Act One: Debris After Catastrophe

It was evening, the sun had just set.

Hugh stared at his screen, the video Ambrosia sent him visible, but not playing. He couldn't will himself to press anywhere near it, not after he had just heartlessly told her to piss off.

The words, 'I couldn't find anything you would like, so I wrote you a song instead! ♥️' met his eyes. A messy array of emojis followed the message afterward, completely undecipherable. The girl never failed to boggle even the most rational of minds. Funny enough, the student body vice president of one of the most prestigious and esteemed schools was no exception.

There was no remorse rising from his ever so conflicting baggage of emotions when he deleted their messaging history. No. If anything, he felt inconvenienced. The scholar had just lost one of his pawns.

Finding more people to do his bidding, especially in his darker affairs, vigilante work some would call it, was a hassle. Hugh's power relied on his reputation and he just so happened to run into someone more fucked up than him, someone who didn't give a shit whether he had dirt or blood on his fingers.

He found someone who was willing to put blood on their own fingers for him. And he had lost her.

But then again, he'd choose losing one of his pets over getting into a scandal any time. The eccentric, brown-eyed puppy he had attracted was getting too bold for his liking, after all. It was about time he pushed her away, it'd be inefficient to let anyone get comfortable and start expecting anything deeper from him—attachment was an entire issue he didn't want to delve into.

He had a mission. Getting attached wasn't part of the plan. Getting involved with Ambrosia Decker and her loverboy wasn't going to reward him with anything but nasty scars and probably, after everything that had went on, brain damage.

He kept staring at the screen. The mastermind formulated in his head, adjusting to the newest stream of events, changing his tactics now that he had a missing variable in his lengthy formula.

In the arrival of an unprecedented calamity, he'd just have to create an unrelenting, immovable, and invincible counterattack, after all.

--

It was midnight, warm rays of yellow and orange replaced by moonlight.

The sky was cruel as it chose to be especially beautiful that particular night, decorated by a galaxy of stars that cried out to every lonely soul, as Ambrosia wept her heart out in a cramped space. The sunset had been just as beautiful, but she was too distraught to appreciate it.

The girl sat down on her bathroom floor, legs meeting with cold tiles as she poured chemicals on her hair. In a last "fuck all" attempt to cope with Hugh's request of complete estrangement, Rose decided that she would dye her hair blonde.

Why not? She told herself. Everybody needed a post-breakup makeover, it was in every high school romantic comedy Rose had seen. She was doing this for herself, totally not because she was desperate for the reputable Windsor to notice the change of color.

Maybe he'd take her back if she started looking more like Felicity?

It wasn't that hard. Just a few tutorials here and there and a couple of searches for extra measure and Ambrosia was on her way to becoming a blonde.

Yeah. She'd look just like Felicity and maybe, possibly Hugh would glance at her for more than two seconds.

Fuck. Of course he wouldn't, he'd told her he wanted nothing to do with her anymore.

That wasn't fair. He was about to be hers as she was his. They were having fun, they were playing their games, no matter the number of people Ambrosia had to blackmail and threaten for information, which was, again, for her Hugh.

It was devastating. A good man, he was, but a rather merciless one. She admired him for it, but at the same time, she couldn't hold down the resentment bubbling up inside of her.

She'd make him regret abandoning her and when he's begging her for forgiveness, not the other way around, then she'd finally kiss his boo boos away.

Another flood of tears came running down her face. God. She felt like shit.

But as Ambrosia recalled the events of the night through a wave of tears, it wasn't so bad, not as bad as she thought it would be. No blood was shed, none painting her dye stained hands.

She'd found herself a new playmate and he was in on all of her secrets too. Everything was on the table, and it only meant one thing for her—catastrophy, a hurricane even stronger than before brewing up from the deepest depths of her mind.

Without Hugh, she needed to milk Terrance of his soul and breathe it back into his lungs.

She couldn't wait to see how long she could push until her little junior eventually pulled away. Until eventually Hugh would become her husband.

They'd have so much fun until then.

She hummed a familiar tune as she combed through her damp hair, her newest single dedicated entirely to the person she adored still fresh on her mind.

--

It was morning. The wind was cold, sharp.

Terrance arrived late that day, barely making it to class as he sluggishly dragged his feet across the floor.

The envelope on Terrance's hand barely weighed, light as a feather, and as lavish as you'd expect receiving a letter from someone in the academy, but it was burdening if anything. This one wasn't the usual flowery confession, but it reeked of expectations.

The prodigy felt the malice on it before he even opened it to reveal the contents inside, and the sheer intricacy showcased in the writing was extreme even for a student.

But then again, the academy's students were known to be quite extreme.

Not to mention, it smelled old despite looking newly made. Odd.

There was no identity attached to it either. Just a place, a date, and a time.

Place.

Date.

And time.

He was unnerved to say the least. It seemed legitimate, but legitimate for what exactly? Was this an invitation to an event? Perhaps one orchestrated by the school? Had he joined a competition without looking? But as he looked around his classroom, scanning everyone's desks which were, for the most part, empty, he realized that no school would be so secretive about their ongoings.

Perhaps a party? Or a student council thing? But then again he doubted that the student government had the courage to contact him after what had gone down between him and Hugh.

A threat? No. It had been too plain to be a threat. Too fancy. Too elaborate.

Invitatio was written on the top. Latin. It was easy enough to decipher considering the nature of English's mother language.

Invitation.

Terrance felt a headache start to develop. God. He didn't need that right now, especially not after his last interaction with his favorite senior. Her weight on his lap still haunted his mind, and the proximity... Lord, the proximity. Maybe he should've took his chance and clashed their lips together.

No. That'd be too risky of a move.

He felt skittish even after all the hours that passed by. Anticipation rushed through his body, fingers twitching, eyes blinking as he tried to fight off his sleep deprivation.

Eyes were on him. Nothing unusual. But a particular set burned holes in the back of his head. He turned, and found nothing.

He swore for the entire day he was being watched. It was a rather unsettling and spine-chilling sensation.

--

It was late into the afternoon, school hallways filled with mindless chatter coming from one student to another.

Felicity strode through the halls with an attitude, mind too occupied with important matters to be bothered by the commotion around her. Next to the secretary walked Terrance, sending her worried glances every now and then. But the workaholic blonde knew better, it was just playing pretend for the junior.

Terrance reeked of ingenuity, but at the very least, he'd proven to be more useful than most of the student council members who'd promised to lighten Felicity's load. If anything, she'd let him be her tool until he eventually got tired of whatever he was planning.

It wasn't that hard of a task, knowing how draining Felicity's everyday life was. A lot of people sure liked to take advantage of the fact that she was a scholar and needed approval to stay in the academy.

The prodigy, on the other hand, had no clue why he was still doing what he was doing. He'd already managed to get rid of Hugh without having to use Felicity as leverage, so why—

Right. Her walking pace managed to put him off, the unease within him growing as he tried to figure out how to tell her. He needed to make an excuse, but he could barely keep up with his own thoughts as they barged into another club room, probably to finalize the details of their school's club culmination day.

"Ah! Terrance! Nice seeing you here!" The bubbly voice of Lucy broke him out of his train of thought.

He looked around his surroundings. A stage. Velvet seats. The theater club.