Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The storybook appears on the worst day.

Raven doesn’t usually mind a surprise, given that it came from a well-meaning friend and not a malicious foe. But especially today, she feels too much on edge, like she’s walking on blades instead of the usual cold floor of her dormitory room. Today marks the first day of her worst year. Her last year. Legacy Year—the year where she and all her classmates will pledge to follow their destinies to maintain the stability of Ever After, blah blah blah. Raven has heard Headmaster Grimm’s lectures on the importance of Legacy Day umpteen times. It’s hexhausting at this point.

Raven only wants to leave her room and enjoy an empty Castleteria for the last time before the rest of the school arrives. But when she opens the door, she finds a package waiting for her.

It’s perfectly rectangular, wrapped meticulously, as if whoever wrapped it had a hundred years to do so. Raven kneels, scanning the wrapping: a paper in a violet so deep it’s almost black that blends into the shadows of the castle.

Raven looks up, staring down the hallway. The windows glow with a golden morning light; birds sing in the distance, and a faint wind rustles the leaves far below the dormitory towers. Still, this floor of dormitories is empty, so no one sees Raven as she drags the packet into her room.

She closes the door silently. When Raven turns back around, a tag peeks out from the packaging. She reaches for it, grabs it—

There’s nothing there but a ink drawing of a feather.

Raven flips the tag over and finds nothing. Her brow furrows. What is this? Why was it delivered to her? People usually can’t even stand to be in the same hallway as her; why on earth would they be bringing her a gift? Maybe a student is trying to earn her favor—

Raven winces. Are people really so afraid of her cursing them that they’d bribe her to leave them alone? She’s spent the last three years acting as civil as possible, but apparently time has only made Raven’s skin more sallow, her nails more sharp, and her reputation even more fearsome.

Curiosity eventually gets the better of Raven, and her nails slip under the wrapping paper. She unwraps its contents carefully.

It’s…a storybook. It’s thicker than storybooks usually are, with dust tucked in between the creases and resting gently on the cover. Raven blows it off, then coughs at the plume of dust that rises after. A watercolor portrait of a young blond girl in a blue dress adorns the cover just below the title: ALICE’S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. Beneath it are two letters in thick, black ink—L.C.

Raven frowns and sets down the book. She doesn’t know what the initials could mean. A publisher? Maybe a narrator?

This is Maddie’s fairytale. So the gift is meant for her. That makes sense…unlike the sentiment that someone thought of giving this to Raven.

Why, of all days, would it be delivered today? It is move-in day, but Maddie and Raven are two of the four students who live at Ever After High year-round—and besides, it’s not only move-in day for Raven.

What a curious coincidence. Fortunately, if anyone knows anything about the curious, it would be Raven’s best friend.

Maddie left an hour ago—she’s always been an early riser, unlike Raven, who usually hides under her blankets until the last possible moment. She’d babbled about her plans for the day at the speed of light—visiting her father at his tea shoppe, and going to the Wonderland grove. Raven had barely had time to remind her to pick up the flowers for her mother before Maddie had vanished, almost in a poof of smoke. Raven was confident that her friend wouldn’t fail, though. This was the fourth time Maddie was running this errand for her, and Maddie had never failed once.

Though it would be nice if Raven could go herself, if she could walk into a shop without being cast out with ward-evils and smashed tomatoes dripping down her black clothes.

Raven sets the book down in the center of the book. She floats her hands above it, palms turned toward the pages. She takes a breath.

The moment she saw the storybook, she thought it would be for her, well-knowing that there’s not a student at Ever After High who adores her that much. She opened the book—but when she brings it to Maddie, she won’t say as much. The storybook will appear wrapped as it arrived. All because Raven doesn’t want her closest friend to know how truly selfish she is.

How deceptive of Raven. How evil.

Violet flames spark in Raven’s palm and instantly consume her hands. Raven sucks in a breath, lurching upward. Her magic stings like a slap of boiling hot water, though it never burns or scars. The pain becomes worth it when the storybook and wrapping paper float into the air. Raven sighs in relief as the wrapping paper ties itself haphazardly around the book.

The book crashes to the ground.

Raven cringes—of course the moment she starts feeling good about anything again, her magic stops working. She waits a heartbeat before reaching to the book, wincing at her terrible wrapping job. One corner of the book is sticking out of the paper. A part of the cover isn’t even covered. There’s no way Maddie will believe it arrived in this state.

That being said, Maddie Hatter is many things. Skeptical is not one of those things.

Raven tucks the book under her arm. She sighs, smoothing her hair with her palms. After all, the soon-to-be Evil Queen has a reputation to uphold.

Wonderland Grove lies deep within the Enchanted Forest, past the village of Book End—which is practically a ghost town without any students in it. Raven walks through Book End with her head down, avoiding the stares of the few people who are here at this hour. It’s a stark contrast to school weekends, where the village bursts with life: students buying hocus lattes, shoe shopping, searching for the perfect dress for the Thronecoming masquerade.

Raven doesn’t usually go here. She hasn’t gone here since she was literally booed out of Hocus Pocus because, apparently, villains can’t enjoy coffee. Raven didn’t care about missing out on coffee, though. The teas from Maddie’s family’s shop are better. Raven just wishes that for one day, she could be herself and not the echo of her mother’s horrible legacy.

She wishes she could get away from it all like the Wonderland students could.

Those three have been her few companions over the summer. Usually, students returned to their home at the end of the year. Raven didn’t. Her father had died during her first year and she didn’t want to go back to an empty castle, no matter how much villains were expected to enjoy solitude. Still, at least she could choose to go home. The portals to Wonderland had been sealed long ago, to keep the curse from spreading to Ever After—the curse that her mother cast.

Raven cringes, faltering. She can complain about her legacy until her voice gives out, but what’s the point? The Storybook of Legends still waits for her, the signing ceremony only weeks from now. Soon enough, Raven’s destiny won’t be her destiny, but her future.

As an awful stabbing pain appears in her stomach, Raven reaches the hedge hiding the grove. She sighs. Since she isn’t from Wonderland, she can’t get into the grove by herself—which leaves her shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. She reaches up to knock on the hedge, then realizes that’s impossible and sets her fist down.

“…Maddie?” she calls. There’s no response.

“Maddie, it’s Raven,” she tries again. “Can we talk? I found something…”

Again, there’s no response. Raven sighs, reaching into her bag and running her fingers over the storybook’s cover. Maybe she should just go meet with Headmaster Grimm and see her mother, and try to enjoy the few minutes of civil conversation her mother is capable of holding…

Red light glows from the hedge, forming the shape of a heart. The hedge pulls back, and Raven blinks to meet Lizzie Hearts’ mismatched eyes: one brown, one red as the heart that surrounds it.

“Hello, Writing-Desk,” Lizzie says, nodding. “You’re looking for Maddie. You’ll find her in the tumtum trees.” With that, she steps aside, allowing ample space for Raven to pass by her.

“Thanks, Lizzie,” Raven says, stepping inside the grove. Lizzie nods, then hums as she turns back to a clump of white roses dripping with red paint.

There’s no shortage of other villain kids at Ever After High, but unlike Raven, they all generally embrace their villainous destinies, Lizzie included. Still, nothing happens to Lizzie at the end of her fairy tale…

“Raven!” A voice echoes through the tumtum trees, bouncing off the array of wild and colorful flora. “Is that you, roomie?”

Raven sighs and shakes her head. “Yeah, Maddie. It’s me.”

“You’re right on time!” Raven finally spots Maddie: she’s hanging upside-down from a tree, though her hat is still stuck firmly on her head. She has a teacup in one hand and a pot in the other, and is filling the teacup until it overflows. Maddie pauses, moving the spout of the teapot away from the cup. “Or maybe you’re late. I don’t know. Wonderland time is finicky.”

To anyone who simply looked at them, it would be surprising that Maddie and Raven were friends at all. They couldn’t be any more different. Where Raven is tall and looming, Maddie is short and stout. Where Raven has cold, pale skin, Maddie’s is a warm brown. And Raven’s short, dark hair that turns a deep violet in the light contrasts greatly with Maddie’s explosion of teal-and-violet curls.

A smiling mouth appears under the spout of tea, followed by cat-like eyes and two purple pigtails. The rest of Kitty Cheshire appears a moment later, and she lounges under the tea, drinking it with a mischievous expression.

Raven sighs, shaking her head.

“Hey, Maddie.” Maddie tilts her head, and Raven walks closer to her best friend while shifting her bag over and pulling out the storybook. “…This package showed up at the door to our dormitory—”

“Oh, the storybook!” Maddie swings around with an oop! and falls out of the tree. She does two somersaults in the air before landing perfectly on her feet before Raven, her hat and Earl Gray landing on top of her head a second after. With a giddy smile. Maddie reaches forward and snatches the storybook out of Raven’s hands. She rips the wrapping open. Lizzie drifts toward the two roommates, still holding a paintbrush dripping red, and even Kitty teleports over to watch Maddie with an unwavering grin.

Finally, Maddie lifts the book into the air, punctuating it with a small “ta-da!”

“Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland?” Lizzie frowns. “That’s our fairytale. What in Ever After are you doing with it?”

“She doesn’t know why she has it, you fool,” Kitty quips. “Weren’t you listening to the narrator?”

Lizzie scoffs. Kitty scowls at her, blowing her tongue.

Maddie snaps her fingers. “Hocus focus, you two!” She turns back to the storybook and opens the cover.

Raven is still staring at Kitty, however. She blinks. “…What do you mean, listening to the narrator?”

“Oh, the narrator!” Maddie giggles. “I like them. I think they don’t know how to write me sometimes!” She waggles her hand. “But they told us alllll about your little book. Including—” Maddie flips to the title page and points at the mystery initials—“That!”

Lizzie and Kitty lean over the book—Lizzie looking with quiet astonishment, and Kitty more with boredom than anything.

“L.C.” Lizzie puts a finger to her chin. “I wonder what that could mean.”

“Maybe it means Lizzie Cheshire,” Kitty says, leaning closer to Lizzie with one hand on her shoulder.

Lizzie’s eyes widen, and she slaps Kitty’s hand away. “My full name is Elizabeth!” she shrieks. “You know this, Kitty!”

She grabs for Kitty, who cackles, floating into the air and doing a somersault. As their squabble continues, Maddie hums as she runs a finger over the page.

“Do you know what that means?” Raven says, leaning over her.

“Hmm…” One of Maddie’s eyebrows creeps down, while the other creeps up, slightly past what should be possible on a human face. She pauses, tapping her finger on the page—then slams it so suddenly Raven jumps. “Nope!”

Raven sighs, a hand on her heart. “You really should warn me before you do something like that,” she exhales.

“Awww, but it ruins all the fun!” Maddie pouts.

Raven shakes her head. She holds out her hands, and Maddie hands the book back over.

“Well, I’m sorry, Raven,” Maddie says, putting her chin in her hands. She lifts her head for a moment to shout at the sky—“No, it’s the other way around! What?—No, Raven, the narrator just had a typo, whatever that means.” She giggles. Raven looks at the sky with a frown, trying to understand the rhyme to this recent bout of Maddie’s madness.

“Anyway!” Maddie trills. “I do wish I could help you. There has to be someone who can help you though. Try the library?”

Raven sighs. “The library doesn’t open till next week, Mads.”

“Oh! I can ask my father!” Maddie puts a finger to her chin. “I don’t know if he’d know, though…Well, it’s worth a try!” She offers an arm to Raven and bats her eyelashes. “Care to join?”

Raven waves her off. “I’d love to, but I can’t. I’m visiting my mother today.”

“Ohhhh,” Maddie says, eyes wide as saucers. “Right as ravens, Raven!”

“Send your mother my regards, Raven,” Lizzie says, before walking to the tree that that Kitty is now lounging in.

“I’ll try,” Raven calls with the most optimistic smile she can muster. Her mother has never been quite accepting of well wishes from anyone—from strangers, or even from her own daughter.

Speaking of her mother. “Maddie! Did you get the flowers?”

“Why, of course!” Maddie puffs out her chest with a giggle. “I would never fail you on something so wonderfully important, Raven! Here.” She plucks the tiny hat out of her teal-and-violet curls and turns it over, shaking it. “It’s just…in here somewhere…” She tucks her tongue out of the corner of her mouth, shaking it harder. A teapot falls out of the hat (which is surprising, because a massive teapot should not be able to fit into such a small hat), followed by a stack of teacups and a mouse sticking out of the topmost cups. Maddie immediately tuts her tongue, picking up the mouse and trying to hide him back in the hat. “Earl Grey! It’s not teatime yet, you little—”

“Off with his head!” Lizzie says, grabbing the teacup that Earl Grey was sitting in a moment ago and flinging it into a tumtum tree so hard it shatters. Maddie doesn’t even seem to notice.

“It’s, um—” Maddie shoves her hand in the hat, reaches up into her arm, and chuckles nervously as she feels around within it. “It’s right—Here!” She pulls her arm out, and Raven’s face lights up when she sees the black lilies clutched in her best friend’s hand. Maddie beams as she hands over the lilies, then shoves her hat over the stack of teacups.

“Thanks, Maddie,” Raven says. “I knew I could count on you.”

“Speaking of counting!” Maddie shakes her hat again, and a completely different set of teapots and cups tumbles out. “It’s teatime!”

“Oh, good,” Lizzie says. She kneels beside Maddie, who begins pouring her a cup of tea without hesitation.

A grin appears inches in front of Raven’s face, and she yelps, leaning back. Kitty Cheshire appears, grinning wider. “Care to join us, Writing-desk?”

“I can’t.” Raven shakes the flowers. “Headmaster Grimm is expecting me, and I can’t be late!”

“Well, poo.” Maddie sticks out her tongue. “Have a good time, Raven!”

“Goodbye!” Raven waves to her best friend and two of the few people in Ever After who even tolerate her. As she walks toward the edge of the grove, she slowly turns, taking this little piece of Wonderland as long as she can. In here, there are no rules, no headmasters—and no fears for an unhappy ending.

Headmaster Grimm already waits for Raven at the bottom of the storage tower. His arms are crossed; he taps his foot, staring at his pocketwatch as though he’s the White Rabbit. Raven releases her death grip on her bag as she draws closer. After all, she can’t afford to draw any suspicion now. And godmother knows, Grimm loves his suspicion.

Grimm sees her, and he snaps the pocketwatch closed. “Right on time, Miss Queen,” he says with a sour tone, as if he’s disappointed by her timeliness.

How reassuring.

“Hello, Headmaster,” Raven mutters, coming to stand beside him.

Grimm sighs and pulls a silver key out of his sleeve. “Let’s get this over with.”

He begins to climb the stairs. Raven follows him silently, clinging to the railing as the altitude becomes dizzying. The light dims as the few windows become more sparse, and the air thins. Raven rubs the goosebumps on her arms and exhales a plume of steam as they near the top.

A silver lock bars the door at the very top of the stairs. Grimm places the tip of the key inside, unlocking it cautiously. Dust rains on his shoulders as he eases the door open.

The room is eerily silent. Few items decorate the sparse room—a fairy lamp without its fairy, a crooked table with a vase atop it, and a mirror framed by an intricate silver pattern. Silver spikes weave in between shining apples, with a pointed crown lying atop it.

This was once the Evil Queen’s prized Magic Mirror—and now, it’s her prison. Though Raven could technically visit her mother from any mirror in Ever After, she doesn’t have the key. Grimm does, and this is the only mirror he lets Raven see her mother through.

Grimm exhales as he approaches the mirror. A violet ring on his finger emits a dim light, and he presses the ring to the glass. The mirror ripples as if it’s made of water.

He turns around, nodding at Raven. “I’ll collect you when your time is up.” Raven nods, biting her tongue and holding it down until he leaves.

She turns back to the mirror, glowing with a dim light. As Raven grows closer, it grows more potent—a violet gleam, piercing through the shadows.

A cold voice rings from the mirror. “What? Here to curse my name again, you bastard?” Her words are punctuated with a laugh, one that becomes more unhinged with every step that Raven takes toward the mirror. A figure appears, silhouette dark against the violet glow behind her.

Raven sighs and steps into the sliver of moonlight. “Hi, Mom.”

“…Raven?”

The violet light dims. Moonlight gleams on the mirror’s frame, but instead of being reflected, it goes through the glass and lights the face of the woman inside. The Evil Queen looks as pale and gaunt as ever. Dark circles rim her bloodshot eyes. The silver of her jewelry has long lost its luster, and her dress is ragged. Her red-and-black hair hangs in dirtied clumps across her shoulders.

The Evil Queen splays her fingers against her side of the glass. “Come closer, little bird.”

Raven obliges, though she still manages to keep a foot between herself and her mother’s prison. The Evil Queen’s eyes gleam, half with malice and half with admiration, as she studies her daughter’s face.

“My, Raven,” she murmurs. “What big teeth you have.”

“Careful, Mother.” Raven shakes her head. “Headmaster Grimm might think you’re trying to take another destiny.”

The Evil Queen chuckles darkly, as though Raven is a child who just told her something amusing. “And what will he do about it?”

“He’ll stop you,” Raven sighs. This is too tiring a conversation to have every time she visits her mother. “The same thing he did the last time you tried to step outside your fairytale.” She gestures to the mirror prison. “The whole reason you’re in here.”

Her mother’s smile rots away into a sneer. “Always making himself the hero of his story, isn’t he?” Her bony fingers twist into a fist, and she bangs it against the mirror. “Well, I’ll show him!” Her shout echoes through the room. Raven sighs, pulling the flowers out of her bag and waiting for the outburst to fade. It doesn’t last long. The Evil Queen bangs on the mirror a few more times for good measure, then sighs and sags against the glass barrier.

Raven shakes her head. She turns to the vase teetering on a table beside the mirror and drops the flowers inside. “Happy birthday, Mother.”

The Evil Queen groans, pressing her fingers to her temple. “Don’t remind me,” she says. “Just another year rotting away in this prison.”

And another year of me in mine, Raven thinks. She returns to her place in front of the mirror. “Today is moving day. It’s Legacy Year now.”

“Oh, how exciting!” The Evil Queen claps her hands in mock merriment. “My reign of terror will soon be reinstated.”

Raven rolls her eyes. “Mother.”

“Oh, right, right. Your reign of terror.” She reaches her hands to her face as if she were raising a phantom teacup to her lips. “You know, it would be far more terrifying if you would do your mother a favor and—”

“You’re not getting out.” Raven notices a mug of colorful potion beside her mother, long gone cold, and sighs. “You haven’t been drinking your tonics, have you?”

“Tastes like butterscotch and licorice leaves,” the Evil Queen grouses. “He’s trying to poison me.”

“If this is about Headmaster Grimm, he is not trying to poison you.” The Evil Queen grumbles under her breaths. “Look, we’ve talked about this. The tonics keep you from hurting yourself. If you’d just drink it—”

“I’d keel over and die!” The Evil Queen lays back, one hand splayed across her forehead. “Do you want your poor old mother to die, Raven? How absolutely…evil of you.”

Raven sighs. “Please. If you drink the tonic, I’ll…” She looks down, searching for something to convince her mother. Her eyes lie on the storybook.

Lie, whispers a voice in her head that sounds eerily like the Evil Queen’s. Warmth trickles from her palms into her fingertips.

“I brought another gift for you,” Raven says. The Evil Queen’s eyes light up, and she reaches for Raven. “Wait—wait! You can’t have it until you drink your tonic. Okay?”

The Evil Queen grumbles under her breath. She sighs, sitting on the ground. “You’ve grown to be a wicked thing, haven’t you?”

Raven cringes at the description. But her mother only smiles, the most sincere expression she’s had since Raven arrived. She lifts her tonic, the swirling liquid within turning red and purple, and drinks it slowly. Raven watches her cautiously, but she catches no foul play, and no tonic remains when her mother pulls the cup away from her lips.

Satisfied, Raven nods. Her mother tosses her cup to the side and leans in toward toward the other side of the mirror. Raven pauses a moment longer, than reaches into her bag and pulls out the storybook.

Her mother stares at it, not speaking or moving.

“…This appeared at the door to my dormitory this morning,” Raven says quietly. She kneels in front of her mother. “It’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Maddie’s tale. But…something’s different about it.” She opens up the cover, pausing at the title page with her fingers just below the initials.

“Do you know what L.C. is?” Raven whispers.

But her mother makes no indication that she even heard Raven. The Evil Queen has been transfixed by the cover. Her eyes are wide open, her mouth in a perfect O, as if she’s been frozen by a spell.

Then her face turns dark.

“Who gave this to you?” the Evil Queen says, voice quiet and menacing.

“I—I don’t know,” Raven stammers. “It was just left for me—”

“Is this a joke?” The Evil Queen’s voice rises, and Raven staggers back; there’s no way of knowing who her mother is shouting at when her temper rises. “Is this supposed to be funny? He’s dead! He’s dead, and he can stay the hell away!” She pounds on the mirror so hard it rattles. “I’ll kill him! If he so much as tries anything, I’ll—”

The door to the attic blasts open. “Miss Queen!” Headmaster Grimm shouts, voice ringing over her mother’s shouts. “Quickly now!”

Raven slips the storybook back into her bag. She casts a sad glance over her shoulder, at her mother howling and beating her fists against the glance, and wishes their yearly meetings could ever be any different. She flees to the corner of the room, and Grimm slams the door behind them. The Evil Queen’s cries fade away to nothing.

Grimm sighs, locking the attic door and placing the key in his pocket. “What was she upset about this time?”

