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

WE'D HAD A SECRET SPOT in the South wing, where the dorms were. Rebel and I used to go there whenever she needed a fag, and I'd sit there on my phone while she delicately tried not to blow smoke in my face. 


The smell made my eyes water while I used to crouch in the corner, the hem of my skirt sweeping the floor. Sometimes it was tobacco, sometimes it was weed, and other times, she was doing things I didn't even have names for.


Those were the days she didn't go back to lessons. The hot sweep of Summer and Spring's mild days; Autumn's soft tones and Winter's expansive nights. The time, the place didn't matter, but nothing felt better than those moments with her―not the IPs, not Witches, just us, when we were the best of friends.


Those moments had been scarce, few and far between, and most days, I would walk alone back to my classroom. A cover, because even Rebel Montenero couldn't get away with being stoned on school property. 


I pass that door now, wandering the endless corridors of KCA. The sound of laughter echoes behind the door, intermingling with the scent of smoke and the firster's thick perfume. Rebel already has that girl wound around her little finger, and I can't tell whether I'm glad or envious that I'm not in her position. 


There's one thing I'm sure of, when my fingers wind around the door handle. Avoiding the two of them is in my best interests, because a moment with Rebel is a smoke-filled laugh in my face, her lips a crimson sneer and her cackle mocking me to my grave. 


It follows the beat of my footsteps, pattering against the tile floors. Soft footfalls, pacing up to the door 403. It's the dorm assigned to Ebony and I.


His stuff is in there, half-moved in. Making it look as though we live there, because if not, Mr Rose would know where to find us. The thought of him in my house and invading my personal space is scarier than the one that he expects me to fall under his every beck and call. 


My room in the suite assigned to us is barren and desolate. Untouched, only by my sickness, as it seems to pervade every wall and strand of carpet.


I kick off my shoes. My feet pad against the soft carpet, drawing a trail to the pristine bed. Made and tucked in, because to this room, I've never been here at all.


With my stomach in knots, I throw myself face-first onto the bed. It's easier to hide away, until the moment where the clouds part and I need to attach myself back to reality.


o8 | wishes (part three)