardless.


"Never too late." And I bump my fist against his. 


o5 | ruin (part two)