Raven reaches into her backpack opens her mouth to tell him the truth. Then a voice whispers: gentle as a fairy godmother’s, sharp as a thorn’s, cold as her mother’s. Lie.

“The tonic again,” Raven murmurs, flexing her fingers when they flare hot again.

“Has she had any recently?” Grimm says.

“I had her drink her latest cup.”

Grimm glances at her, surprised. “I’m impressed, Miss Queen. How do you do it?”

Raven looks up at the ceiling. “Bribery,” she mutters.

“Of course,” Grimm murmurs. He clears his throat. “Raven, I mean to say…I’m sorry.”

Raven blinks. Of all the things he could have said, an apology was the last thing she expected. “What?”

“I know it’s hard, seeing your mother like that.” Grimm shakes his head. “Believe me, I try my best to keep her from hurting herself. But she’s stubborn—she always has been.”

It runs in the family, Raven thinks, but she bites her lip to keep herself from saying that aloud. “She deserves better,” she says instead.

“She nearly tore our world apart with her selfishness and her ambition,” Grimm replies, voice firm. “Do you want to see the harm she’s done? Look at Wonderland.”

“I—I know.” Raven cringes at another mention of Wonderland’s curse. “I mean the madness. I wish she was better.”

“Miss Queen, I am trying.” Grimm pinches his brow. “But madness, especially one as potent as your mother’s, cannot easily be cured.”

“I know.” Raven turns away from the headmaster, holding her hands near her heart. “I’m sorry. I just…I wish things were different.”

“This is the way things must be.” Grimm begins to walk down the stairs, leaving Raven to drift down the stairs after. “Everyone must sacrifice for the sake of our world. This is what the Evil Queen must sacrifice.”

Raven pauses on the stairs, an unspoken question on her lips. Grimm stops, too, and looks back. “What is it?”

“…My mother has been in the mirror prison since I was born,” she says, spinning a silver ring on her finger.

Grimm crosses his arms. “Yes?”

“I was just wondering…have you tried letting her out?” Grimm scowls, and Raven laces her fingers together, searching for the perfect thing to say to persuade him. “I don’t imagine total isolation would be good for anyone after seventeen years.”

“It’s not total isolation,” Grimm says darkly. “She’s allowed visits from her daughter.”

Brief visits, and only a few a year, Raven says. She bites her tongue to keep herself on track. “But she only gets to see me. Maybe if she were let out of the mirror prison for periods of time? With supervision, of course.” Raven swallows. Maybe then she’d be sane enough for a real conversation.

Grimm’s scowl only deepens. “You know how dangerous your mother is,” he says. “Her power makes her a threat to our very world. For the sake of our world, she must not be allowed outside of her mirror prison, or she could very well reclaim her power and her hold over our world.”

“And what if she doesn’t?” Raven snaps back before she can restrain herself. She sees no reason to hold herself back now.

Grimm stares at her for a long moment, long enough for a spark to crawl across Raven’s chest and to her heart.

“Unlike you, I am unwilling to take that chance,” Grimm says, staring down at Raven.

He turns around. Raven sighs, the heat fading from her body and leaving her shivering in the icy tower. She turns around, staring back up at the door to the attic, where her only family left sits.

Despite how much she wishes her mother were good, the Evil Queen is just that—evil. Unlike Raven, she actually lives up to her destiny.

“You’re probably right,” Raven mutters, head bowed so she stares at the steps beneath her as she follows Grimm down.

Grimm hums. When Raven looks up, Grimm’s scowl has taken on a satisfied edge.

“Good,” he says. “I know you’ll be better than your mother was.”

He turns around. Immediately, Raven raises a hand to her mouth, scrubbing at her lips as if that will dispel the bitter, inky taste his words left.

For all the time people have spent saying she’d be just as bad or worse than her mother, she’s never heard someone say she’d be better.

Raven can’t explain why, but it makes her feel sick.

Chapter Text

Apple’s destiny was written for her even before she was born, and she knows it by heart: line for line, word for word. Anything less would be nothing short of shameful for the next Snow White, and the next queen of Ever After. A true Snow White would never settle for anything less than perfection. Apple will not be the exception.

Just like her fairytale, Apple knows her mornings at the palace by heart.

She wakes up at exactly eight o’ clock (as her mother always reminds her, a princess needs her beauty sleep) to birdsong. Apple rises with a perfect smile and rises out of her bed, yawning and stretching daintily. She stands and walks to the window, and fumbles with the latch.

Curses! Apple thinks, biting slightly on her bottom lip to keep her smile intact. She releases her bite before she can leave a mark, putting her smile back on as if nothing happen.

The window slides open. Apple leans out, whistling to the birds. She lifts her hands like her mother has done a thousand times, and they settle on her skin, talons digging into her skin, sharp enough to pierce. Apple doesn’t let herself flinch, and she doesn’t miss a single note.

The birds finally leave when Apple’s song is finished. Apple spares a look at her arm to see a spot of red blood on her otherwise pristine skin. She sighs in disappointment.

She can only hope her outfit for today covers up that particular patch of skin.

The door opens, and Apple twirls around, smiling at her maids as they arrive. “Good morning, your highness!” the four chorus, as they have for the years that they’ve dressed her. Apple still can’t remember their names, but it’s no matter. There’s no need to address them by name; they’ll bow to Apple’s every beck and call regardless.

The maids lead her to the bathroom, take off her gown, and help her into a bath. The steaming water scalds Apple’s skin as the maids gently push her underwater with rough hands. She keeps smiling as the maids scrub her blond hair until it gleams and her skin until it’s pink. They pull her out of the water like a fish fresh for slaughter.

Curlers pick at her scalp; towels rub at her skin. The maids pull her into her underclothes and a corset that’s laced tight. Her mother has always been adamant about having a thin waist, so Apple’s body fat simply made its home in other places: her upper arms and shoulders, her breasts, her thighs. Her mother pulls a face every time her eyes wander to Apple’s body. Apple pretends not to notice.

She pretends not to notice how the girls at school all have thin bodies more befitting a ruler. Her two best friends couldn’t look any more different: Briar is tall and willowy, while Ashlynn is petite and stout, and yet they still have identically thin waists and flat chests—unlike Apple.

The future queen of Ever After should look a certain way.

The maids put her in a dress with puffed cream sleeves that leave her puncture on display and a red skirt shaped like the apple that’s destined to put her to sleep one day. It’s paired with shining red shoes with tall heels. “Your mother chose this for your first day of school,” one maid whispers, and Apple doesn’t let her nervousness show when she smiles back.

The next Snow White should look a certain way.

Her face should be white as snow, so she sits still as the maids put on a powder that once made her sneeze. Her lips should be red as blood, so Apple sits in her vanity and carefully applies a tint to her lips and cheeks. Her hair should be black as ebony, so Apple—

Apple can do nothing.

She stairs back at her pale gold hair in the mirror, and her smile slips.

Snow White’s daughter was born with blond hair. From birth she’d been a mistake. How could she have her perfect Happily Ever After if she couldn’t even be the perfect Snow White?

Some days Apple thinks she doesn’t even deserve her Happily Ever After. But if she isn’t the next Snow White and the next queen of Ever After, then what is she?

Her mother has never called it “Apple’s Happily Ever After.” It’s always been “our Happily Ever After.” And Apple doesn’t want her mother to lose her happy ending. She doesn’t want to disappoint her.

For the rest of Ever After, Apple will keep smiling, if that’s what it takes to play her part. And soon enough, she will have her Happily Ever After.

Apple hasn’t seen her father at all in her last summer before graduating.

She isn’t complaining; after all, a princess never complains. However, Apple does lament her father’s absence as joins her mother for breakfast . The king of Ever After is always busy. He has a whole realm to rule, her mother had once said, ruby nails digging into Apple’s shoulder. Why would he waste his time on a daughter he can see tomorrow? So Apple waited for tomorrow, and tomorrow and tomorrow again, until it became sure that tomorrow meant never again.

Apple wonders, for a fleeting moment, if she will see her future husband as much as she sees her father.

She shakes the feeling away. No, her future husband is her true love. He will be a good ruler like her father, but he will love Apple so fiercely that Apple can feel it wherever he is. Apple knows this just as well as she knows her fairytale.

Apple closes her eyes, and for a moment, she can taste happily ever after on her tongue. It tastes like apples and poison and sugar.

“Apple, dear!” her mother calls, voice trilling like it always does. Apple exhales and smooths the wrinkles from her skirt.

Her mother sits at the head of a long and intimidating table. There are infinite dishes stretching between her and the place set for Apple, and Apple doesn’t dare reach for any of them. Instead, she takes her seat, smiling pleasantly at her mother.

“Oh, good morning, my sweet,” her mother coos as the cook tries to hand her a platter of pastries. “You look well—that’s enough, cook—quite well for the first day of legacy year—That’s enough!” Snow White snaps, swatting at the cook. He turns a sheepish red and backs away.

Snow White turns to Apple, still scowling. The “benevolent queen” persona has dropped, replaced by the strict mother that Apple knows all too well.

“My dear,” Snow White says, voice as cold as the snow that gave her her name. “What happened to your arm?”

“Nothing,” Apple apologizes, hiding her nervousness deep within herself.

“If it were nothing, it wouldn’t be there.” Snow White rolls her eyes. “My dear, this is your last first day. Appearances are key. Do you think I have time to account for—for that?”

“I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” Snow White snaps. “Do better.”

Apple hangs her head, too tired to argue.

“For Grimm’s sake, don’t slouch.” Apple straightens up, and her mother sighs. “This is a vital year for us both, Apple. Don’t disappoint me…please.”

“I won’t,” Apple says, swallowing.

Snow White smiles, the benevolent queen returned. “Of course you won’t,” she says, and Apple isn’t sure which Snow is talking to her—the queen or the mother.

Snow White doesn’t have the time to ride to Ever After High with her daughter. Apple is neither disappointed nor relieved: she is understanding. After all, as Ever After’s queen, Snow White is busy—too busy to oversee something that she knows Apple will execute perfectly. As the servants prepare the carriage, Snow White and her daughter stand in front of the castle, within the walls that keep them hidden from the prying eyes of Ever After.

Still, Apple doubts any eyes are more prying than her mother’s.

“Your curls are different,” Snow White says. “Have you been using the newest curlers?”

“Yes, of course.” Apple bows her head.

“You should be more careful.” Snow White observes her nails. “Half of our kingdom will be lined up to see you on your ride. You need to—”

“Yes, Mother, I know,” Apple interrupts with a sigh.

Her mother’s enraged expression is enough to tell Apple that she’s stepped too far out of line. Snow White grabs Apple’s wrist, red and sharp nails digging into skin.

“Do not talk back to me,” she says, voice so low no one but Apple will ever hear it.

“Your Highness?”

The hand releases, and Snow White turns around with a perfect queenly smile. Apple studies it intently—despite how many times she’s seen it, she’s never been able to replicate it perfectly.

“Yes?” Snow White answers, smile as white as diamonds.

A servant bows low in front of the queen. “The princess’s carriage is ready.”

“Good.” Snow White nods. “Thank you, dear.”

The servant bows again before turning his gaze to Apple. Snow White’s eyes land on her daughter, and Apple doesn’t dare make her mother wait. She follows the servant, head high, always feeling her mother’s eyes on her.

When she climbs inside the carriage, she doesn’t rest. The carriage is comfortable enough, with cream walls, gold accents, and plush velvet chairs, but the window on the door is large enough that the citizens of Ever After can see inside. The castle gates open, and the roar of Apple’s subjects deafens her surroundings.

Apple looks at her mother. Snow White motions for Apple to smile bigger, demonstrating a growing smile. Apple mimics her mother. Her cheeks ache, but Snow White’s smile is plenty to numb the pain. Snow White waves, and Apple waves back until her mother is out of sight.

If she were alone, Apple would slouch and close her eyes. But a future queen is never alone; in mere seconds, hundreds of eyes will be on her. Apple turns to the window and waves, like a marionette in a performance, as the carriage enters the streets of her kingdom.

Apple nearly sighs in relief when streets bursting with houses stacked tall turn to trees and shops woven in between them. The village of Book End is such a stark contrast to the Snow Kingdom (aptly named, for Apple’s winter breaks are colder than anyone else’s) where Apple grew up. Everything in Book End seems looser, like a corset that lets Apple breathe. Apple wouldn’t say it feels like her home, because it isn’t—the Snow Kingdom is. Still, some days, Apple wishes this were her home.

The carriage stops, and Apple straightens up, already hearing the chatter of a crowd outside her window. She inhales, fluffing her golden curls and smoothing out her skirt.

The carriage door opens. Voices shout at her— “Princess Apple!” “Oh, she’s beautiful!” “Apple, I love you!”

Apple waves and blows kisses, waltzing through the crowd of admirers. Half the student body of Ever After High must be welcoming her now. She recognizes a few of the students—Lilly Bo Peep fawns over her as her lambs menace a few students; the three sons of the Three Little Pigs are all fighting for her attention; and Tiny the Giant even reaches down and offers to take her luggage to her dorm. Apple accepts with a smile befitting a princess.

All this time, she feels uncomfortable.

She lets her eyes wander from her paparazzi for a moment, and her eyes fall on two young girls gathered at a table at Hocus Latte. They seem young, most likely first years. They’re talking quietly together. They’re unbothered. They seem like best friends.

They must have no royal parents to impress. No legacies that they have to pledge to in a few short week.

Would Apple’s life be better if she were like them?

No, of course not. Apple’s story has already been written, and the ending is beautiful: a prince, a castle, and the throne of Ever After. It’s the perfect Happily Ever After. Apple just needs to get to it, and she has to make sure she doesn’t let a toe out of line—

“APPLE!”

Apple turns to see a pink blur barreling toward her and grins.

Briar Beauty attacks Apple in a hug a second after. She smells like roses, and the familiar scent calms Apple’s nerves and lets her breathe easy. After a long moment, Briar pulls back. There’s a gleam in her eyes that are the same color as the night sky; her deep brown curls are pulled back in a ponytail, and her newest dress circles her light brown skin in pink chiffon and black lace.

“You look even taller,” Apple says.

“New shoes, courtesy of Ashlynn.” Briar lifts her foot behind her so Apple can see her high heel—even taller than anything she’s worn before.

“Impressive.” Apple isn’t surprised Ashlynn found them—Ash has a love for shoes that no one else Apple met has ever been able to meet, and finding the perfect shoes for any occasion down to the smallest detail is one of her talents.

“She’s working at the Glass Slipper now,” Briar says, grabbing Apple’s hand.

Apple looks back at her. “She is? Why?”

“Because she likes it there?” Apple glances at her, and Briar shrugs. “You asked, hon.”

Apple swallows, resisting the urge to bite her cheek. Of course she’s glad that Ashlynn has a job that works so well with her personality. At the same time, she worries for Ashlynn’s reputation. Apple remembers talking about her and Briar’s plan to work together at Hocus Latte the first time she came home during her first year. When she’d mentioned it to Snow White, her mother had stared with her with such a piercing stare that Apple never spoke about it again. Ashlynn didn’t need the money; she was the daughter of a queen, for Grimm’s sake. Future queens had no need to work like a commoner.

“Apple” Briar grabs her by the shoulders. “You’re staring into the distance again. What’s wrong?”

Apple blinks, gently shrugging her friend’s hands off. “Nothing’s wrong,” she says. “I was just daydreaming.”

“About what?” Briar hums. “Trouble in paradise? I thought you and Daring were happy together.”

“Daring and I are not dating, Briar.” Apple shrugs. “Maybe he will be my Prince Charming. But right now, I’m focused on my studies and preparing for my future.”

“Good for you.” Briar stretches her arms out behind her and yawns. “I wish I had a…Prince Charming already…” Her eyes flutter closed. Apple yelps just as Briar’s body drops into her arms. She kneels, cradling Briar’s unconscious body as her friend begins to snore.

Even in sleep, Briar looks perfect. Eyeshadow lends a pink flush to her eyelids, and her lashes are full. Her future Prince Charming will be lucky, that’s for sure.

Apple can only look she’ll look this pretty when she’s asleep.

“Oh, no! A fair maiden in distress! Fear not, for I am here.”

Apple looks up, sighing in relief. She smiles as a sea of squealing girls parts to reveal one Daring Charming. The eldest of the three Charmings looks as impeccable as ever: a gleam to his brown skin, his blond hair slicked back, and shiny sunglasses over his eyes. He whips off the sunglasses, runs a hand through his hair and grins. His entourage of girls swoons.

“Hi, Daring,” Apple says, beaming at him.

“Princess Apple. Always a pleasure.” He winks, and his smile gleams so bright Apple has to close her eyes to it for a moment. His eyes travel down to Briar’s sleeping form. “I see Briar’s having another of her episodes?”

“Yes, she’s—Oh.” Daring lifts Briar into his arms, and her sleeping head follows onto her shoulder. “Thank you, Daring.”

“All in a day’s work.” Daring turns suddenly to wink again at the princesses following him, causing them to swoon. A few of them even drop like birds shot out of the sky. “Let’s get this one inside.”

He carries Briar toward Hocus Latte, and Apple falls behind him. A procession of girls trail behind Apple, but none have the guts to join her at her side. Apple isn’t sure why. Sure, Daring may be her future Prince Charming, but that doesn’t mean his destiny is set in stone until Legacy Day. He could be the Prince Charming to any of these girls.

A shoulder bumps into hers. “Oh—sorry!” squeaks Dexter Charming, Dexter’s younger brother. He adjusts his glasses and swallows nervously. He runs a hand through his dark hair, and unlike when Daring does it, it’s not exactly…well, charming.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s fine, Dexterous,” says Daring with his chin high. “Briar here just fainted again.”

“…Oh.” Dexter glances at Apple. “Sorry. Anything I can do?”

“It’s all right,” Apple says with a nod of her head. “Actually, if you could do me a big favor, Ashlynn should be at the Glass Slipper waiting for us—”

“Oh! Oh, yeah, of course.” Dexter mock salutes, then trips over his feet stumbling away from them.

Daring chuckles. “That brother of mine. Some days I think he’s Humpty Dumpty’s long-lost son.”

He carries Briar into the Hocus Latte and to a table next to a plush sofa, where he sets Briar down. He frowns. “How do we wake her again?” His lips pucker. “Kiss from a prince?”

“Of course not.” Apple gently shakes Briar’s shoulder. “This is normal sleep, not cursed sleep.”

“It’s not normal.” Daring frowns. “If it was, she wouldn’t be falling asleep in the middle of the day.”

“It’s a side effect of the curse.”

“You just said it wasn’t magical!”

Apple sighs, holding back from rolling her eyes. She shakes Briar again. “Come on, girl. It’s moving day. Don’t you have a party tonight?”

“Reminds me. I need to talk to Briar about that,” murmurs Daring.

Apple scoffs. “Why am I not surprised.”

“Well, excuse me, princess. Some of us have natural perfection that makes them a perfect queen—like you. Others, like us, are terribly good-looking.” Daring flips his hair. “I can’t not make use of these good looks.”

“All right, then.” Apple laughs under her breath, turning her attention back to Briar. She shakes the princess harder, wondering how on Earth she’s going to wake her.

“Is something wrong?” says a high voice by Apple’s ear.

Apple looks up. The smile that comes to her face is easier than any smile that she’s had today. “Hi, Darling.”

Darling Charming smiles. Her smile isn’t blinding like her older brother’s, and it’s not shy like her twin’s—it’s gentle, and it’s beautiful. Apple has never had a chance to say it aloud, but she thinks that Darling is the most beautiful princess at their school, and she’s always wished she could be just as beautiful as Darling always has been.

Darling plays with one of her blue-and-blond curls. “Oh…poor Briar.”

“It’s just an effect of her curse, dear sister,” Daring says. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Darling fumes. “I know that.”

“It’s okay, Darling.” Apple smiles at her, and Darling visibly relaxes. “You wouldn’t know how to wake her up, would you?”

“—asleep, again?”

The doors of Hocus Latte burst open. Ashlynn Ella walks in with a sheepish expression. Ashlynn’s brown skin is flushed red, and she removes the ribbon tying her ginger coils back and kneels at Briar’s side.

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Ashlynn says. She brings her fingers to her lips and whistles loudly into Briar’s ear. Briar yelps, starting awake.

Daring laughs, and Apple sighs in relief.

“Oh, great,” Briar says in a flat tone. “I fell asleep again.”

“Well, you’re up now,” Ashlynn says with a gentle smile.

“Ash!” Briar squeals, tackling her in a hug. Ashlynn laughs, not before wrapping her arm around Apple and squishing her in with them.

“Everything is perfect now,” Daring says, clapping his hands. The girls spring apart, and Apple double-checks her posture. “And my work is done.” He stands up, whistling.

“Hold on a spell!” Briar jolts up. “I’m throwing a page-turner of a party tonight to spellebrate the beginning of the year. And everyone’s welcome!” She raises her voice, turning to the whole class while pumping a fist in the air.

Everyone inside the shop cheers. Daring grins brightly, and Apple claps her hand in support. Only Darling doesn’t join in the cheer. She stands, smiling at the three princesses.

“I have to get ready for classes,” she says. Apple doesn’t miss how Darling’s gaze lingers on her the longest. “But have fun at the party.”

“Hey, wait—” Apple begins, but by the time she says it, Darling is already long gone.

“I should get going.” Daring pulls a mirror out of his pocket. “Places to go, people to grace with my presence.” He points at Apple and clicks his tongue. “Come on, Dexter!”

Dexter stands up, waving shyly. “Have a good day, you guys.”

“Thanks, Dexter.” Apple smiles at him. Even if he isn’t as charming as his brother, Dexter always has been quite kind.

His departure leaves the three princesses alone. Briar giggles, throwing her arm around her two best friends. “I missed you guys.”

“I did too!”

“So did I!”

“Sooooo how are we ringing in our last school year?” Briar tilts her head. “I’ve always wanted to try skydiving.”

“I’d rather do something way tamer,” Ashlynn says with a chuckle.

“We could always go to the Gingerbread Boutique,” Apple suggests.

Ashlynn smiles as the girls stand, and link arms. “Apple, your suggestions are always perfect.”

Apple smiles modestly and tosses her hair. “Well, I try.”

“You don’t just try,” Briar says with a light scoff. “You’re the next Snow White. You do perfection like it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

Apple’s heart thumps at her corset as the three walk out of the shop. She can’t help but glance at the table outside where the two first-years sat a moment ago. They’re gone, and the table is perfectly clear.

Ashlynn yelps as her shoulder collides with someone going into Hocus. Their hands land on their shoulders, and they spin Ashlynn out of their way as if they’re dancing together.

“Sorry!” Ashlynn says, just as the person she collided with says, “My bad! Are you al—”

They both pause. Ashlynn stares into the eyes of Hunter Huntsman, who looks just as surprised as she is. Hunter doesn’t look like he’s changed at all over the summer: same brown hair shaved at the sides, same tan skin, same muscular figure. He chuckles awkwardly, releasing Ashlynn quickly.

“Hi, Hunter,” Ashlynn says flatly.

“Hi,” Hunter says. He coughs.

The moment lasts far too long. Then Hunter squeaks, “Bye,” and pushes past the three princesses before anyone else can talk.

Apple stares after him, frowning gently as she tries to piece together his interaction with Ash. Then Briar cackles, breaking Apple out of her stupor. “What was that? I didn’t know you even knew Hunter, Ash!”

“I don’t,” Ashlynn says curtly.

Briar turns to her, one eyebrow raised. “Ashlynn—”

“Briar.” Ashlynn stares her straight in the eyes. “Please.”

Briar holds her tongue. Apple glances between them, confused, until Ashlynn sighs.

“Can we stop at the bakery on the way?” she says. “I could really use some scones about now.”

“Scones would be great,” Briar says with a grin.

Apple shakes her head. “You two enjoy your scones. I’m getting an apple turnover.”

“Typical Apple,” Briar laughs. She and Ashlynn continue to chatter about the upcoming party.

For a moment, Apple lets herself breathe. With her friends beside her, she can pretend she’s just an ordinary Ever After High student—not a girl with the destiny of a queen resting on her shoulders. But her peace can only last so long. Apple smiles as she joins her friends, but deep inside, she wonders if she’ll ever feel truly at peace before her Happily Ever After begins.

Chapter Text

Cedar Wood cannot tell a lie, but maybe if she could, she would be a better roommate.

Cedar can scarcely remember the time when she could lie, most likely because she was a young puppet back then. “You were just a babe,” her father would probably say, with a smile from his yellowing, crooked, human teeth. But Cedar was never a baby, not really. She was brought to life seventeen years ago with the flick of a wand, a gentle blue light, and a whisper: “Are you sure this is wise?” “She won’t make the same mistakes I did.”

A face floated in front of her: dark skin, blue hair, luminescent wings. The fairy’s voice whispered: “Hold still, dear.”

Blue light once more—

“So how do I look?”

Cedar blinks, her earliest memory gone in a flash. She’s back in her room, standing in front of an empty canvas, unused paint drying before her.

Cerise Hood sits on her bed, holding a mirror with a wooden frame in one hand. She has a wand of mascara in the other hand, and she brings it up to her right eye, covering the patch of white in her lashes. Cedar always thought the white patch made her look pretty, but no matter how many times she’s said that, Cerise never changed her routine.

Cerise finishes and blinks at her reflection in the mirror. She turns to Cedar, and one of her rare smiles reminds Cedar that she’s supposed to be rating the girl’s appearance.

A light layer of blush covers Cerise’s apple-round cheeks, heavily pigmented over a few small scratch marks that Cedar can only see if she looks closely. Her lipstick smudges above the crown of her lips and under her bottom lip. Her smile widens, and Cedar notes what sharp teeth she has.

“Cedar,” Cerise reminds her—but she’s not annoyed at all.

“Sorry.” Cedar blinks. A tingle at her lips tells her that her curse is working, that the truth is fighting to get out. She shuts her eyes and tries to resist. The tingle grows bigger and bigger; Cedar assumes it would hurt, if she were able to feel pain.

Cerise sighs knowingly. “Cedar, you can tell me.”

Cedar tries to keep her lips shut, but—

“Your lipstick is smudged!” she blurts, cringing as soon as it’s done. Cerise raises a hand to her face. “And your blush is uneven…” The tingle of compulsion leaves her, and Cerise sags, her joints creaking. “Grimm, Cedar, I’m s—”

“No sorries.” Cerise picks up a rag that’s sitting beside her and lifts it to her face. Her expression is infuriatingly devoid of emotion. “I wanted you to be honest, and you were. You always are.”

“But I’m tired of being honest.” Cedar flops down on the ground, a thin brown stem surrounded by pink and violet petals. “I want to be normal.”

Cerise is quiet for a long moment. Cedar would hold her breath—well, technically she is holding her breath, since she can’t breathe at all so she’s always never breathing. But Cedar can tell from the look in her roommate’s monolid eyes that she’s wanted the same thing.

“Well, there is no normal,” Cerise says, scrubbing away her blush and lipstick—but leaving the mascara, as she always has. “And what’s the deal with being normal, anyway? I like you better as yourself.”

She smiles and, after one final wipe, sets the cloth down. She reaches up, touching the velvet hood covering her ears and half of her head. Cedar doesn’t know what Cerise is hiding under the hood, and she doesn’t need to know.

Cedar is a talking puppet. Her roommate never removes her hood in front of Cedar. Both of these things Cedar has accepted as normal.

Maybe normal means different thing for different people. Maybe normal can be different!

…Or maybe Cedar is just desperate.

“Okay.” Cedar begins to wring her wrists. “Okay! Last Book-to-School dinner, ever. We can get through this. Yeah. Does my dress look okay?” She spins around, the frills of her skirt splaying out around her. She’d made it herself, and even hand-painted the corset, just for today and the chance to show it off. She could only hope that the other students liked it too.

“You look spelltacular,” Cerise sighs. She stands and takes Cedar’s hands in hers. Cedar wishes she could feel anything—Cerise’s soft skin, or the warmth of her touch., or the weight of her hand in Cedar’s. Cedar wishes she was real.

There’s only one way to become real, though.

“You’re worrying again,” Cerise says quietly.

Cedar looks up at her, blinking, the curse aflame in her head. “I…I am,” she confesses, cringing. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

“Come on.” Cerise smiles at her, but Cedar can tell from her expression her heart isn’t completely in it. “It’s just one dinner, and a boring speech from Headmaster Grimm—”

“I forgot about that,” Cedar mutters, rolling her eyes. She curls her fingers into her skirt and faces Cerise. “Shall we?”

Cerise smiles kindly. She holds out her arm, and Cedar takes it. “We shall.”

The Castleteria looks nice, at least for the first day back. Firelight from every candle and chandelier drowns Cedar’s surroundings in a golden glow. The light glitters off of the outfits of the students in the center of the room. The royals sit together, laughing and drinking merrily, spinning around in dresses and suits of the brightest colors and nicest fabrics. This is a celebration for them.

It seems lovely enough, until Cedar looks to the edges of the room, where the commoners and villains linger. Ginger Breadhouse stares at platters full of food with an expression of disgust. Hunter Huntsman whittles at a piece of wood with a somber expression, never once looking up. And Raven Queen slumps in a corner as far from the royals as one can get. Her iron crown is crooked in her short hair, and her violet eyes are narrow and fixed on the wall. Her looming figure is pale and thin; Cedar wonders if her friend has been eating enough during the past summer. Maybe she was up night after night like Cedar was, thinking about Destiny Year and what it means for her—for all of them.

“Raven!” Cedar calls, waving her hand over her head. One word earns her glares from the Royals scattered across the cafeteria. Cerise scoffs quietly and pulls her hood tightly over her head.

Raven makes room for the two as they approach, even though there’s a whole table for them to sit at. Cedar and Cerise sit across from her, and Cedar notes the empty plate in front of Raven. “Not hungry?”

Raven shrugs.

“Here.” Cerise places a piece of steak on Raven’s plate. Cedar does the same, loading Raven’s plate with broccoli since she can’t eat any of this herself. Cerise says that broccoli tastes bad. Cedar wonders how anything could ever taste bad.

Raven nods gratefully at the two and starts picking at her food. With that settled, Cerise takes her own piece of steak, going at it with her hands and teeth instead of using a fork and knife like Raven is. Cedar slumps over and puts her chin in her hand. She wishes she could say that meals are anything other than boring for a puppet who can’t even eat.

“Well, scrum-my-diddly-umptious! Cedar’s here!” Before Cedar can react, a pair of strong arms wrap around her and squeeze her tightly. Cedar yelps at how tightly Maddie holds her. “Maddie! Wait a—”

Maddie yelps and jumps back, a spot of red throbbing in her thumb.

“…Splinter,” Cedar finishes, shoulders sagging.

“Oh, don’t worry your pretty little pine, Cedar.” Maddie sticks her thumb into her mouth and grins. Her voice takes on the deep-fancy-official tone she uses sometimes, especially when speaking Riddlish. “If the red blinks its eye, the end is nearly never nigh!”

“What does that mean?” Cedar says, squinting at the Mad Hatter’s daughter. Maddie giggles, spinning in a circle and flopping down at her seat on the table.

“It means she’ll need to cut her thumb off,” says a smile without a face. Cedar jumps a foot into the air, and the mouth laughs as the rest of Kitty Cheshire appears beside her. The Cheshire Cat’s daughter twirls her finger around her pigtail and grins.

“Are you serious?” Cedar says to anyone who will listen. (Cerise is tearing into her steak at the moment, so not her.) “Is she serious?”

“She’s not serious,” says Lizzie Hearts, regal as ever in a red dress with a collar flared around her heart-shaped hairdo. Cedar closes her mouth, relieved. Then Lizzie turns around, shuffling a deck of cards in her hands. “She’s Kitty.”

Cedar’s jaw drops open. Cerise reaches over and snaps it into place.

“Maddie will be fine,” Raven assures Cedar, waving her fork in the air.

“Will she?” Kitty says, grinning as she hops up onto the table.

Cerise, finally free from the enticement of her steak, glares at Kitty as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Cerise then reaches across the table to grab a platter full of lobsters. She places one on her plate before offering the platter to Lizzie, who’s sitting on her other side. “Lobster, Lizzie?”

“Off with its tail!” the daughter of the Queen of Hearts shouts. She snatches the knife at her table setting, lifts it high up in the air, and brings it down on Cerise’s plate, severing the lobster’s tail. With a satisfied nod, Lizzie turns away.

Cerise wordlessly sets the platter of lobsters down. Cedar rubs her arm to show her support.

Kitty glares at someone behind Cedar. “We have company,” she grumbles, and disappears before Cedar can even blink. Cedar opens her mouth to ask what she means—

“How’s it going at the loser table!” sings a noxious, out-of-tune voice. Cedar doesn’t need to turn to know that it belongs to Sparrow Hood, son of Robin Hood. Unfortunately for Cerise, it seems that Sparrow earned none of his father’s ethics.

Unfortunately, wherever Sparrow goes, he never tends to be alone.

“For Grimm’s sake, Sparrow.” Duchess Swan storms to the table with her hands on her hips. As usual, she’s dressed like royalty in a shimmering tulle skirt and tight corset, her black-and-white hair swept up in a high updo. She taps one of her shimmering ballet slippers against the ground angrily. “I told you to let me handle the entrances! You have no concept of dramatics.”

“Dramatic is Sparrow’s middle name!” Sparrow croons.

Duchess rolls her eyes. She storms up to the table, and her eyes fall on the group—Lizzie (very) violently buttering a roll, Cerise tearing into the lobster with her teeth, and Maddie pouring tea into a tower of teacups. She grins smugly—then she sees Raven, and her smirk collapses.

Duchess closes her eyes and sniffs. She puts on a false smile and sits beside Cedar, earning a withering glare from Cerise.

“Hello, puppet,” she says, a sneer evident in her voice even though she’s trying to hide it. “Say, how’s dinner?”

Cedar’s tongue tingles with the urge to tell the truth. She turns away, thinking she’d be blushing if she could blush.

“Duchess, this is cruel even for you,” mutters Cerise.

“Shut up, Hood,” Duchess sniffs, not taking her eyes off of Cedar. “Well?” she says. “How is it?”

Cedar closes her eyes, wishing she could feel pain instead of a strong tingle and heavy shame. She can’t resist any longer. “I—”

“She can’t eat anything!” Sparrow says to Duchess, sticking his hands in the air like this is something to spellebrate. “‘Cause she’s a puppet!”

“Grimm, Sparrow, I know that!” Duchess snaps. She stands up, hands on her hips, and storms up to him. “This is why I hate when you insist on helping me! Because you ruin everything!”

Cedar cowers at the sharpness of her tone. Cerise’s eyes fall on her, and she reaches over, taking Cedar’s hand.

Raven notices this and stands up. A noticeable silence falls over the cafeteria.

“Do you need something, Duchess?” Raven says.

Duchess is obviously fazed by the Evil Queen’s daughter, but she holds her head high even as Sparrow cowers behind her.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Raven,” Duchess says, crossing her arms and trying to look tall.

“Yeah, well.” Raven swiftly moves into the princess’s space, and Duchess cowers. “You’re bothering my friends. And as long as you’re bothering my friends, it’s my business. So leave them alone, or we have a problem.”

Duchess’s mouth falls open, and a swan’s honk escapes from her lips. She gasps, clamping her hands over her mouth. But the damage is done.

As Duchess stares at Raven, completely mortified, Sparrow puts his hands on Duchess’s shoulders and steers her away. “Sparrow and Duchess, out!”

As they leave, Maddie sticks her hands up in the air and cheers. She’s the only one who seems enthusiastic. Most of the cafeteria is still eerily silent, staring at Raven. Shadows slice beneath the girl’s cheekbones and cloak her shoulders, the corner behind her an inky nightmare.

Then Raven sits, and she transforms from a wicked sorceress to an exhausted teenager.

The noise resumes.

“I forgot that Duchess turns tail whenever you stand up to her,” Maddie says, grinning at Raven. “How frabjous!”

“It’s not very frabjous to me,” Raven grumbles, picking at her food.

“Well, I’m really grateful that you saved me from Duchess,” Cedar says, tapping her fingers against the table. “That means a lot. I…” She hesitates, for once not compelled by her curse to be honest. “I never really had friends that stood up for me before.”

Raven looks up, violet eyes shimmering in the shadow of her corner. She inhales—

Brass horns sing, their tune icy. The music cuts through the Castleteria like a scream during a silent night. The doors to the second floor swing open, and six of the seven dwarves from Raven’s fairytale walk out, horns tilted to the sky. Raven turns her focus to the food in front of her, while Apple giggles, clapping the loudest for the dwarves.

The song finishes, and no one dares interrupt. Students and faculty alike turn toward the door high above, as if waiting for a god to worship.

Cedar thinks she feels a shiver, but that’s impossible.

The song ends. The students collectively hold their breath as the seventh dwarf walks to the center of the balcony and clears his throat.

“Presenting,” he squeaks, and Cerise muffles her snicker behind her hand. “The last living descendant of The Narrators, and the esteemed Headmaster of Ever After High—His Excellence, Milton Grimm!”

The doors flare open. Milton Grimm strides in, chin tilted up, a subtle arrogance in his stare one can only see if they’re looking for it—as Cedar is. While the rest of the Castleteria erupts in respectful applause and a few cheers from the princes, Cedar’s table is dead silent. Cedar looks away for a moment and finds that aside from Raven, whose eyes are locked on her plate, no one else has dared look away from their headmaster.

Grimm drinks in the reverent stares of the students and faculty. He smiles.

“Good evening,” he says. “And what a good evening it is to begin a new chapter in our school’s history.”

Raven picks at her food. Lizzie scoffs, sticking her knife handle-up in a baked potato. Cerise pauses from licking the butter off her fingers.

“Now and again I am reminded what an honor it is to be here at this school,” Grimm says. Raven scoffs. “Destiny has chosen us—all of us—to continue the sacred stories that keep our land alive. We are honored to receive this chance.”

He pauses, then reaches into his suit pocket. Green lights burst from within. Gasps ring out, and Apple White smiles widest of all as green light swirls into a mass, forming a book—not just any book, but the Storybook of Legends. Even Raven looks up, eyes wide, as the storybook floats through the air and lands in Milton’s hands.

“The Narrators—my ascendants—created this book so that its magic could keep our world alive, generation after generation,” he says. “The duty of every student before me is to sign this book and retell your tales so that you may have full lives—so that generations after you may have their own stories to tell.”

“Not really our own stories,” Raven mutters, twirling her fork. Cerise nods in agreement.

“Just a few years ago, your parents became the first to sign this book and commit themselves to their destinies, so that you—their children—would have the same chance.” Grimm looks down at the students. His proud smile widens when he meets the glimmering eyes of Apple White. “Now, the duty falls to you. This year’s graduating class is the biggest it has been in years.”

Suddenly, Grimm’s smile falters. He searches the crowd with narrow eyes. Cedar immediately knows who he’s looking for. Raven sets down her fork, squares her shoulders, and meets Milton’s gaze with a defiant stare of her own.

Horrified whispers echo through the Castleteria. Cedar’s hand begins to tremble, and she grips Cerise’s tightly to stop it.

“I cannot wait,” Grimm says through a tight smile, “to see all of you pledging to your destinies at Legacy Day in a few short weeks.”

With that, Grimm spins around, jacket flaring around him dramatically. As he stomps away, Raven slumps back into her seat. Cerise scoffs at the headmaster’s retreating figure. “Drama queen much?”

“He is hardly queen material,” Lizzie mutters, spinning her knife by the handle. “He has never danced the lobster quadrille.”

Raven scoffs and pushes her plate away. “I don’t understand why he feels the need to shove the destiny stuff down our throats every chance he gets.” She rolls her eyes. “I know I have to lose my morality and sanity and terrorize babies and poison apples before I probably end up locked up for the rest of my life like my mother.” She sighs, hanging her head.

Cedar blinks, staring down at the table. The others have gone silent; even Lizzie is slack-jawed, staring at Raven as if this is the first she’s hearing of Raven’s true destiny. It’s nowhere near their first exposure to Raven’s cynicism, but the shock of it still stings.

Cedar stares down at the table. “I don’t like my story, either,” she admits.

All heads swivel towards her. Maddie’s mouth hangs wide open; Kitty Cheshire raises one eyebrow. “But you have a happy ending,” she says, face devoid of its usual Cheshire-cat smile.

“I do,” Cedar mutters. “But there are so many things I have to do before. So much I have to put my father through. I mean, we’re gonna get stuck in a whale’s mouth…” She shudders. “All that so that I can be a real girl.”

“Well, the whole part of stories is that the Happily Ever After is worth the storyline,” Maddie says. “Isn’t it?”

The entire table stares at her—most likely because that’s the most insightful thing the Hatter’s daughter has ever said.

Maddie fumes and crosses her arms, glaring up at the ceiling. “Well, excuse me, Narrator,” she huffs. “I am plenty insightful, thank you very much.”

“Who are you talking to?” Cedar says.

“The Narrators, of course.” Maddie blinks like this is obvious.

“Well, it can’t be the narrators,” Cedar says. “They’re all gone. Headmaster Grimm is the closest thing we have to one.”

“Besides, we can’t trust a word Maddie says,” Kitty says with wide, cat-like eyes. She brings a hand to the side of her face and spins it in a circle in the characteristic cuckoo gesture. “She’s mad.”

“Oh, we’re all mad here!” Maddie fumes. Kitty smiles, never saying a word.

“I’m not,” Raven sighs, barely loud enough for anyone here. Cedar hears her all the same.

“Well, maybe she doesn’t mean mad in a sense of, well, madness.” Cedar gestures at Maddie, trying to make her point. “Maybe she means madness, mad-ness, not going mad, but being mad—mad as in—”

“Angry?” Cerise pipes up.

Cedar snaps her fingers. “Exactly! This is why you’re my best friend.”

Raven smiles through her exhaustion. “Hexcellent job, you two.”

Cerise meets Cedar’s eyes and smiles gently before turning back to her food.

“So yeah.” Raven shrugs her shoulders, looking at their minuscule group: three Wonderlanders and three weirdos. A perfect combination, if you ask Cedar. “Maybe we are all mad here.”

Maddie cheers. “A toast!” she says, flinging her arms wide. Cedar finds a full teacup resting beside her hand before she can even blink. She turns to Cerise to question it, but Cerise is only smiling softly, holding her teacup as if nothing strange had happened in the slightest. Cedar decides to accept it, and when the rest of the table begins to cheer and toast, she joins in, and they all shout so loud that the Royals stare. Not one of them pay any mind.

Apple’s eyes are fixed on Raven, and no matter what she does, she can’t break the spell the Evil Queen’s daughter has cast over her.

The boning of her corset digs into her skin, sharp enough to leave bruises and blood. Her grip on her golden goblet of water is so tight that a minuscule flake has chipped off of her red nails. Apple is trembling, and she doesn’t know how to stop.

All she can remember is Raven from a few minutes ago, cloaked in shadow, violet eyes narrowed as she stares at Milton Grimm with a wicked defiance. All she can see is Raven now, lips twitched in what she can barely call a smile, toasting with her table of misfits as if she’s done something great by resisting their headmaster.

Water sloshes over the edge of Apple’s goblet, a drop rolling down her hand. Apple slams the goblet down. She didn’t even realize her hand was shaking so badly.

Warm, calloused hands wrap into hers. Apple turns to Ashlynn, who’s sitting next to her. The rest of the table is full of chatter: Briar loudly advertising the party she’s throwing tonight; Hopper, watching her with bright pink cheeks; Daring, grinning at anyone who will listen. It’s like no one cares. Not the royals, or the commoners—

“Apple!” Ashlynn’s hands rest on her shoulders. Apple is anchored back to the present: the liquid dripping down her hand, the discomfort seizing her.

She turns to Ashlynn and takes a quick breath. Then she smiles, the way she has again and again, until her cheeks hurt from holding it, until she begins to feel sick. A princess never fails to smile—she must be the pillar of joy, even as her kingdom falls to pieces around her. That, at least, is what Apple’s mother has always said.

“I’m fine,” Apple lies with a gentle nod.

Ashlynn bites her already cracked lip. Apple’s brows furrow. How long has she been doing that? It’s a terrible habit, especially for a princess like herself. Apple is about to recommend her favorite lip gloss when a shadow falls upon them, silent and barely noticeable. Ashlynn looks up, turning pale.

“Miss White.”

Apple turns slowly, heart pounding in her ribs. Headmaster Grimm is standing behind her, and while his expression is kind, Apple begins to feel faint. Has he somehow been watching her closely, knowing exactly what goes through her head when she barely understands it herself?

Grimm smiles as if he can hear her thoughts. “I’d like to borrow you for a moment, if that’s alright.”

“Oh.” Apple blinks. “Of course, Headmaster.”

She glances back at Raven. Her table is buzzing quietly—not publicly celebrating like they were a moment ago, but Raven still wears a gentle smile.

The bitter taste in the back of Apple’s throat is starting to taste familiar.

She stands with a gentle smile, nodding at the royals at her table as she takes her leave. Grimm crosses the cafeteria, shoulders squared against all the eyes that fall on him as he passes. Those same eyes flick to Apple a moment later. Apple tries her best to mimic Grimm’s confident stance.

He makes it look so easy. So does her mother. What must it be like to be like them? To be perfect in every step they take and every word they say? Apple would do anything to be that way.

Headmaster Grimm opens the door into the hallway. He nods at Apple as she passes. Apple’s legs feel weak, and she can feel her balance swaying as she crosses over the threshold. The clack of her heels is the only sound.

Grimm closes the door, muffling the voices from the Castleteria. The silence is as stifling as a hand around Apple’s throat.

The headmaster’s smile fades. He leans against the nearby wall, using one hand to support himself.

Apple steps forward. “Headmaster, is something—”

“No!” Grimm holds out a hand to stop her. He presses that same hand to his temple. “I’m…all right, Miss White. I just worry.”

Apple pales. “About what?”

Grimm sighs. “About Miss Queen.”

That unfamiliar, bitter taste fills Apple’s mind, like the poison from the apple she’s destined to bite. She has to stop this.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Miss Queen and I had a…conversation recently.” Grimm flexes his fingers, but he won’t look up. “She has always resisted my authority, but with Legacy Day coming soon…” He shivers. “I fear she might resort to drastic measures.”

“Like her mother?”

Grimm’s stare darkens. “Exactly like her mother.”

A shiver crawls up Apple’s spine as she thinks of Wonderland—the images her mother had shown her, a whirlwind of green clouds. Portals sealed. Wonderland citizens unable to return home.

The thought of Raven doing anything like what her mother has done makes the poisonous taste in Apple’s mouth grow.

“How can I help?” she says with force that surprises even her.

Headmaster Grimm blinks before turning toward her.

“Miss Queen does not seem to understand what she risks by resisting me and the way of our world,” he mutters. “I will do my part to make sure she understands. But—you are her peer. She trusts you far more than she would ever trust me.”

Apple nods, though she doesn’t know for certain if Raven trusts her. They’re not friends, honestly. Acquaintances, maybe—their shared destiny made it impossible for them to ignore one another. And Raven is a sweet girl—she wouldn’t consider Apple an enemy.

That icky feeling crawls across Apple’s skin.

Raven is supposed to see her as an enemy.

“I’m going to talk to her,” Apple declares. Grimm stares at her, eyes shimmering with curiosity. “Maybe she just needs to hear it from someone else to understand.”

Grimm nods. “I think this is the best course of action,” he says. “After all, your destinies are entwined. If Raven alters her destiny, the minimum consequence is that yours will be affected as well.”

Apple’s stomach twists. What would her life be like if her destiny was changed? Would her Happily Ever After be the same? Would she get her enchanted sleep? Her True Love’s Kiss? Her prince? Her whole life, all this was promised to her: after all the struggle, she’d achieve perfection—she’d achieve the happy ending she always craved. Apple can’t lose that—not now, or ever.

“I have an idea,” she says.

Grimm looks at her. One of his thick eyebrows rises. “Well? I’m listening.”

Deep breath. You can do this, Apple. You can do everything. Apple smiles, and pulls her smile wider until her cheeks hurt.

“Why don’t you move Raven’s dorm so she and I are roommates?” she says. Grimm’s lips quirk up in a smile. “It would be suspicious if I just approached her. But if I tell her I want to get her to know her better—seeing as we’re from the same fairytale and all—she can’t say no.”

Apple claps her hands, excited by her idea. However, her excitement dies down when she sees Grimm’s reluctant expression.

“It’s a nice sentiment,” he murmurs. “But Miss Queen is far too smart for that.”

Maybe Raven is smart. But Apple is kind and devoted and perfect, and she never loses. Especially not in games as important as this one.

“Then I’ll gain her trust first,” she declares. “Maybe once Raven sees me as a friend, I can convince her that listening to you is how we keep our wold intact.”

Grimm nods. “You are quite persuasive,” he says. Apple’s heart skips a beat, and she stands up straighter, beaming with the compliment. “I’m sure I can count on you.”

Apple grits her teeth so that she won’t drop her smile. “I won’t let you down, Headmaster.”

He hums. “I’m sure you won’t.”

With that, Grimm opens the door. Apple bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to bleed just so she can have something to focus on other than the pain of her smile. Beneath her corset, she trembles once more; she balls her hands into fists to keep whatever is inside her from breaking out of her skin. Because a princess isn’t supposed to feel. A princess always smiles. She is always kind.

Apple steps back into the Castleteria, her footsteps quiet like a panther on the prowl. She looks at Raven, and finally she has a name for that thing writhing beneath her corset.

Rage.

Chapter Text

As the Welcoming dinner draws to a close, the Castleteria buzzes with a nervous energy, like the split second before lightning strikes. Raven looks around the room and finds the students just as restless as she is. Melody Piper drums her fingers in an erratic pattern on the table. Kitty Cheshire yawns, laying on her belly with her head resting on her folded arms. Even Darling Charming has her hands behind her back, so none of the royals at her table can see her fingers twitch.

Raven is uneasy too as she polishes off her chocolate croissant. At the end of the Welcoming dinner every year, schedules appear in every student’s dorm room. Raven is especially nervous because of all the time she spent in Madame Baba Yaga’s house/office arguing for a Muse-ic elective this summer. It’s her last year at this damn school. Shouldn’t she be able to get one class she actually enjoys?

Finally, Headmaster Grimm steps up to the podium once again. Once again, a raucous applause accompanies him, mostly from the table of royals in the center of the Castleteria.

Raven squints at the royals’ table, but no matter where she looks, she can’t spot Apple. Did Snow White’s perfect daughter leave early? Raven really is impressed. She didn’t expect Apple to have it in her.

Grimm clears his throat. He waves his hand at the Castleteria doors, and they creak open. “Students are dismissed. Please—”

“CHARGE!” Sparrow Hood bellows, and students stampede for the doors, animals released on their hunt. The students scream in delight, the Three Pigs’ voices the loudest among them. Grimm raises his voice, trying to keep some semblance of control: “Please—PROCEED CALMLY TO YOUR ROOMS!”

“Raven, come on!” Before Raven can react to Maddie, the Hatter’s daughter grabs her arm and tears her out of her seat with enough force to rip out her arm. She pulls Raven out of the Castleteria faster than Raven even thought possible—but then again, when did possible ever stop Maddie?

They race up the stairs to their dorm, fighting other girls, nearly flattening poor Millie Muffet against a wall (“Sorry!” Raven calls over her shoulder as Maddie laughs and runs ever forward). Raven knows the way to their room as she always has, and she knows the plaque on their door with their names engraved—

But it doesn’t.

Maddie skids to a stop. “Narrator, what?!” she protests. But Raven isn’t listening. She’s staring at the plaque on their—well, formerly their room. Light gleams off its fresh engravings.

RAVEN QUEEN

&

APPLE WHITE

Raven opens her mouth and closes it again.

“Wow!” Maddie says, jaw dropped as far as it can go. “What a plot twist!”

“No.” Raven shakes her head. “No, we’re roommates. I’m not rooming with Apple.” Could she imagine? Apple would probably spend every moment of their day talking about how it’s so noble that Raven is going to spend the rest of her life trapped behind a mirror while Apple prances around with a husband and a throne and the adoration of all of Ever After.

She swallows. “Maddie, stay here. I’ll talk to Apple and get this cleared up.”

“Actually?” Maddie bounces on the heels of her feet. “I’m very curious. I want to see who my new roommate would be. And who knows?” She throws her hands up in the air. “Maybe this is better! Maybe you can convince Apple that having your whole future already planned for you is a whole load of bandersnatch.”

Raven grins, rolling her eyes. “As if.”

“Oh, I have faith in you, Raven!” Maddie spins to the sky now, hands on her hips. “Oh, Narrator! Let me know if Raven and I get our rooms back, or if our destinies turn out different!”

…The Narrator did not respond.

Maddie frowns, sticking out her tongue. “You just did!”

“…Ohkayy.” Raven doesn’t question Maddie talking to the narrator again. Instead, she waves as Maddie giggles and burbles away. Wow. Raven has never seen anyone burble before. Is that what it’s supposed to look like?

With that, nothing stands between Raven and her dorm. Her and Apple’s dorm, now.

That’s okay. It’s not like anything is going to change after this, right?

Raven takes a deep breath. She rolls her shoulders back, and before she loses her nerve, steps inside.

Instantly, she has to squint against the light blaring in from the wide-open window. A figure stands before the window, though Raven can’t make out anything but the shape at the moment.

“Welcome home, roomie!”

Raven squints, and Apple White comes into focus: pearly-white teeth bared in an unbelievably big grin; golden crown perfectly nested in her blond ringlets; hands clasped over her heart.

Raven cringes. “Apple, I’m rooming with Maddie.”

For a moment, Apple’s face falls. Raven blinks, wondering if she’s ever seen Apple sad before, but by then her face is back to its usual perfect happiness. Apple giggles—the perfect, princessy giggle. Already, Raven knows this is going to be a long year.

“I asked Headmaster Grimm to switch our arrangements so we could be together,” Apple says brightly. Raven sighs. “Oh, don’t look like that. It was my idea. After all, our Snow White is our fairytale, right? And after all this time, we’ve barely gotten to know each other.” Apple sweeps closer to her. “This was our last chance to meet each other. And I…” This time, her smile actually does fade.

“I worry about you,” she murmurs. Raven is surprised by the sincerity of her tone. “You looked so angry at Grimm’s speech at the dinner. It’s not like any of it was new information—I mean, we’ve known about destiny since we were children.” Raven scoffs, and Apple purses her lips.

“I want to understand your side of the story.” She looks up at Raven, smiling again with her eyes sparkling with hope. “So that I can help you see what’s right!”

Raven’s face falls into a scowl. Apple’s face falls, and she shirks away from Raven, looking like a frightened mouse.

Raven notices the princess’s response, and her eyes widen. She holds her hands up. “Wait—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you!”

Apple giggles again, though she still looks shaken. “Daughter of the Evil Queen, hello? You’re supposed to be scary. It’s in your nature.”

Raven’s fingers curl into a fist, magic buzzing warmly within her palm. At dinner, a hushed silence had choked the room when she met Headmaster Grimm’s eyes with all the defiance she could muster. Before then, she’d walked the halls, not meeting a single student’s eyes as they all fled for cover. She knows her nature. She knows her destiny.

Raven’s veins glow violet, and she closes her hands, crushing the dark magic.

“I’m sick of it,” she says.

She whirls to her side of the room and freezes. While Apple’s side of the room is all light colors, white and cream and gold, dark wallpaper envelops Raven’s side—though she won’t complain about that. The decoration shocks her: a soft armchair replaced by a throne covered in iron spikes; her wall of bard posters covered by a massive mirror with a cold silver frame; a bust bears an iron crown and matching collar at the window seat where Raven spent her sleepless nights watching the Sun rise.

“I did a little redecorating,” Apple says. “Do you like it?”

Raven bites her lip.

“It’s a sweet gesture,” she says honestly. “Thank you, Apple.”

Apple sighs, as if disappointed by Raven’s manners. Knowing Apple, she probably would be. Her cheeks flush as red as the apple she was named after, but she doesn’t say a word. Raven drifts to her side of the room, and Apple to hers.

Raven curls up in her bed, which surprisingly has remained unchanged. She hugs her knees to her chest and lays her head on her pillow—then jolts up. She reaches under, pulling out the Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland book she’d shoved underneath it that afternoon.

Apple leans closer from her spot perched on her fluffy white sheets. “What do you mean,” she says, voice wavering, “you’re sick of it?”

Raven crosses her arms. “I mean, this destiny stuff is being shoved down our throats all the time,” she says. “We go to classes teaching us how best to act out a fairytale that’s already been written. Our classmates treat us based on our destinies and not on who we are. For Grimm’s sake, everyone acts like I’m already the Evil Queen.” She waves a hand at Apple. “I mean, aren’t you tired of being the perfect princess and the future queen of Ever After all the time?”

Apple’s smile slips. Raven blinks.—she hadn’t really expected Apple to be affected by her words at all. But then again, Apple didn’t really know Raven, and Raven didn’t really know Apple.

“Well.” This time, Apple’s giggle is tinted with melancholy. “It is what I am, isn’t it? I can’t change that.”

“Of course you can,” Raven says—

“But I don’t want to,” Apple says forcefully. She hugs a fluffy pillow to her chest, practically suffocating it.

Raven sighs. She was stupid to think she could ever make Apple change her mind.

She’s too tired to argue with her new roommate anymore, so she sits back, cracking open the book before her. After a few silent minutes, Raven looks up to see Apple staring at the book as she places curlers in her golden hair.

Apple nods at the book. “What’s that?”

“Oh—nothing.” Raven slams the book shut and swallows. “I found it. I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Is it Maddie’s?”

“Surprisingly, no.” Raven chews on her bottom lip, wondering if telling Apple this much about it is smart.

“Well, then you should bring it to the Lost and Crowned,” Apple says, sighing as she pins a curler in place. “Or you can take it back to the Lifairy—”

“Oh, shit!” Raven spins to the door. She jumps to her feet and races across the room, grabbing the two schedules lying on the floor. “My schedule! I—”

Her eyes fall on the class scheduled for her sixth period, and she pauses. Her hands shake.

Sixth Period—Teacher’s Aide to The Big Bad Wolf

Raven groans and crumples the schedule in her hands, not bothering to look at the rest of her classes.

“What’s wrong?” Apple says, brows drawn together in concern.

“I wanted to take Muse-ic this year,” Raven mutters, shaking her head.

Apple laughs incredulously. “But Muse-ic is for princesses like me,” she says with a gentle smile, as if she were talking to a child. “Our fairytales don’t work if we can’t sing.”

Raven chews on her bottom lip, glancing away from her roommate. “Melody has a whole period of special class with Professor Pied Piper.”

“Her evil magic comes from music.” Apple smiles apologetically at Raven. “Really, I know you’re disappointed—”

Raven scoffs, and Apple’s smile falters.

“…But this is what’s best to help you finish your fairytale,” Apple finishes. Her excitement dims as she finishes her sentence. It’s out of character for her. Raven looks over her shoulder to see Apple turning away, folding herself into a ball.

She looks so young in that moment. Sometimes Raven forgets that Apple, like her, is only seventeen. That under the layers of red velvet and glimmering gold crown, she’s just a child. They both are.

What a burden they’ve both had to carry. Raven wants nothing but to take that burden from her friend—but would Apple even let that burden be removed?

Raven doesn’t let herself contemplate it any longer. Instead, she lies on her side, opens her book, and tries to ignore the storm—of guilt, of hopelessness, of anger—brewing within her stomach.

Chapter Text

Raven puts her head down at the end of a disastrous Moving Day intending to sleep in as late as possible. Hopefully she can sleep in until breakfast at the earliest. Maybe she can sleep all the way through Professor Badwolf’s class. She pulls on her headphones—her favorite way to silence the voices in her head when they get too loud—and falls asleep tapping her fingers to the beat.

She wakes up to bright sunlight streaming into her face and a high-pitched voice singing some song about…birds?

Raven pries open one eye, squinting against the light to make out a silhouette in front of her black curtains. Apple’s side of the room is bright, but at least Raven’s side is mostly dark—

Apple hums and snatches open the curtains, drowning Raven’s side in light.

Raven groans, burying her face in her blankets.

“Good morning, roomie!” Apple chimes as she stands in front of the window, her shadow bringing sweet relief from the morning light. “Rise and shine! Classes begin today!”

“I know.” Raven turns (more like flops) over. “But it can’t be time yet. What time is it?”

Apple beams, cheeks flushing the same red as her namesake. “A half hour until breakfast.”

“What?!” Raven sits up, eyes bulging wide. “That’s so early! Apple—”

Apple’s expression sours. “Don’t tell me you wanted to get out of the second most important day of the year!”

Raven rubs her eyes. “Indulge me. What’s the first?”

The princess giggles. “Why, Legacy Day, of course!”

Raven groans. Apple’s expression immediately turns more dour—which Raven doubted was possible, but she was proven wrong.

“Don’t act like that,” Apple chides with a smile. “Listen, rehearsal for the Legacy Day signing is after school—”

Yet another reason to stay in bed. “Don’t remind me.”

“But it’s necessary for a reason. These are our futures—your future at stake.”

“My future can wait.” Raven frowns. “Why is Legacy Day so early in the year, anyway?”

“So that we have the full year to prepare after signing.” Apple blinks. “Don’t you listen to Headmaster Grimm’s year opening speech?”

Knowing Apple, she probably has every word memorized. “Maybe.” Apple wrinkles her nose, probably at Raven’s careless tone. Raven doesn’t care enough to change it.

Apple takes a breath. “I know you’re scared. Overwhelmed, too.” Raven fixes her with a blank gaze, and a shadow of fear passes Apple’s face before the princess swallows, blue eyes returning to their usual gem-like glimmer. “I know the feeling.”

Raven frowns. Apple White, the perfect princess, overwhelmed? It’s nothing like her…

Or maybe Apple is just pretending. Maybe beneath the exterior is someone just like Raven—too terrified to fulfill her destiny. Maybe if Raven helps Apple break out of their shell, they can change this fucked-up world hand in hand—

“But once we sign the Storybook of Legends, everything will be perfect.” Apple clasps her hands, batting her lashes like she’s practicing for some prince. “I get my happy ending, and you…” Her smile falters, but Apple keeps grinning like the corners of her mouth are glued in place. “You don’t have to worry anymore.”

Raven scoffs and puffs a loose bit of hair out of her face. “How reassuring.”

Apple beams. “I’m glad to hear, Raven.”

Raven raises an eyebrow. “You know that was sarcasm, right?”

Apple’s smile fades. “…Oh.”

Raven sighs. She stands, running her fingers through her hair. The gleam of sunlight against glass catches her eye. She turns to the massive mirror Apple set up for her, imagining throwing out the mirror, lying to say that Professor Mama Bear wouldn’t allow it. Apple would probably love to know that Raven lied to her—

Raven’s eyes fall on her reflection. Pale skin, gaunt face, hair tangled into something resembling a garish updo. And then there’s Apple—flushed skin and perfect curves and not a strand of golden hair out of place. How a princess like her could ever have any doubts, Raven doesn’t know.

Raven sighs and stands up, yawning. “Are you done with the bathroom? I’ll take a shower since I’m up.”

“Yeah, but…” As Raven walks toward her dresser, Apple pads after her, footsteps light on the ground. “Do you want to talk more? Whatever doubts you might have about signing, I can clear—”

“Apple.”

The princess stops. Raven turns around to stare at her as Apple rubs the toe of her heels into the carpet.

Raven sighs.

“We should get ready,” she murmurs. “Another time?”

Apple nods as if Raven promised her a happy ending tied up in a bow. Maybe Raven did, because she didn’t shut Apple down completely.

Still, Raven doesn’t know how to talk about this. Doesn’t know how to bring Apple to her side, how to bring words to the discomfort that has simmered under her skin for so long—a discomfort that Raven knows Apple will never feel.

Raven stares back at her roommate for another moment before turning around. As Raven digs around in her closet for a good first-day outfit, Apple begins to sing again.

A bell snatches Raven out of a nightmare of feathers and iron crowns and violet light pouring from her hands, polluting the sky. As the bell tolls like a warning, Raven raises her head, waiting for the classroom to stop spinning.

As she does, students file out of the room. Lizzie Hearts walks out with her head high, the crown on her head nearly scraping the doorframe. Ginger Breadhouse is adjusting her pink hijab as she passes Raven; her eyes fall on the other girl and she yelps, scuttering away. Faybelle Thorn flies up on wings sharp as blades and glares at Raven before flying out.

With every other student gone, Raven is left alone with Professor Badwolf.

Raven risks a glance up. He’s scowling straight at her. Raven grimaces, peering into her bag to make sure that the storybook is still there. She stands and slings the bag over her shoulder—

“Raven.”

She tenses, turning slowly on her heel. “Yes, Professor.”

Professor Badwolf inspects her face with wolfish eyes, as if he’s trying to figure out the best way to eat her. Raven trembles—and then the professor’s gaze softens, only slightly.

“I’d expect you to take this more seriously,” he sighs. “You are set to inherit the destiny of the greatest villain in history, but I don’t believe you’re prepared for it.”

Raven rubs her arms. “Sorry. I guess it’s jitters. With Legacy Day, and all that.”

“I’ve seen worse cases. Miss Breadhouse looked green when she arrived.” Badwolf wrings his hands. “Perhaps it’s best that my first day syllabus review calmed you all before the nerves brought disaster forth.”

Raven rubs her temples. “Sure. Maybe.”

Badwolf sighs, placing his hand on the desk. “Listen. I told my daughter this, and now I’ll tell you. There’s no point worrying about that which you can’t control.”

Badwolf rarely brings up his daughter. She’s a year older than Raven, yet she graduated from some far-off reform school, only coming to Ever After High the previous Legacy Day to sign the Storybook of Legends. Raven was there, and she saw the way Ramona puffed out her chest as she signed; clearly she never doubted her destiny. “I know, but—”

“Things will go the way they are meant to go.” Badwolf fixes Raven with a gaze so steady she can’t look away. “Trust in the future, and most importantly, trust in yourself.”

In herself. Not in her mother, her destiny, her evilness. Raven’s hands are trembling as she clutches the strap of her bag.

In front of her lies a whole day of classes meant to teach her she is nothing more than her legacy. That all she will be is evil; that she’ll tuck poison into ribbons and combs and apples; that she’ll live the rest of her life in chains, trapped behind a mirror. That even before committing a crime, she’s been sentenced…that she’d been born with her fate hanging over her neck like an axe ready to fall.

And here Badwolf is telling her to trust in herself, when Raven doesn’t know who she is beyond who she’s been taught to be.

“I—I will,” Raven murmurs, throat suddenly dry.

Badwolf nods. “Well, then. Did you catch the project I assigned for this week?”

Raven grimaces. A project, already?

Her professor sighs. “I’ve asked for an in-depth overview of your fairytale and, specifically, your parent’s role in it. Go into as much detail as possible. What spells are used, what disguises, manipulation tactics. Whatever is necessary.”

Raven’s head begins to throb even more than it did before. “Ah. And it’s due…Friday?”

“Should I push it back to after Legacy Day?” Badwolf studies his nails. “This never is a good time for students in your year…”

“That would be nice.”

Badwolf sighs, tapping his fingers on the desk. “All right. That’s settled.” He inhales. “By the way, Miss Queen, I should tell you about your sixth period before it surprises you.”

Raven frowns. “I’m your teacher’s aide, right?” She imagined herself sitting with her feet up on a desk, grading thronework for first-years. Not how she’d want to spend her sixth period, but better than practicing evil spells or evil anything.

“Not exactly.” Badwolf exhales. “It was an agreement between me, Madam Maid Marian, Professor Knight, and Headmaster Grimm. We all came to the conclusion that you should be offered more opportunities to connect with your evil destiny…”

Here we go. Raven bites her bottom lip to stifle her groan. And Grimm was involved? Did he design this just to torment her further?

“We’ve decided to add you to the joint Hero Training and Damsel-in-Distressing classes,” he says, staring down at the desk. “You can use your magic to aid the faculty and set up traps for the future heroes to overcome.”

Raven grimaces. Yep. Torment was probably the only thing on Grimm’s mind. So much for him being a benevolent headmaster.

Badwolf scowls. “I assumed you wouldn’t be as enthusiastic as you should be.”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Raven murmurs. Badwolf shakes his head. “Thought so.”

“So.” Badwolf glances at a picture frame on his desk that Raven has never noticed before and turns it down. He looks back at her and scowls harder. “Don’t you have second period now?”

Raven slams up from the desk. “Right. Um—thank you.” She hurries toward the door, yet Professor Badwolf doesn’t move. Raven glances over her shoulder to find him staring—a glint of melancholy in his eyes.

Raven swallows her discomfort and hurries out the door, through the hallways—

“IT’S RAVEN QUEEN!”

Raven spins like a deer in headlights, but she’s brave compared to the other students. Screams erupt as if Raven had unleashed some painful curse onto them. Sheep flee past Raven, nearly bowling her over, and Lily Bo Peep chases after them with her head down. A student Raven always thought was pretty faints. The prince standing directly behind that princess, instead of catching her, turns and flees the other way as he screams.

A giant shouts and thunders toward Raven, close to crushing her under his sandal. Raven panics, darting toward the closest door and shoving inside before slamming it behind her.

Silence lingers. Raven exhales, coughing on dust. Faint sunlight streams in from the windows, illuminating…

A painting.

At the end of the abandoned room sits a painting. Raven draws closer, squinting until her eyes adjust.

A rolling sky pulses with green lightning, so vivid it appears to leap off of the canvas. It whirls into one center like Charybdis, funneling down in a tornado to a pale hand. Wonderland drowns in a sickly green light, trees capsizing, castles crumbling—

And in the center of it, a woman in violet and silver, smile bloodthirsty as her curse infests Wonderland.

Raven’s mother. No, not just that—Raven’s future.

Unlike other villains, the Evil Queen’s evil extends outside of her fairytale. The thought of poisoning one person makes Raven’s stomach turn. Destroying a whole dimension?

Raven can’t do this.

She surges forward, gripping the frame and pulling it down. The crash is too quiet for her liking; it releases a storm of dust that sends her coughing again.

Raven lifts her head after a second. Where the portrait of her mother and the War of Wonder once stood, another stands. A silhouette of two strangers back-to-back, each clutching a different prop…and one looks familiar. Chin tilted upward, commanding stance, quill clenched in thick fingers. That’s Headmaster Grimm, if Raven’s ever seen him.

But the other figure: thin, slouching, gazing into a book…Who is that? And why is this hidden behind a portrait of her mother?

The realization settles, heavy as iron, on her tongue. Raven has never heard of Grimm having some sort of companion or equal. It’s always been Headmaster Grimm, alone, since he stepped into his role at the school. So if Grimm is hiding this away…he doesn’t want the identity of the second person to be found.

He’s hiding something. And if he’s not being honest about this…he could be lying about so much more.

Raven’s heart is pounding as she turns toward the door. While she wipes her expression clean of anything that could incriminate her, deep inside, her heart begins to pound with hope.

Trust in yourself, Badwolf said. Raven may not have anyone to share this with, but she has herself. And for now, that’s all she needs.

Hunter Huntsman is good at a lot of things, really.

Take woodworking, for instance. His da always brags that he was born with a knife in hand. He’d made his first sculpture when he was three, a misshapen lump with half-severed shavings and a baby’s teething marks, something supposed to resemble a squirrel that now resides in his dorm and makes him laugh every time he looks at it. He’s skilled with an axe too, can shimmy up and down trees like it’s nobody’s business, and knows how to toss his hair to make any girl swoon, even with this stupid haircut.

However, Hunter Huntsman is not good at romance. This he knows even before he meets the pink-haired stranger in the back of his Advanced History of Heroism class.

As their professor drones on and on, the girl turns toward Hunter and smiles. Her teeth are sharp, canines a glimmering gold. “I’m gonna need your hand,” she laughs quietly.

Reluctantly, Hunter pushes his hand across the desk toward her. “But, uh…Won’t this make me look more feminine?” His eyes drift down to his weathered, torn and bitten nails. “Won’t girls only look at me if I’m super masculine?”

The girl laughs again. She has a strange laugh, like the dissonance of several off-key bells ringing at once.

“Some girls might,” she says as she opens her purse and pulls out a nail file. “But those ones only care about the superficial. Like those girls who followed around that blond boy this morning?”

Hunter rolls his eyes. “You mean Daring?”

The girl snorts. “That’s his name?”

“Yeah. And his brother’s name is Dexterous, but at least he can go by Dexter.”

“That’s awful.” Both students stiffen and look down at their work when their professor stares in their direction. When he looks away, the girl takes Hunter’s hand, beginning to file away at one of his nails.

“But what matters is what you like,” the girl continues. “The right girl or whoever won’t care how masculine you are. They’ll like you for who you are. Not who you pretend to be.”

Hunter blinks. “…That’s really wise.”

“My father is a love god,” she hums. “I’ve picked up a thing or two from him.”

Hunter gapes at the girl for a solid minute. She is a god…and yet, aside from the slight pink tint to her skin and her sharp teeth, she looks just like any other student. “…So the rumors were true?” he murmurs, almost absently.

The girl turns, raising one eyebrow at him. “Which rumors are we talking about?”

“The rumors that you’re from Olympus.” She smiles, nodding, and Hunter’s mouth only falls open wider. “Mount Olympus.”

“Is there another Olympus that I don’t know about?” The girl laughs gently.

Hunter stammers. “So—so you’re a god?”

“Minor god of young love, yes.” The girl winks at him. “You can just call me Cupid.”

“…Cupid.” As Hunter wraps his thick head around the name, the girl hums and continues to file his nails. “I’m Hunter. It’s, uh—it’s nice to meet you.”

Cupid smiles. “It’s nice to meet you too.” She finishes one hand and releases it. Hunter digs the nail of his thumb into his pointer finger, feels how smooth the nail is beside the callous of his fingers.

Strange.

“So,” Cupid continues, taking his other hand and distracting Hunter from his thoughts. “As the god of young love, it’s my job to get close to the youth and guide them in love. So tell me.” Her voice dips to a murmur as she rests her chin in her free hand. “Is there a boy? Girl? Neither of the above? Nothing at all? Whatever you like, I’m all ears.”

Hunter frowns. “Wait…what are you talking about?” Even as he says it, his mind spirals—taking him back to the days before Ever After High, the days before Ash, when he’d sit on the schoolhouse roof and hold another boy’s hand and convince himself the fluttering of his heart was entirely different from the way it fluttered when he held a girl’s hand.

Hunter pulls his hand out of Cupid’s so sharply the girl looks up.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” he murmurs, while his heart pounds wildly. Cupid’s words have the same magnetism that drew him and Ash together in the first place—the magnetism that eventually broke them apart.

“And I’m not worried about dating right now,” Hunter lies, head down. “I’ll wait until after the fairytales are done.” Two fairytales, where most have none. Two animals to kill. Two shades of blood to stain his fingers before he can have his “happy ending”—where he’s sure that he won’t really be happy.

“And then what?” Cupid raises one eyebrow.

Hunter sighs. “Then I find a girl and settle down.” Marry a commoner. Never a princess. And then they’ll have a child—a child who may inherit Hunter’s hatred for blood but will inherit his cursed legacy, no matter what.

Hunter feels sick.

“Are you alright?” Cupid says, as if she knows anything about legacy. Anything about the freedoms they’re about to sign.

Hunter pushes up from the table, leaving one hand filed and the other rough. “I need to go to the bathroom,” he mutters, knowing that he won’t return.

Cupid stares at him, heart-shaped lips pursed. They don’t see each other again for the rest of the day.

By sixth period, Hunter is exhausted. It could be the stress of Legacy Year or the seemingly insurmountable heaps of assignments, projects, and exams presented to him just on the first day. He wants to leave this school, lie down in the Enchanted Forest until branches grow over him and remove the weight of his destiny from his shoulders.

Time isn’t that kind to him.

Hunter stumbles into Hero Training barely able to keep his head up. He sags against a column, sighing.

Dexter Charming, one of the few princes who actually pays attention to him, turns. “Hey, Hunter. Don’t get too comfy. Professor Knight says we’re going—”

“Alright!” The professor’s voice carries over the crowd of buzzing princes. “Everyone in line, we have a lot to do and not much time to do it! Hup hup hup!”

Hunter groans. Dexter pats him on the back as they fall in line.

Their professor leads them down winding staircases, through narrow hallways and out into the courtyard. The whole time, Professor Knight drifts from one student to the next, chastising them for their disorderly lines or out-of-time steps, as if they’re a military and not a group of princes in training.

Hunter isn’t even sure what the point of any of this could be until he hears giggling from nearby. An entire class’s worth of princesses stands in the courtyard, waving and blowing kisses at the boys. More accurately, they blow kisses to Daring, who blinds them all with a smile that makes Dexter grimace and rip off his glasses to avoid the glare.

Once he’s finished greeting all of his admirers, Daring looks to the front of the pack and raises a hand to Apple White. He’s always been cordial to his supposed true love compared to the other girls. Apple giggles and waves back, always maintaining a regal composure.

It must be so easy for them. They’ve never once doubted who they were meant to fall in love with, have they? Meanwhile Hunter…

He pries his eyes away from Apple and catches a glimpse of ginger curls and warm brown skin, and Hunter flinches, turning away.

“Princesses and princes, lend me your ears!” Two claps quiet the crowd as Madam Maid Marian struts into the center of the courtyard, clad in a burst of peacock-blue fabric. She turns in a circle, beaming as she surveys the students.

“Welcome, fourth-years, to your final class in Hero Training and Damsel-in-Distressing!” As the girls clap and the boys cheer, Professor Knight comes to stand behind Marian, gloves clanging so loudly as he claps that the students cover their ears. All the students except one. A girl in a red hood stands in the shadows behind the princesses—Cerise Hood, who’s playing with a hunting knife that darts in and out of the shadow of her cloak. Hunter forgot she was in this class. Damsel-in-Distressing is a necessary part of the tale—the tale they share. Still, Cerise looks even less enthusiastic to be here than Hunter himself.

“Before we begin,” Marian says, and is it just Hunter or has her grin faltered? “We have a special announcement. Mr. Badwolf?”

The courtyard drops ten degrees in an instant. The students fall silent, turning toward the aforementioned professor. He strides forward with his hands behind his back. While the rest of the princesses grimace or pale or turn away, Cerise lifts her head to eye the antagonist of her tale. A shadow chases him, too dark for Hunter to look at directly—

Until Badwolf steps aside, and the shadow steps into the light. It’s not a shadow at all, but Raven Queen, pale skin washed out by dark clothes and equally dark hair. She’s even paler than usual, as if Headmaster Grimm keeps her locked away in a tower during the summers since she has nowhere else to go.

Hunter’s cheeks color with shame. Even if she is the Evil Queen’s daughter, that’s not a nice thought.

“I’m sure you all know Miss Raven Queen.” Marian’s smile has definitely slipped, eyes now glinting with the fear shared by most of the other students. “She has a necessary role to play after her graduation, so we as a faculty decided to allow her this final period to practice her black magic in a safe place.” Raven frowns, and whispers dart through the group.

“Oh, but don’t worry!” Maid Marian flings her hands out to soothe the students. “You’re all perfectly safe. When Miss Queen uses her powers, all three teachers will keep an eye on you so that no one is harmed.”

Raven stares down at her boots, while Cerise sheaths her knife. Both have a strangely downcast look.

“Raven?” Maid Marian beckons Raven forward, but even she can’t hide the shiver that travels up her spine when the girl draws close. She lifts a hand as if to pat Raven’s shoulder, then thinks better of it and drops her hand.

“Since today is the first day, you can simply watch.” She turns to the princes. “Boys! Who wants to let Miss Queen shadow you today?”

Every prince steps back at once, like the same thought leaped from one head to the next. Hunter watches them absently, not realizing until Dexter stumbles back with a confused look—knowing him, he didn’t even pay attention to what it was for—leaving Hunter standing on his own.

Every set of eyes travels to him. Except Raven’s—she hasn’t looked up from the floor.

At this moment, she doesn’t look terrifying or evil. She looks like a kid—no, she is a kid.

Hunter clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Raven can follow me.”

Raven looks up, eyes glinting with hope—

Maid Marian pats her back, sending her stumbling toward Hunter. “That’s settled then! Now!” She claps her hand. “The challenge. Girls!”

The princesses (and a reluctant Cerise) shuffle forward. As they do, Maid Marian snaps her fingers. The ground rumbles, and Hunter stumbles back along with most of the students. Points of sleek white marble poke through the ground; a roof follows. Towers sprout from the ground—one for each “damsel.”

Cerise grimaces. Hunter feels the same way.

“I think you all understand what’s happening,” Marian hums. “Each damsel will be transported to her own tower. Boys, you need to choose a tower and rescue whoever might be inside. And ladies…” She beams. “Make sure you look the part when your prince comes to rescue you.”

Cerise rolls her eyes—

Marian claps her hands. The ground ripples under their feet. It swallows a smiling Apple first, then Briar who’s whooping, then a screaming Holly O’Hair. One by one, princesses sink into the ground until Cerise is the last, frowning with her arms crossed until the top of her hood disappears. With the princesses gone, the boys hum, shifting from foot to foot with restless energy. Hunter frowns and taps his fingers on his thigh.

Raven drifts awkwardly to his side. “So, uh…how does this work?”

“Absolute carnage,” Hunter hums. “Stay close.”

Raven huffs.

“BOYS!” Professor Knight bellows. “BEGIN!”

With a mighty roar, the princes take off. They scramble past one another, shoving and jostling. Some boys fight over the closest towers; others go straight to climbing, finding footholds in the rough stone.

Hunter stops at what’s probably the farthest tower and the only one not swarmed by princes. He looks to his side to see Raven squinting at the window atop it.

“Who do you think is in here?” Raven mutters.

“We’ll see.” Hunter pulls out a hunting knife, testing its weight in her hand. “Have you ever climbed a tower before?”

Raven scoffs. “It’s not really part of the Evil Queen repertoire. I think my mom would just—” she flaps her hands around— “fly up to the top.”

Hunter squints. “Wow. Can you fly to the top?”

“Nope.” Raven pops the p. “I mean, I’ve never tried.”

“Do you want to try?”

Raven sucks her cheek. “Um…Not really.”

“Okay, then.” Hunter hands her the knife, hilt up. “You’ll want this.”

Raven frowns, testing the blade in her hand as Hunter pulls out another. “All right. Welcome to Tower Climbing 101. I hope you enjoy.”

He digs the blade into the stone and pulls himself up, resting his toes on the stone. His arms ache; it’s been a while since classes threw him into something strenuous like this.

Raven puffs as she pulls herself up after him. She’s doing well, even thought Hunter has to slow down so that she can keep up with him.

“Are you good?” Hunter shouts down.

“Yeah,” Raven says, though she’s clearly red in the face. “Just—never climbed a tower before.” She huffs, digging the knife between two slabs of stone. “It’s more tiring than I thought.” She looks down—

“Don’t look down,” Hunter warns.

Raven groans. “Too late. I don’t think I can go any higher.”

Hunter sucks his teeth. “No, Raven, we’re almost there!”

“We’re only halfway up!”

“We can’t go back!”

“You go ahead. I’m gonna…” Raven looks down again and turns even paler, if that’s possible. “…Shit.”

“What?”

“I don’t think I can make it down.”

“Yeah, we have to keep going!”

“My arms are shaking!”

“You just have to hold on!”

Violet light burns in the corner of Hunter’s eye. He whips around to see Raven’s hand slipping off the knife, both of her fists burning with magic. “Yeah, fuck that! Hold on!”

She raises her hand high into the air—

Hunter shoots upward like he’s been catapulted. He yells and Raven screams too as they float higher, higher, toward the window with no signs of stopping—

Hunter reaches out, grabbing the windowsill with one hand. He grabs Raven with the other, throws her into the room, then throws himself inside.

He lands in a heap on a surprisingly lush carpet. Hunter groans, rubbing his head.

“Hunter!”

His heart skips a beat as he looks up. Ashlynn—of course fate would lead him to Ash’s tower, who else— kneels at his side, grabbing his hand and helping him to sit up. “Are you okay?!”

Hunter groans, rubbing his side that is definitely going to bruise. “I…yeah. I’m fine.”

Ashlynn frowns, now looking at Raven. “How’d you guys get up here? You looked like you were falling…”

“I cast a spell, actually.” Raven wiggles her fingers. “We got halfway up, then I catapulted us to the top.”

Ashlynn frowns. “Is that allowed?”

“Not necessarily, but Raven couldn’t make it up. Sorry,” he says to the dark-haired girl.

Raven shrugs. “Why apologize? It’s true.”

“I could climb to the top, but she couldn’t. She used magic, and her magic lifted me too.” Hunter sits up on his knees and drums his hands on his thigh. He hasn’t been this close to Ashlynn in…what? A year? Less? More? “So, yeah.” He cringes. “But if this isn’t allowed—”

Ashlynn spreads her hands. “No, no, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” She mimes zipping her lips and throwing away the key. Hunter laughs, kind of awkwardly. Ashlynn laughs awkwardly too…

Then Raven grins.

Ashlynn and Hunter both stop, because Hunter can’t remember ever seeing Raven grin before, and Ashlynn is probably thinking the same thing.

Raven notices them both staring and pauses. “Uh—sorry. I just…haven’t really done this before.” She nods to the tower. “It’s cool.”

“Not really.” Ashlynn lifts a bundle of fabric lying in her lap. “While you were climbing, the only entertainment I had was making this from a bunch of curtains so we have a way out.”

Hunter blinks. “That’s fast.”

“I’ve done this, like, five times before.” Ashlynn tilts her head at the world below, where Maid Marian is no doubt watching princes more charming and strong and rich than Hunter carry princesses out while descending the tower with one hand. Yuck.

Compared to the perfect prince-and-princess duos in other towers, this one must be strange. A princess, a huntsman, and an evil queen. What an odd trio.

Maybe in another world—one without destiny—they can be friends. Here, they’re just classmates, and that barely makes them cordial.

“Well, then.” Hunter stands and offers Ashlynn a hand. When she takes it, he ignores the fizzy rush of happiness that surges from his head down to his toes. “Let’s get you out of here, princess.”

Chapter Text

The Narrator gets loud again at the end of sixth period.

Maddie worries with one of her lavender coils; after all, the narrators tend to remain quiet unless something big is about to happen. The air is thick with happening. She opens her mouth, sticking out her tongue to find that it tastes thickly of honey and possibility—

On her right, Lizzie clears her throat behind her cards. She’s tried to make the gesture subtle, but half the class already stares at Maddie, Professor Momma Bear included.

Maddie sulks, sinking back into her seat. Ever Afterians care too much about being like everyone else. Yes, Maddie tends to get wrapped up in her own thoughts and forget reality. Yes, sometimes she moves without thinking. But just because no one else in Ever After sticks out their tongue to taste happening near the end of sixth period, it doesn’t mean Maddie can’t do it. Ever After rules are ridiculous. Why can’t everyone just be mad here?

“They are all mad,” Lizzie Hearts huffs. Like Maddie, she can hear the narrators, so she could probably hear Maddie’s rambling. “I could, for the record. And yes, I believe Ever After is mad in its own ridiculous way.”

“But we’re mad,” Maddie says, making the cuckoo gesture to prove her point. “And Ever After is not. For that to go the other way around would make all the tales go upside down and every which way!”

Maddie flails her arms in every possible direction to prove her point. That earns her a glare from Duchess Swan, but Lizzie arranges her cards in a fan and blocks her roommate from Maddie’s line of sight without even looking at her.

“Everything is upside down here, as a matter of fact.” She holds up the Queen of Hearts card upside-down to prove her point.

Maddie salutes the Queen of Hearts’ face on instinct; she hasn’t ever meet the Queen, only seen her through Lizzie’s pictures, but her father educated her in enough Wonderland etiquette to know that. She then squints at the double images of the Queen, one upside down and the other right-side up.

“There’s one of each,” she observes, nose scrunched up.

Lizzie sighs, more in endearment than annoyance. She taps the upside-down queen. “This is Ever After.” She then taps the right-side-up queen. “And this is Wonderland.”

Maddie takes the card from Lizzie and turns it right-side up. The princess’s expression doesn’t falter. “My point still stands.”

The bell tolls—the end of the day, and the beginning of something else. Lizzie’s tongue pokes out from between her red lips.

“You’re right,” she murmurs. “It does taste of happening.”

The fourth-year students of Ever After High march from the castle to the Legacy Day stage like prisoners to their cells—only they do it with a smile on their face. Well, most of them do.

Princesses giggle as they run through the hallways, dresses billowing behind them. They dart in and out of the shadows, stopping and bumping into the gaggle of princes at the head of the crowd. In front of them is all of the most important royals of the school—Apple and Briar and Ashlynn and the Charmings. The commoners walk behind them, still chattering and moving with animation. At the end of the procession, Raven slinks in and out of shadows, her dark dress helping her blend in. She’s alone, as usual…

That’s what she thinks, until she sees a flash of red on the other side of the hallway. Raven recognizes Cerise’s slash of white hair and opens her mouth to talk to her, then thinks better of it. She’s not friendly with Cerise—no one is.

Cerise glances in her direction, and Raven looks up—

“Quickly now, students!” Her Royal Highness the White Queen (that is the Wonderlander’s full title, which she uses detentions gratuitously to enforce) waves the students forward. They step out of the castle’s shadow and, a moment later, toward the Legacy Day stage.

The stairs gleam under the sunlight, so smooth that Raven fears twisting on them. Spires curve over the stairs like the ribs of a fallen giant. Shadows devour the stage, and Raven’s knees lock—she can’t take another step closer. Students shove past her as a wrinkled hand grabs her sleeve. “Here, Miss Queen,” Madame Yaga says, dragging Raven along before she can protest. Raven slams into a chair in the front row, tongue pressed into her cheek as she resists the urge to run—

“Oh, hi, Raven!”

Raven turns, lips pressed in a tight line. Apple waves, beaming so wide it has to hurt. “Isn’t this exciting?” Apple says, patting her thighs enthusiastically. “I always dreamed of being here, and now here we are.”

“Of course you’ve dreamed of this,” Raven says, slumping over and placing her chin in a hand.

Apple smiles. “Oh, Raven. Ignoring me? How evil of you! I thought you’d never come around, but…”

Raven’s stomach twists with guilt. “Uh.” She sits up. “Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Apple’s brows cinch together. “You shouldn’t be sorry. You’re a villain. You hurt people—”

“This again?”

Apple presses her lips together. “I just want to talk to you!”

“Yeah, and when you do, you always talk about the same thing. It’s always destinies and heroes and villains and—I don’t know, can’t we talk about other things?”

Apple pauses. “Like what poison you want to use on me?”

“Like—music or something. Um, you like pop music?” Apple blinks, nodding. “Uh, have you heard the new Chappell Throne song?”

Apple gasps. “I don’t listen to Chappell Throne!” she says so loudly that everyone in the row turns to stare behind her. “That’s not royal music! It’s anti-destiny and anti-fairytales. It’s the exact opposite of what music should be.”

“Like rebel music?”

“Yes!” Apple grins—then her face falls. “Let me guess,” she grumbles. “That’s the sort of thing you listen to?”

“Not really,” Raven murmurs. Apple opens her mouth to say something else—

“Students of Ever After High!”

Raven slouches, placing her chin in both hands now. So much for the only interesting conversation she’s ever had with her roommate.

Headmaster Grimm strides up to the podium at the front of the stage, cocky grin gleaming in the sunlight. He sees Raven in the front and his expression slips—then he looks to Apple, who’s beaming with her back straight as if the whole of Ever After is watching her, and his grin creeps back to its usual spot.

“I’m sure you know all know why you’re here,” Headmaster Grimm announces. “Legacy Day—the event you’ve been preparing for all your lives—occurs next week.” Raven digs her fingers into her chair. “In order to for this day to go smoothly, you all first need to know the proper etiquette.”

Raven leans back and crosses her legs as Grimm launches into a long spiel over what to do: head up, shoulders back, don’t blink, don’t stutter, sign the book, look into the mirror, sign away your freedom and your future and don’t think about it for a second—

“Miss Queen.”

Raven blinks. Grimm scowls down at her. Naturally, everyone follows his lead and glares at her (except Maddie, who’s grinning despite the confusion on her face—she’s always been too sweet for her own good). And then there’s Apple, smiling, hands clasped over her heart like this is the sweetest thing she’s heard.

“You seem to be acting like you’re above this rehearsal,” Grimm says.

“So is Faybelle?” Raven says, jerking a hand toward where the fairy sits, legs crossed as she files her nails.

“Faybelle has done nothing to prove to me that she deserves the amount of concern you require,” Grimm grumbles. Is it just Raven, or are the clouds above her darkening? No, that doesn’t make any sense. He turns to the audience. “I believe Miss Queen wants to demonstrate the proper method to accept your destiny.”

Of course Raven doesn’t want to do that. “Headmaster Grimm—” she begins, at the same time Apple springs out of her seat. She beams, the only ray of sunshine in this approaching storm.

“I thought I would go first,” Apple says, and for once, Raven is grateful for her roommate’s charms. “I’d love to rehearse my acceptance speech—”

“Miss White, I have no doubt that your performance will be anything less than perfect,” Grimm says, tone icy. “Very well. You may go—”

Apple beams—

“After Miss Queen.”

Apple’s face falls. She sinks into her seat, glancing at Raven with an apology written on her face. Raven starts to smile back—

“Raven!”

Raven swallows. With one last desperate glance at Apple, she rises out of her seat. Every step feels like she’s walking with shoes made of iron—but that’s someone else’s story, isn’t it? Stares prickle down her back; Raven glances at the forest beyond the school grounds and wishes she could run in there and find some kind dwarves to harbor her until Grimm came to drag her back. Damn it—even in her runaway fantasies, she can’t escape.

The thought hits her like a tsunami. Raven curls her fingers into her skirt, clenching it until her knuckles pale more than usual. Slowly, she ascends the stairs. By the time she reaches the top, her legs are shaking.

This is only the rehearsal. Will Raven even survive the real thing?

Raven slips her bag over her shoulder and slinks toward Grimm, skin itching with the urge to run. He scowls down at her, gesturing at a huge book on the podium before stepping back.

Raven’s mind is racing. She didn’t pay attention. Shoot. Head up, shoulders back—wait, what is she supposed to say?

She looks desperately into the crowd for an encouraging face. There’s Apple, smiling. Maddie, waving and mimicking the pouring of tea. Then there’s…is that Cerise, peering out from under her hood?

Raven grips the sides of the podium until her nails dig deep enough to scar the marble. “I—uh.” Deep breath. Start over. “My name is Raven Queen, and I—I pledge to follow my destiny as—”

As the next Evil Queen. The words catch in Raven’s throat, and she chokes, bowing her head as a bead of sweat rolls down her temple.

“…Is something wrong?” Grimm asks, but there’s no sympathy in his voice.

“No,” Raven lies. Apple leans forward, frowning. Cerise turns away, tugging her hood over her head.

Raven exhales and, for the first time, looks Grimm in the eyes. “I have a question.”

His expression sours. “What is it?”

“What if…” Raven balls her shaking fists in her skirt. “What if I don’t want to take the pledge?”

Gasps ring through the audience. Apple’s mouth hangs wide open until Daring leans over and shuts it. Maddie grins, and Hunter and Cerise find each other in the crowd. Raven watches it all, trembling like she’s opened Pandora’s Box and found herself helpless to stop the evil she never wanted to release.

Grimm steps forward—the single sound is enough to silence the crowd. Raven steps back, braced against the podium.

“Here is your answer,” Grimm says coldly. “Like Atlas holds up the sky, the tales we tell hold up our world. Each person in front of you has an integral part to play in one of these tales. Think of them as columns supporting our world. Now, if you were to take out one of these columns, what would happen?”

Raven bites her tongue hard enough to draw blood. “I—”

“Miss Queen,” Grimm snaps. “A response would be nice.”

“Our world—” Raven draws a ragged breath. “It would fall.”

“Precisely.” Grimm folds his hands. “Well, we can’t be sure. Perhaps our metaphorical column is only holding you up, so you would be the only thing lost and the world would reform to fit with your absence. Or perhaps…” His eyes flash. “If you refuse to sign the book, our world would crumple piece by piece. Perhaps you would be the first to be destroyed, to spare you the pain. Or maybe you would be saved for last, and you would only watched as everyone and everything around you simply vanishes for existence. You would hear their screams for help and know that it would be too late to do anything but wallow in your guilt as you wait for your time to come.”

“Simply put—” Grimm waves his hand nonchalantly, as if Raven’s legs aren’t shaking so hard that she could crash through this stage and to the dirt floor— “you will be a cautionary tale. That is, if there remains anyone to caution.”

No one dares to speak. Raven can’t even bring herself to breathe.

Grimm towers over her. “Have I made myself clear?”

Raven gasps a breath. “H—Headmaster Grimm—” She wants to apologize—but how can she? All she wants is freedom—but she won’t risk everyone and everything just for a whim. She can’t—She can’t do this.

“Good.” Grimm smirks, so subtly only Raven is close enough to see it. “Now continue.”

Raven’s shoulders tremble. She turns toward the crowd, but she can’t bring herself to look at a single face. “I…” she begins, but she can’t remember what the next step is. Black clouds her vision, and Raven sags against the podium.

“I have to go,” Raven mutters.

She runs past Grimm and down the marble stairs, bag bouncing against her hip. Students gasp and Apple shouts her name, Grimm does too, but Raven won’t stop. She darts back to the familiar shadow of the castle; behind her, Grimm calls for the remaining students to calm down. Raven runs faster than she ever has even as her lungs scream for breath.

The whispers of students chase her around every hallway. Raven presses a hand to her mouth. She needs to get out of here—out of this school, out of this world, but there’s no way out. She needs quiet. She needs to think.

Raven slows just enough that when she bursts into the Lifairy, she can hurry into the bookshelves fast enough that she can’t see however many people stare at her. She runs deep into the library, and only when shelves surround her, she sinks to the ground . Her bag slumps off her shoulder and to the ground, and she folds her arms, burying her face between her knees. Her shoulders shake and tears drip down her face.

Hands trembling, she reaches into her book bag and pulls out the Alice in Wonderland book she received the previous day. She opens it, and the feather tag slips out. Raven quickly tucks it back in.

She stares at the book, empty-eyed. What’s the point? Even if she does find out who L.C. is, that’s not going to change her fate or anyone else’s fate.

Raven pushes herself up onto shaking legs. Apple told her to take it back to the Lifairy; Raven should have listened to her roommate. Maybe when this is all over Apple can comfort her, unless she decides that they should finally start acting like the enemies they are.

Walking through the aisles, Raven runs her fingers across the books’ spines to remind herself that she’s real. Even though she walks at a slow crawl, she reaches the As too quickly. And sure enough, next to umpteen copies of the book, there’s an empty space.

Raven takes a breath and slides the book in. It fits like a glove.

That’s it. Right? She’s found where the book belongs. She’s found where she belongs. There’s no way to change that, no matter how many questions she asks, unless she wants to destroy everything…

Still, Raven can’t bring herself to walk away.

This feels wrong. There has to be something she doesn’t know—some other choice that she can make…

But there isn’t.

Raven sighs. She has to sign, but until then, she can keep the book. No one can take that from her. She reaches out, plucking the book from the shelf.

She’s tucking the book in her bag when the ground starts to rumble.

Raven looks up, panicking, as the floor shifts. She darts back, looking around, but no one is close enough to hear. A sliver in the stone floor widens, pulling back to reveal stairs leading down into the dark.

Raven doesn’t have to think twice. She cups her hands, one thought igniting a violet flame. Then she descends.

She’s halfway down the stairs when the floor slides closed. Raven turns, bag banging against her hip.

Don’t think about it, she tells herself. She’ll find another way out.

Raven descends, but her mind is racing. The note was delivered to her door. It had a feather—a raven’s feather? The book unlocked this; it’s the key to some lock Raven never knew about. And it went to her.

This was meant for her.

More questions swarm Raven’s mind, but she’s drawing close to a stone door at the bottom of the stairs. Raven holds her breath and extinguishes the flame. She lingers in the dark for one more second before she pushes the door open.

Warm light spills out from candles strewn across the room, some tilted to peculiar angles, all glowing with a warm amber light. Stacks of books and papers tower to the ceiling. A massive mirror covers one wall, while a series of paintings cover another. In the center of it sits a desk and a quill with one sleek black feather.

Raven frowns. Despite the mess, there are no cobwebs and no dust. Is this magic, or someone else hiding down here? What secrets wait for her?

There’s no point in hesitating. Raven steps inside, the door closing behind her. As soon as it does, a head covered in thick white hair jolts up from behind the desk. Raven yelps. The stranger stands and turns to look at her…and smiles.

He looks even madder than Maddie’s dad, if that’s possible. His hair is a mess, and his unkempt beard hangs down his chest. He’s wearing a suit made of mismatched patterns stitched haphazardly together. He stares at Raven through wire-rimmed glasses, and before she can say a word, beckons her closer.

“Um, hello,” Raven says. The stranger doesn’t look at her, instead turns to move a stack of books off of a chair on the other side of the desk (Raven didn’t even realize the second chair was there). Raven draws closer. The stranger plunks down in one chair, and reluctantly, Raven sinks into the other.

“My name is Raven,” she starts. The stranger plunks a massive teapot down in between them. “I—um. Hello?” He pulls out a pair of teacups. He starts to fill one. Raven reaches over and waves, and the stranger stops, tea still filling the cup.

Carefully, Raven pries the teacup and pot from his stony grip and sets them both down. She folds her hands and clears her throat.

“Did you bring me here?” she says. The stranger nods. “Why?”

He says nothing, instead filling the other teapot.

Raven frowns. “…Are you going to say anything?”

He shakes his head. Raven opens her mouth to complain; before she can, he opens his mouth wide. Raven peers inside: he doesn’t have a tongue.

“Oh,” she murmurs. She’s heard The Little Mermaid enough times to know what this means. “You can’t talk.”

The man nods.

She sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude, but…I hoped you’d be able to tell me something, at least.” Her eyes fall on the quill. “Wait. Can you write anything?”

The stranger shakes his head even as he reaches for the quill. He flattens out a scrap of parchment and sets down the tip. He writes three letters—H-E-L—and his hand grows more and more shaky until he can only put down incomprehensible squiggles.

Raven grimaces. “Point proven.”

Nodding, the stranger flips the parchment over. He begins to write again—one solid stroke, than many branching out from it. He’s not writing at all. He’s drawing, and his hand isn’t shaking at all. That explains the tag.

The stranger smiles fondly and passes the drawing over—a feather. A feather meant to represent her.

“You brought me here,” Raven says, lifting the drawing up. The stranger nods. “Well—why? Why me?”

He raises an eyebrow. Raven sighs. “I’m not good. I mean—I’m a villain, I’m not supposed to be good, but I can’t be evil, either. I don’t want to be a villain, though. And I know the alternative is hurting everyone, but I can’t figure out how else to—”

The stranger rests his hand on top of Raven’s. Raven takes a breath.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs. “But I’m running out of time. I just need—some sign to point me in the right direction, and I thought this would be it—”

He raises one eyebrow, like he’s inviting her to think again. He rises, and Raven does too, chasing after him with wide eyes.

The stranger pauses at the wall of portraits. Raven’s eyes skim over scenes from fairytales—some familiar, some not—and her eyes rest on a picture of two young boys: one tall and round, the other short and thin. She frowns at the taller boy. Why does he seem so familiar…?

Then she glimpses the plaque at the bottom of the frame, and her eyes widen.

Milton and Giles—The Brothers Grimm

“…Brothers?” Raven shakes her head, barely understanding. “Headmaster Grimm doesn’t have a brother.”

Headmaster Grimm always took his time to brag about his heritage. Being a descendant of the Narrators wasn’t a minor heritage, sure, but that didn’t make Grimm any less arrogant. But he said he was the last remaining person in his family…Had he somehow lied?

Earlier she’d found those silhouettes behind the portrait of her mother—Grimm, and someone she didn’t know. But now the answer is in front of her. That silhouette was Giles, a brother Milton hid from the rest of the world. And this stranger…

Raven spins to him, eyes wide. “You’re Giles Grimm?”

He nods, smile stretching from ear to ear.

“I don’t…” Raven’s head spins, but the stranger and the child in the portrait look the same, if only in the glint of wonder in their eyes and the mess of blond (now white) hair. Raven sighs. “Why wouldn’t he say that he has a brother? Why would he lie, all this time?”

Giles gestures for her to continue. Raven presses her tongue to her cheek, mustering the question she’s wanted to ask this whole time. “…If Grimm was lying about this, what else could he lie about?”

She turns toward Giles, searching for the answers she’s wanted all this time. Still she can’t read his vapid smile for anything other than kindness. And kindness means nothing when all Raven has wanted is truth.

“How can I trust you?” she says, hugging her arms. “I mean…Headmaster Grimm is cold and strange and rude, but he says he’s trying to save us all and I don’t know how he could lie when he seems so adamant about following the rules. And you—” she gestures to Giles, who nods— “you’ve done nothing to tell me that I shouldn’t trust you, but maybe this is your whole thing and you’re secretly evil and that’s why Headmaster Grimm doesn’t talk about you. But if I approach him about this—” Giles’ eyes widen, his grin slipping for the first time. Raven sighs. “…That’s what I thought. I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t want to get hurt.”

Raven squats, hugging her arms around her knees. She stares down at Giles’ scuffed shoes.

She knows nothing—no, she knows something. She knows Grimm is a liar. Does that mean she can ignore his warning?

“I…have to think,” she decides. “Is there a way out of here?”

Giles nods. He walks to the desk and grips an unlit candelabra, tilting it toward him. A rumbling sound overhead tells Raven that the secret entrance must have opened.

“Thanks.” She gets to her feet, squeezing the strap of her bag until her knuckles turn white. She glances back at Giles. “I’ll be back—um.”

Will she return? Who can she trust?

She can’t trust Grimm, and she can’t trust Giles…but that doesn’t mean she lacks people she can trust.

“Thanks.” Raven sinks into a haphazard curtsy. Before she loses her nerve, she leaves the secret library. She steps out of the shadows and into the light, her exposed skin ablaze like she’s walked into flames. Raven turns around—but the trapdoor has closed, and there’s no way to escape until this world burns her down.

That is, if Raven lets it. Instead, Raven reaches into her bag, squeezes the book to make sure she has it, and ventures out into a world so determined to destroy her. If only it knew that Raven is just as determined as it—if not more so.

Chapter Text

Raven Queen has a funny way of upheaving everything around her into chaos, Cerise observes.

Before Raven was called up to practice signing the Storybook of Legends, the students of Ever After High spun in uninterrupted circles like the cogs in a clock. Royals largely sitting to one side, commoners to the other. Headmaster Grimm droning on and on in that infuriating voice. Cerise chewing on her nails, regretting that she hadn’t taken the time to file them down that morning. In her defense, Cedar had been in their room once Cerise got back from her morning run in the woods, and Cerise can’t risk exposing her secret around Cedar. Magical truth-telling curse and all that.

Then Raven was called up to “sign”—but she didn’t do that. She asked what would happen if she didn’t sign. And she ran away when she heard the truth.

Effectively, Raven jammed a metal bar in the cogs of Ever After High’s school body. Not something big—but just enough to make the machine crash out.

Both sides of the pews are in an uproar. Daring Charming is on his feet, shouting about how Raven is an “evil witch”; his siblings Dexter and Darling are trying and failing to pull him back down. Blondie Lockes, sitting beside the center aisle on the commoners’ side though she leans toward the royals, grabs two fistfuls and declares that this is “not just right…not just right at all!” And Apple White, splayed against her bench in the front row next to Raven’s empty seat, fans herself as though she’s close to fainting. Above all this, Milton Grimm grips the podium until his knuckles turn white, shouting for order though his voice climbs higher and higher every second.

Raven might be gone now, but she certainly left a storm on her wake. And Cerise sits in the center of it, tugging down her hood so that no one can see her smile.

Cerise has gotten relatively good at going unnoticed—after all, she’s had seventeen years to practice. A secret as dangerous as hers requires the most caution, and Cerise has found that it’s easiest to hide something from everyone when you’re hiding everything from everyone. No one would bother to ask Cerise what hides under her cloak if they don’t even bother to talk to her.

The problem is—

“Hello, wolfie!”

—even Cerise can’t stay unnoticed forever.

A familiar pair of purple heels step in front of her. Cerise flinches just as a body slides into the seat beside her, striped tights bobbing up and down as one foot swings back and forth. Cerise tugs her hood down one last time for good measure before meeting the eyes of Kitty Cheshire.

Whatever the Wonderlander wants from her—especially if she’s using that nickname with it—it can’t be good.

Cerise bristles. “Excuse me?”

Kitty’s mischievous grin widens. “You heard me, Cerise,” she sing-songs, before sitting back and staring up at the stage. Grimm shouts for quiet again, but his words are quickly swallowed by the chaos of the crowd.

Kitty giggles like this is a comedic play rather than their real life. “Well, this is a surprise. I didn’t think Raven had it in her to cause this much chaos. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, doesn’t it?”

Cerise turns around. “What—No, Raven’s nothing like her mother.” I mean—” she gestures at the podium and Grimm’s face, which has paled to a stark white— “that’s why she didn’t sign in the first place.”

“Even the Evil Queen signed her book.” Kitty folds her hands under her chin. “If Raven doesn’t want to sign the book, that makes her worse than her mother. Doesn’t it?”

“No—no, of course not.” Cerise grumbles, tugging on her hood again. “And—she didn’t even say she wasn’t going to sign. She just asked what would happen if she didn’t. Have you really never wondered the same thing?”

For the first time since she sat next to Cerise, Kitty’s expression falters.

Cerise sighs. “Believe me. I have too.”

“QUIET!”

Grimm is finally loud enough that the students hear him. The noise dips, with shushes cutting between the few shouts that still ring.

“This,” Grimm says, fist slamming on the podium, “is an outrage. This is unprecedented. Never before has an interruption of this scale occurred at Legacy Day rehearsals! I mean, the rules—”

Again with the rules. Without thinking, Cerise glances over to her side where Kitty should be—but instead, all that remains is a wide smile that slowly fades away. At least Kitty is lucky enough to have a way out of here. Meanwhile, Cerise can only hide herself in her cloak and hope that Grimm’s tirade ends soon. It’s not like Cerise is listening.

Naturally, rehearsal runs far longer than it should. Once Grimm lets the students go, they groan as they hurry back to school. Most beeline for the towers leading up toward their rooms; in the chaos, no one notices Cerise break away from the main crowd and slip toward the dungeons.

The further down Cerise descends, the more slick the stone stairs become. The walk is perilous, which is why only future villains are relegated to descend this deep into the castle. God forbid one of the royals step down here in glass slippers and twist their ankles. Cerise’s boots give her enough grip that the walk doesn’t bother her, and she reaches the bottom easily. She clings to the wall, tugging her hood down in case she runs into anyone else down here. Lucky for her, the dungeons are empty, and Cerise slips into the classroom without interruption. She’s careful to turn and lock the door as soon as she’s inside, in case anyone tries to interrupt her.

Behind her is the rustling of papers and a gentle sniff. “Pup?”

Cerise turns around and meets her father’s eyes. “Hi, Dad.”

“Cerise.” The Big Bad Wolf pushes the piles of work on his desk to the side and stands. His thick arms envelop Cerise; she has always been tall for her age, but she’s dwarfed by her father.

Badwolf pulls back and smiles gently at her. “How was rehearsal?”

Cerise groans, huffing and puffing a loose strand of hair out of her face. “Actual chaos.”

“Chaos?” Badwolf arches an eyebrow. “I expected you to come back bored.”

“Of course it was boring,” Cerise mutters, crossing her arms. “But it wasn’t entirely boring. Raven Queen ran out of rehearsal right at the beginning without finishing.”

Badwolf stiffens. “Did she? Interesting. Why?”

“She asked Grimm what would happen if she didn’t sign.” Badwolf’s ears twitch; he steps away from his daughter, pacing around the room. Cerise grips the hem of her cloak before continuing. “He basically told her that her options are signing or risk the whole world. She got upset, I guess, and she left.”

Badwolf is silent. His back is turned to Cerise, so she can’t read his expression. She tilts her head. “…Do you think she was wrong to ask? I mean, Grimm is so adamant that we don’t even think about not signing the book—”

“No,” Badwolf says, voice gruff. “No. Of course she should ask if she wants to.” His voice dips in volume. “She has every right to know the truth.”

Cerise scoffs, placing her hands on her hips. “I thought you have to be Grimm’s yes man, since you work for him.”

“Grimm?” Badwolf guffaws. “I’m here to guide students, not to lick the headmaster’s boots. Yes, I think the students have a right to know the consequences of their choices. It’s unrealistic to think that every student will sign without thinking. I mean—” Badwolf flips his hand. “These are children, not sheep.”

“Did…” Cerise chews on her bottom lip until it cracks. “Did you think about it, too?”

“Of course I did.” Badwolf sighs, leaning against his desk. “All three of us wanted to know if there was a way out if we refused to sign.”

Cerise’s brow furrows. “All three of you?”

“Well, me and your mother, of course. And…” Badwolf pauses. His brow ticks lower and lower, his nose scrunched in concentration. He stares at the wall behind Cerise for a long moment before sighing and tilting his head back. “Grimm’s sake. I think it’s slipped my mind.”

“Um, alright.” Cerise hops up onto a desk. The wood creaks under her weight—she and her father tense on instinct, but the moment quickly fades into silence. Cerise swings her boots back and forth.

“…Do you believe Grimm?” Cerise whispers.

Badwolf sounds almost sympathetic. “We don’t have much of a choice, do we? We have nothing but his word to go off of. He has no reason to deceive us…” His voice trails off.

“But,” Cerise prompts.

“But,” Badwolf says, “it’s a difficult choice to make either way. What I think—” he comes to stand behind Cerise, slinging his arm around her shoulders— “is that we need to be safe. Destiny seems restrictive, but it has served our family well. Your mother and I signed the book, and even that couldn’t keep us apart.” He sighs. “I wish I could tell Raven that, but…”

“But we have to keep our family safe.” Cerise’s eyes fall to the turned-down photo frame on her father’s desk.

“Exactly.” Badwolf sighs and ruffles Cerise’s hair. “I’m sorry, pup. I can tell you’re having doubts about signing, too.”

Cerise spins, and Badwolf holds his hands palm-out. “I’m not upset. It’s alright to have your doubts. But sometimes, we have to do something we don’t enjoy to keep ourselves safe. Like this hood you wear.” He tugs on the fabric, and Cerise laughs, lips teasing upward into a gentle smile. “It’s not so bad. Once you’ve made it through your fairytale, you’ll have all the freedom you want.”

“But Raven won’t,” Cerise mutters, eyes on the ground. “She’ll be dead at the end of her fairytale.” Her final word catches in her throat.

Badwolf circles his arms around his daughter, rubbing his hands up and down her back. “I know, pup,” he whispers. “I know.”

“Badwolf!” A gnarled voice from the other side of the door makes Cerise and Badwolf spring apart. A fist bangs on the door. “Badwolf, open up!”

“Hide,” Badwolf hisses. Cerise speeds to the furthest corner of the classroom, grateful that enhanced speed is one of the powers she inherited from her father. She crouches behind a bookcase, pulling her cloak over her head. The cloak her grandmother made has always helped her blend in—it’s enchanted to allow her to slip into the shadows. From her father’s side, she learned to run; from her mother’s side, she learned how to hide. Two different destinies—one meant to make her a predator, and both making her feel quite like prey.

Badwolf glances behind him, then brushes his hands off on his coat and walks to the door. Once he opens the door, he looks down. Rumplestiltskin stands at the door, scowling. “Headmaster Grimm has called for a faculty meeting,” he says.

Badwolf scoffs. “A faculty meeting over a student asking a question?”

“You already know what it’s about?” Rumplestiltskin asks.

“I’ve heard rumors.”

The two teachers leave the room, with Badwolf gently closing the door behind him. Once they left, Cerise exhales, her death grip on her hood easing up. It takes her a minute to summon the courage to leave her shadowed corner and stand.

When Apple reaches Headmaster Grimm’s office —after a perilous journey up the long stairs to his tower which leaves her huffing and puffing—Headmaster Grimm isn’t there. Not that Apple minds. She’s spent many a class period in Damsel-in-Distressing learning to wait patiently at the top of a tower, knowing that a handsome prince—or, in this case, a wise headmaster—will come to rescue her eventually. Faith and patience—that’s all Apple needs, and all she will ever need.

Headmaster Grimm has been awfully busy recently. Apple can’t imagine—trying to organize Legacy Day, which is so close Apple can practically taste it now, and on top of that dealing with Raven’s outburst. How does he manage it?

Apple will have to ask him sometime. After all, the future queen of Ever After should take every opportunity to learn from her predecessors and apply it to their future rule.

According to Apple’s Damsel-in-Distressing class, all a princess needs to keep herself entertained while she waits is her imagination. But Apple can hardly imagine retreating into fantasies when there is so much to wonder about. There’s so much Apple needs to master before she becomes Queen, and not a lot of time to do it.

But Apple won’t fail. She will become a Queen as successful and as perfect as her mother. This she knows. After all, perfection is a small price to pay for her Happily Ever After.

The door finally opens. Apple turns to see Headmaster Grimm stomp into the room. He doesn’t look at her—in fact, he seems completely oblivious to her presence as he leans against a nearby wall. He rubs circles into his temple with thick fingers, fingers glancing over the streaks of grey in his hair. As Ever After High’s headmaster, Grimm carries a burden heavy enough without the pressure of Raven’s recent outburst. Adding that to Legacy Day coming fast…Apple doesn’t know how she would handle the same struggles.

Well, she should know, shouldn’t she? Ever After’s future queen should be prepared for anything—anything less would be a complete failure on Apple’s part.

She won’t achieve anything by simply standing here. So Apple clasps her hands behind her back and puts on her best queenly smile and says in the sweetest tone she can muster: “Headmaster Grimm?”

Grimm starts. He spins toward her with wide eyes; Apple contemplates, for a second, breaking her perfect exterior to reach out and ask him if he’s all right, but the moment passes. Grimm straightens up and smiles at her, bright white teeth on display—though the smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. No, that wouldn’t make sense. Of course Grimm’s smile would reach his eyes—Apple’s skills in reading faces must need improvement.

“Miss White,” Grimm says. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Oh, Grimm, has she come at the wrong time? No matter. This is a situation that Apple can easily mitigate. She beams at Grimm, quickly turning up the charm. “Headmaster, I understand if you’re busy. I can come back later, I promise.”

“No, my dear.” Grimm sighs and waves her off. “You’ve come all this way. Please, enlighten me.”

“You’re sure? I wouldn’t want to—”

Grimm stares her down. Apple sees his face and immediately shuts her jaw—she knows Grimm would never mean his expression to be so harsh, but she doesn’t mind. Whatever judgment he casts onto her, she likely deserves it. Apple swallows and forces herself to speak again. “Well, Headmaster. I wanted to ask you about the…situation with Raven.”

Grimm sniffs lightly. “I assure you, I am handling it.” His tone echoes the confidence that Apple knows he holds in his words.

“I know.” Apple twists her fingers tighter around her skin. “But I wanted to know if there’s anything I could do to help.”

“…Help?” Grimm sounds as though he’s had to force out the one word.

Apple forces herself to shove down the butterflies unfurling delicate wings in her stomach and keep talking. “Yes, help. After all, Raven is my roommate, and a part of my fairytale. I would hate for her to risk any part of our future, after all.”

“You can help…” Grimm’s voice fades away. He turns away from Apple, pacing across the floor as his expression knits with deep thought. Apple doesn’t dare remove her eyes from his expression. It does her well—after only a moment, Grimm turns, smiling at her. “Perhaps.”

Apple’s heart skips a beat. “Perhaps what?” she asks, voice echoing in her ears.

“You are her friend, are you not?” Grimm’s eyes flick to her, and Apple nods, quickly and enthusiastically. “You have her trust. You can work wonders with that. I know that you can dispel any of her doubts among destiny. Legacy Day will go as planned. You will ensure it.” His smile widens, his gleaming eyes fixed on her. “Won’t you?”

“I—” Apple’s voice catches in her throat. She quickly clears her throat and nods. “I will, Headmaster.”

Grimm nods back, steeping his hands. “Then that is settled. You will go and alleviate Miss Queen of her worries.”

Apple bows her head. “I will.” After a moment that she hopes is long enough, she lifts her head—only to find Grimm still staring at her. The expression on his face is unreadable; it terrifies Apple. She should know what he wants. She doesn’t.

Apple turns toward the door and heads for it, rubbing her thumb in circles in her palm as she does so. Why doesn’t it come naturally for her, like it does to Grimm and her mother? Why can’t she just be perfect? Why can’t she just be good?

At least she knows one thing that Grimm wants from her. He expects her to keep Raven at least. That, at the bare minimum, Apple should be able to do. If she fails at a task that simple…Apple doesn’t know what she can do then.

“Miss White.”

Grimm’s voice stops her in her tracks. Apple glances over her shoulder and turns toward Grimm—but he isn’t looking at her. His eyes are on the portrait of himself that hangs over his office: his pose regal, his expression confident. Apple feels suddenly small under its stare.

“Yes, Headmaster Grimm?” she asks.

Grimm smiles. “Don’t disappoint me, my dear.”

His words sink like a dagger through the chiffon of Apple’s dress. A frantic wish to get out starts within Apple’s ribs and aches to escape, forcing her to run for the door faster than she would have liked. The door slams behind her as Apple leaves the office. Only then can Apple breathe.

Chapter Text

Legacy Day marches nearer and nearer like a funeral procession carrying a coffin to rest. Raven drifts through the first two weeks of school with her head down, like a mourner at a funeral, and she doesn’t dare look up—if she did, she’d see her own body in the coffin.

Welcoming Week arrived fast, and it departs just as quickly. Banners welcoming students back are taken down, replaced by banners as deep as the night sky inscribed with glittering gold script. Many students look up at the banner and smile with no less effort than it takes to grimace and scurry out of Raven’s way whenever she draws near. Raven tips her head down and winces when the weight of her crown pushes her head down even more.

Every so often, during Raven’s few classes that take place in the towers of Ever After High instead of the dungeons where the villains are usually relegated, she glances out the window to see a flurry of animals descending on the Legacy Day podium: birds carrying buckets sloshing with soapy water; deer nudging a washcloth back and forth with their noses. The podium seems clean enough, but day after day, the animals return—as if they have no choice but to toil until the day itself arrives.

And arrive it does. Raven wakes up that morning so exhausted she has to drag herself out of bed. She sits at her usual spot in the castleteria. Where usually her peers would avoid her table, today no one even dares to approach her corner of the room. Instead Briar stands on a table and shouts about a Legacy Day afterparty that will run until dawn; Meeshell Mermaid and Holly O’Hair talk about the hair and makeup they’ve planned for this evening; and Blondie Lockes talks energetically about how the ceremony has to be just right.

“There shouldn’t be any…interruptions,” she adds, with a pointed glance in Raven’s direction. Raven glares back. Heat floods into her fingers, and the air around Raven cools until goosebumps blister her skin beneath her black lace sleeves. Blondie yelps and turns away from her.

When she notices the terror on her classmates’ faces, Raven finally looks down at the violet flames licking between her fingers. She shakes them out and sighs, almost dropping her face in her bowl of porridge.

She only needs to make it through the day.

But how? Raven wonders, now that she’s trapped in her (thankfully shortened because of the ceremonies tonight) classes for the day. Her meeting with Giles was almost two weeks ago. She’s only talked about it with Maddie—she would tell Cedar, but the girl is never good at keeping a secret, especially one that could mean everything Raven has been told her whole life is a lie. But is it? And if Grimm is lying, what reason does he have to lie? Could he be lying to protect them all?

There’s no way of knowing.

There’s no way to know until the time comes to sign the book. If she signs, she forfeits her freedom. If she doesn’t sign, she forfeits her safety and certainty.

No matter what, there will be a price that Raven has to pay. Now she has to figure out which one is worth paying.

Classes end and Raven’s stomach turns—slowly, miserably. They weren’t given a lunch break because of the shortened classes; not that Raven could bother to eat, anyway. There are still a few hours before Raven needs to get ready. And it’s not that Raven wants to get ready. She’d rather pretend this is never happening—that her future is far away, rather than right around the corner.

Grimm, if Raven keeps going like this, she’s going to throw up. She needs something to settle her stomach.

She needs tea.

While the other students in her year head up to their rooms to start hours of rigorous preparations to look their best tonight, Raven slips out of the castle entirely. Her hands shake as though at any moment, Headmaster Grimm will pop out of a shadow and drag her back to the school and her destiny. For now, Raven has the time to flee.

A few measly hours—that’s not nearly enough to get far out of the school’s reach. Raven isn’t even sure if there is anywhere Grimm can’t reach. After all, if rumors are true, a student from Mount Olympus is now stuck at their school. Mount Olympus is an entire world separate from Ever After. If Grimm can get there, there isn’t a world that Raven can run to to escape. All Raven can do is stay here and embrace her fate—or reject it entirely, and face the consequences.

She doesn’t know what to do. There are hours left for her to figure out whether to sign the book, and Raven is no closer to making a decision than she’s ever been.

That doesn’t matter right now. Right now, Raven is going to have tea, spend time with her friend, and enjoy a normal afternoon.

…Her last normal afternoon.

(Nothing in Raven’s life, from her birth to now, has been normal).

Raven can finally breathe easy when the tall roofs of the tea shoppe appear. The shoppe towers over the rest of the buildings around it, as it at least appears to be made of several different structures stacked on top of each other. Wildly different colors and architecture make everything appear disjointed. A lot of people avoid the shop for its strange appearance, but Raven appreciates it. If you really take the time to look at it, everything comes together—and it’s beautiful.

The door into the tea shoppe is distorted enough that Raven has to twist in order to get through the doorway. Once she gets through, she can’t help but gaze up, staring at the domed ceiling twice as tall as it appears from the outside. Staring up, Raven feels like she’s fallen into the Rabbit Hole—tables and chairs, chessboards, and shelves full of jars of jars of jam and marmalade float over her head. The few customers present sit at tables closer to the ground, though there isn’t a single table or chair that match. They sip from drinks in exotic colors and pies bursting with strangely shaped berries. Raven couldn’t put her finger on the smell drifting through the shop, but she does know that it smells delicious.

“Raven!” A voice trills through the shop, rattling the china stowed away on shelves. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

Raven squints at a nearby teacup before answering, “Because neither one can drink tea.”

“Right as always!” With that, the Mad Hatter springs into view. He grins, displaying the gap in his front teeth. His curls burst from his head, pointing in every direction despite the top hat sitting atop them. His suit and hat are made from many scraps of fabric, more brightly colored patterns than Raven can count. He takes off his hat to bow, and Raven returns the gesture by sinking into a curtsy.

“You’re right on time,” the Mad Hatter says, just before scrunching his nose up. “I don’t quite know, actually. Time is finicky in Ever After. But!” He links his arm in Raven’s. “I do know that I’ve almost finished Maddie’s outfit for tonight, and I would like some feedback before I send her off in it.”

The mention of Legacy Day stings, but the Mad Hatter is offering her a distraction that she’s needed for a long time. He’s holding out a hand that Raven is more than eager to take.

“I’ll see how I can help,” she says.

The Mad Hatter laughs. “Splendid, dear.”

He leads Raven into the kitchen. There he pauses, taking his time to fill a teacup to the brim and fling it across the room. It lands perfectly in front of one of his customers, not having spilled a single drop of tea. Satisfied, the Mad Hatter nods before flouncing into the back room.

The stairs up to Maddie’s room aren’t quite stairs, but a series of floating furniture that bob under Raven’s feet when she hops from one to the other. Raven clings to the Mad Hatter’s arm as they climb; he only laughs, making increasingly daring jumps as though he has no clue how terrified Raven is of falling. Luckily, they make it to Maddie’s room without any major issues. Raven’s boots sink into solid ground and she sighs in relief—

“Raven!”

She’s immediately attacked by a flounce of ruffles and ribbon. Maddie squeezes her tight enough to break a rib before pulling her back. She’s wearing a waistcoat over more skirts than Raven can count. Her whole outfit bursts with ruffles, lace, buttons, and whatever else her father could cram onto the mismatched fabrics. Jewels and chains string around Maddie’s neck and wrists; rings glitter on her fingers. Atop her teal-and-violet curls sits a stack of hats so tall it nearly scrapes the ceiling far above her.

“So?” Maddie beams, showing off a tooth gap identical to her father’s. “What do you think?”

Raven grins. “I think you look wonderful. But…” Her eyes flick up to the top of the hat-stack. “I don’t know if Grimm will let you into the ceremony with a hat that tall.”

“Oh, we know!” Maddie reaches into a pouch at her hip Raven completely overlooked. “Which is why we came prepared.” She pulls out a glass bottle with a tag reading “Drink Me.” Instead of drinking it, though, Maddie reaches up and tips the bottle out on her pile of hats. The hats all shrink to a miniature size, leaving a stack that doesn’t even reach six inches tall.

Maddie giggles. “There. Do you think Grimm will let this in?”

“If he doesn’t, then he really has lost his marbles.” Raven rolls her eyes.

“Don’t flatter him.” The Mad Hatter sniffs, though he’s smiling. “That man could only hope to be as mad as a Hatter.”

“Speaking of men as mad as hatters!” Maddie springs forward and seizes both of Raven’s hand, hopping up and down when she does so. “Have you decided if you’re going to sign?”

Raven doesn’t know how signing the Storybook of Legends relates to mad men, unless the mention of Grimm is what brought Maddie’s thoughts to this topic. Nevertheless, she cringes. She almost starts talking through every thought she’s had so far about Legacy Day. But she and Maddie aren’t alone. Raven glances at the Mad Hatter, who only shrugs.

“I don’t quite understand how this ‘Legacy’ business works here,” he says. “Though Mr. Grimm must think it’s important, because it’s all he chatters about.” He sniffs, reaching up to adjust his hat. “How about I fetch you girls some tea from the shoppe?”

“Sound frabjous!” Maddie chortles.

“Frabjous in ink chime the bells,” the Mad Hatter says with a bow, “yet never supercede the tastes and smells.”

Maddie claps her hands together. “Riddlish!” she giggles. Raven tries to wrap her head around what the Mad Hatter says as he moonwalks out of the room.

As soon as he’s done, Maddie grabs Raven’s hand. “Come on!” she cheers, quickly dragging Raven across the room and through a nearby doorway. On the other side, the floor quickly drops out; Raven almost falls before Maddie grabs her to steady her. She points up at a massive teacup filled to the brim with blankets and pillows.

Raven squints. “How are we supposed to get up there?”

“Why, of course!” Maddie squats down. “We jump!”

With that, she springs upward. The two soar through the air; Raven screams, and Maddie cheers. Raven is terrified they’ll miss the bed, but instead they soar up and land perfectly in the middle of it. The teacup rocks back and forth; Raven yelps as she falls over and they both topple into the blankets in the teacups. Maddie laughs, raising her fists into the air.

“That was—” Raven sits up. “That was crazy!”

“Of course it was!” Maddie giggles and flips over onto her stomach, kicking her feet back and forth. “Soooo…Tell me everything, Raven. And make it quick. Sometimes I don’t think Time likes me much, so he goes too fast when I need him to go slow.” Maddie pauses, pouting. “Is it my fault?” She turns to Raven. “Am I not lovable?”

“No. No, you’re so lovable.” Raven smooths her hands over Maddie’s expression until the worries in her friend’s expression ease. “And yeah, I’ll talk fast. I just—” Raven folds her arms and sighs. “I don’t even want to think about it. I guess I have literal hours left to make my choice, but—”

With a groan, she flops down on the bed, dark hair splaying out around her. Maddie lies down too, twisting so she rests on her side and stares at Raven.

“I don’t know who to trust,” Raven admits.

“Well, I think I know,” Maddie says, fluffing out her layers upon layers of skirts. “Headmaster Grimm touted over and over that he’s the ‘only living descendant of the Narrators,’ and hoo-ha, and blah-blah-blah, but poof!” She throws her hands up over her head. “Suddenly Headmaster Grimm has a secret brother stowed away under the library!” She folds her arms. “It’s not right, lying to one’s subjects. At least the Queen of Hearts tells you if you’re to play a game of croquet or have your head cut off. She would never stuff a secret brother under her castle. That’s terribly improper for a woman of her status, you know.”

Maddie sniffs and sits back, clearly satisfied by the explanation she’s just produced. Raven isn’t so convinced. Though she’s had more time to dwell on it—she found Giles, after all, and had a little while to think about it before she told Maddie everything—she still is nowhere closer to a decision. She folds over, putting her hands in her chin. “I wish I could be as certain as you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t waste a wish on that,” Maddie says confidently. “Just stop worrying and start trusting in your dear old Maddie.”

“Well—” Raven sighs. “My heart wants Giles to be right so I can live my own life, but I’m scared.” She laces her fingers together. “What if I’m wrong to trust Giles? What if Grimm’s been trying to protect everyone this whole time, and because I chose to trust Giles, someone ends up getting hurt?” Raven turns around and buries her face in a pillow. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, but…it feels like either path I take, someone else will still get hurt. And that’s the last thing I want.”

“Well, I can’t tell you the answers you want,” Maddie says, scrunching her nose as she glares at the sky. “Because the Narrator is too stubborn to give me the answers we so desperately seek.” She shakes her fist in the air before sighing, flopping back onto the bed beside Raven.

“But I can tell you this,” she says, grabbing Raven’s hands and lacing their fingers together. “Dove in flock and raven in V, always will a good bird fly soli.”

Raven pauses, trying her best to not look confused. Maddie giggles. “Oops! Riddlish.” She clears her throat. “I mean that no matter what happens, Raven, you’re my best friend forever after. And that means—” she boops Raven’s nose— “there is nothing in Ever After that could keep the two of us apart. Whatever choice you choose, I’m going to choice it myself, too. And this is not the end of our stories.” Maddie grins. “It’s only the beginning.”

“What? Maddie—” Raven pulls her hands out of Maddie’s. “No. Whatever happens, it’s my decision. If there’s a consequence for what I do, I’ll accept it, and I’ll accept it alone. I don’t want anyone else to be punished or—” her voice catches— “or even hurt.”

Maddie blows a raspberry at Raven. “Oh, hodgepodge! What good is it being safe if you aren’t safe?” She sighs. “I would much rather be running away from a Jabberwocky with you than be a whole world apart. Ever After is—” she flaps a hand in the air— “upside-down and inside-out and every-which-way-but-the-right-way, except for you. You’re the best thing Ever After brought me, so of course I’m sticking with you like a fly on glue!” Maddie giggles and boops Raven’s nose again.

Raven sighs. “There’s no way to talk you out of this, is there?”

“Nope!”

Groaning, Raven rolls over. “Fine. I don’t know. Maybe I should sign, just to keep you safe…”

“Hey.” Maddie stares Raven down with a surprisingly serious scowl. “You’re doing this for you, not for me!”

“I’m doing this for everyone.” Raven grabs a pillow and hugs it to her stomach, which is starting to ache. “Ugh. Can we talk about something else?”

“Of course.” Maddie pouts. “I’m sorry I made you get a stomachache.”

“You didn’t give me a stomachache.” Raven frowns. “Also, how did you know about my stomachache?”

“The narrators, duh.” Maddie points at the sky. “But let’s change the subject. Have you had burbleberry juice?”

“No,” Raven admits. “I’ve never heard of it.”

Maddie gasps, leaping forward so energetically that the whole teacup shakes. “YOU’VE NEVER HAD BURBLEBERRY JUICE?”

The afternoon comes and goes too fast. Raven watches the sunset from inside the Shoppe. Because of Legacy Day, the shops in Book End have to close early—but that doesn’t mean that Raven can’t spend dinner with Maddie and his father. The Mad Hatter made a minced meat pie with cakes dripping with marmalade for dessert, plus a spiced tea that complements the meal perfectly. Raven enjoys the meal so much that when she polishes off her last sip of tea, she’s left feeling hollowed out. Dread enters through the hole in her stomach and settles within her as her companions finish their meals too.

There’s no point in delaying any longer.

“I should go,” Raven says, her throat dry. Maddie and her father stare up at her with big eyes. “I need to get dressed for…yeah.”

“Of course,” the Mad Hatter says. “I wish I could be there, but they don’t allow parents.” He rustles Maddie’s hair. “Maybe they aren’t ready for twice the Hatter madness.”

Maddie giggles. “No, they’re not.”

Raven stares at them until the sickening feeling in her stomach worsens. She loves Maddie and her father—she really does—but seeing them reminds her of her own father. He’d died three years ago; he didn’t even get to see her start at Ever After High. When this moment finally did come, Raven was hoping they’d get through it together. She wasn’t even that lucky.

“I’ll see you both soon,” she says. She means it to be a promise. It sounds like an ultimatum.

Raven leaves the shop. As she walks the cobbled streets back toward Ever After High, she feels like a shadow, drifting across Book End without her feet touching the ground. She barely feels like a person—more like a figment of imagination marching through the motions. Soon enough, she won’t even have the freedom to think about it.

The halls of Ever After High are empty enough that Raven can walk through undisturbed. All that breaks the silence is the clatter of her iron heels against polished floors. Those floors quickly give way to grass once Raven’s shortcut leads her back outside the school. She tilts her head up and stares at the top of the storage tower. Grimm must really hate her if he’d send her all the way there to retrieve her legacy gown. After all, she’s only ever known the tower as her mother’s prison.

Soon enough, it’ll be Raven’s prison.

Terror unfurls like feathered wings in Raven’s stomach, talons tearing at flesh as it fights to escape. Raven doesn’t let the feeling overtake her—instead she stills, emotions fading into icy nothing.

She ascends the tower. Before now it seemed to take hours. Now it’s over too soon, and Raven pushes open the door at the top of the tower. The room remains as sparse as ever; a fresh sheen of dust coats the mirror Raven always saw her mother through. She pauses in front of it, as if expecting the screen to light up with her mother’s image. However, without Grimm’s ring, the mirror is harmless.

Raven is alone.

Her hands tremble at her sides when she turns to the only new item in the corner of the room. A mannequin of black velvet barely stands out from the shadows drenching the corner of the room; on it stands her legacy gown. Raven wastes no time slipping into it; she’d barely left herself any time to prepare before the ceremony.

The body of the dress, a fabric that appears black, shimmers purple and silver when the dim light glances over it. At the bottom of the dress, a hundred silver spikes thin as needles flare out, but they never prick Raven when she slides into them. The dress is paired with a cloak of the darkest black. If Raven turns the right way, the pattern stitched in the fabric glimmers in the light: feathers, circling around each other as they drift downward. Aside from that is a wicked headpiece: spikes and carved wings circling around the silver skull of a raven. Amethysts dark as pitch glimmer across Raven’s forehead, neck, and chest. Iron feathers jut out behind Raven’s hastily assembled updo, a collar fit for a queen as wicked as her. There’s not a wrinkle in the bodice or matching gloves. Everything fits perfectly, as if each piece was measured and sewn specifically for Raven.

Once she’s slid in the other glittering earring, Raven’s trembling hands fall limp at her sides with nothing left to grasp at. Slowly, she turns to face her reflection.

She barely recognizes herself. It’s all too easy to see her mother’s face, cruel and cold, staring back at her. Only one thing is missing.

Raven pulls the corners of her mouth up in a cruel smile. She mimics her mother’s expression too easily, wearing cruelty like yet another crown. In that moment, Raven can’t tell where she ends and the Evil Queen begins.

Perhaps there was never a difference between the two at all.

A laugh bubbles in Raven’s throat. It rings out, clear and cold. The anxiety in Raven’s stomach vanishes as though it was never even there. Raven laughs harder, raising her hands into the air as they glow, ablaze in violet.

Raven wonders if her mother is listening.

The thought sinks into her stomach like a spear made of ice—and just like that, the spell holding Raven breaks. Her hands drop to her side, though the flames in them are only fueled. Her shoulders shake. Tears drip down her cheeks.

Furious, she glares at her own reflection.

“I’m not going to be like you,” she gasps. “I’m never going to be like you!”

With a scream, she shoves her hands toward the mirror. Violet flames explode from her hands and collide with the glass.

The mirror shatters. Raven barely has time to drop and shield herself before several shards embed in what little of her skin is exposed. The iron curling around her arms and torso shields her from most of the glass.

When Raven pulls herself back to standing, legs shaking when she does so, a few shards clink to the floor around her. A drop of blood trickles down her arm.

She reaches up and unclasps the iron headpiece. Her deep violet hair falls back to its usual place on her shoulders. Raven holds out the headpiece in front of her, then lets go. The headpiece makes an awful clanging sound when it hits the ground. Not a scratch appears on its meticulously crafted feathers.

Raven scoffs gently before turning on her heel.

“Okay, okay, hon,” Briar instructs, her hands splayed out in front of her. “I hear you. Just tilt your head back. I spent too long on your makeup to have it all ruined now.”

Apple obliges, tilting her head back until her gold crown (and the strings of pearls attached to it) shifts backwards. Staring at the ceiling, Apple is careful not to blink at all, even as tears sting her eyes. She doesn’t move a muscle until Briar reaches in with a handkerchief and, with the precision of a surgeon, dabs away her tears.

Apple sighs, bringing her head back to its usual position. “Thank you,” she says, her voice sounding weaker than she intends.

Briar hums, dropping the handkerchief on Apple’s bedside table. “Of course. That’s what friends are for.”

“How’d you—” Apple’s voice cracks, and she can feel the heat flushing across her cheeks. She swallows her discomfort. A queen should never be disturbed by her imperfections—in fact, she shouldn’t even have them in the first place. “How’d you do that so well?”

Briar shrugs, rustling the live roses blooming from her pink gown, like it’s an easy feat. It certainly isn’t; Apple confirms as such when she stares into her gold-rimmed magic mirror and sees her face: lips red, cheeks rosy, and mascara undisturbed by her apparent inability to stop herself from throwing temper tantrums like a child. “I’ve had practice.”

At any other moment, Apple would ask what she means. But this is Legacy Day—the day Apple has waited for for seventeen years. All she wanted as a child. She’s imagined it a thousand ways, and every time, it turned out perfect. Not once did it turn out like this.

“Any luck?” she calls over her shoulder, with an almost apologetic tone, to Ashlynn.

Even in her full Legacy Day regalia, dripping in baby blue taffeta with flowers in pink and gold embroidered on her bodice and shimmering golden slippers, Ashlynn has switched over to “seamstress” mode quickly. A pincushion sits on her wrist; more sit between her lips before Ashlynn pulls them out.

“I’m going to pull again,” Ashlynn says.

Briar groans.

“Stay positive,” Ashlynn hisses. Apple feels her grip the ribbons at the base of her back. “Apple? You okay?”

“Suck in your stomach,” Briar advises, waving a wand of lip gloss to illustrate her point.

“Try to breathe this time.” Ashlynn sucks in a breath. “Grimm be with us.”

With that, she pulls.

Immediately, Apple feels her corset constraining around her middle, her chest threatening to burst out of the boning. She gasps, trying her best to hold her stomach in. Ashlynn barely barks a word before Briar is with her, wrapping her hands over her roommate’s and tugging along with her. Apple can feel them pulling tighter, tighter, as the space around her lungs grows tighter and tighter—

A loud snap. Apple is able to gasp in air before she topples forward, landing face-down on her carpet. She gasps, picking herself up before her makeup can be smudged. She quickly looks down, brushing off her red skirts.

“Apple…”

The future queen looks down at Ashlynn and Briar, still lying on the floor of her and Raven’s shared dormitory. Both are staring down at Ashlynn’s hand and the short red ribbon in them, frayed at one end.

Apple immediately clamps both her hands over her mouth. “Is that…”

With a grave expression, Ashlynn nods.

“…Is this a bad time? I can come back later.”

Apple turns to the doorway and almost screams. A shadow stands in her doorframe, decked in pitch black fabric, iron spikes, and amethyst and obsidian glinting viciously. For a moment, Apple fears she’s staring at Death itself.

Then the shadow steps into the light. Raven blinks, staring at Apple with concern. “Apple? Are you okay?”

It takes Apple all her strength not to reach around her and rip off this wretched corset made for waists far smaller than her own. Her hands tremble, and her shoulders shake.

“What do you care if I’m okay?!” Apple gasps, her frustration finally rising to the surface. “You’re supposed to want me to suffer. You’re supposed to want me dead.”

The word echoes, hard as glass, throughout the room. Briar and Ashlynn take one look at each other and pick themselves up, silently retreating from the dorm. When the door clicks behind them, all that’s left is Raven and Apple: on opposite sides, as they’re always meant to be.

Raven waits a long moment before speaking. “Apple…Of course I care about you. You’re my friend—”

“You’re supposed to be my enemy.” Apple laughs incredulously. “I didn’t ask to be your roommate just to end up friends.” But she did. She came here to win Raven’s trust and use it to get her to sign the book come Legacy Day. But now Legacy Day is here, and now they both have to face the truth: they were never meant to be friends. Their destinies promised such.

Raven frowns. She’s not wearing anything on her head; Apple would expect the Evil Queen to have some kind of wicked headpiece, with spikes or feathers or something. “Then why did you ask to be roommates with me?”

“Because—” Apple gasps through angry tears— “you scare me!” Raven recoils, eyes wide. “And not in the way you should! You’re supposed to be menacing and cruel and wicked, but instead you…” Her heart beats like a bird’s wings against her too-small corset. “Instead you ask about not signing the book and then run out in the middle of our assembly. You’re not serious, are you? You’re still going to sign the book. Right?”

Raven’s jaw tightens. Apple steps closer to her, cheeks blazing hot. “Right?”

“I—”

Apple sighs and steps back. “You don’t care, do you?” she says, shaking her head. “You’d let all of us die just so you could escape one poisoned apple—”

“A poisoned apple?” Raven shakes her head furiously. “Do you even know what happens to me, Apple? Are you paying attention?! Everyone hates me even before I’ve even started to act evil. I have to be so vain I turn murderous just because you’re prettier than me, and let’s face it—” she laughs incredulously— “no magic mirror would ever say I’m the fairest of all. I chase you down and try to kill you three times, and I finally get you on the last time, but lo and behold, True Love’s Kiss saves the day, and you get your prince and your kingdom.” Raven folds her arms. “I get bound in iron chains and thrown into a cell to rot alone for the rest of my life. That is, until I have a daughter, and she’s the only bit of the outside world I’m allowed to see, and—” Her breath catches.

Apple swallows. She doesn’t need a magic spell to know what Raven is thinking. “And you die.”

Raven’s eyes flick to the ground. “Yeah,” she says, more angry than defeated. “Then I die.”

“Well—” Apple laughs coldly. “I’m sorry, Raven, but that’s the way it goes. That’s the way it has to go. I get a happy ending. You don’t.” Raven scoffs and looks away. “Raven, you asked Headmaster Grimm what would happen if you didn’t sign. You know what you’re risking. Are you really willing to destroy this whole world just so you don’t have to do something you’ve known you had to do your entire life?”

Raven stops. With the moonlight silhouetting her, she looks almost sinister. “And what if Grimm was lying?”

Apple blinks. The accusation hurts her as much as it were an accusation toward herself or—Grimm forbid—her mother. “Excuse me? Our headmaster is a good man.” Raven scoffs, still not turning to face her. “He has no reason to lie to us—”

“And yet he already has,” Raven says, a wicked grin not unlike her mother’s on her face. “I have proof that he’s been lying to us this whole time. We can’t trust him. I know you respect him, but I don’t. I can’t.”

“He’s descended from the Narrators!” Apple shrieks, her voice rising to a fever pitch. “Like it or not, Raven, he is the authority of Ever After. He’s not some wicked ruler twisting everything to his command like your mom.”

“And what do you know about my mom?” Raven shouts back, hands ablaze in violet flames. “You’ve never even met her!”

“Maybe I haven’t.” Apple balls her hands into fists. If she imagines, she can be the Evil Queen too: ruby flames instead of violet, and all the anger and imperfections a future Snow White should never had. “But at least I actually know who the Evil Queen should be, unlike you.”

“Oh, I know exactly who my mother is.” Raven raises her hands. Every light in their dormitory goes out at once; the windows burst open and bang against the walls, and Apple cowers against her bed, shaking, no longer able to convince herself she’s staring at a friend rather than her worst enemy. “I know everything about her and the legacy she left for me. And I know enough to know that I am never going to be like her!”

Violet flashes through the room, banging the back of Apple’s head against her banister. Apple cries out; she slumps to the floor, helpless and terrified. No prince can save her now.

Her terror only increases when she feels fabric slither across her exposed skin like ribbons.

“What—” Apple struggles to get up. A ribbon circles around her wrists and pins her down. “What’s happen—”

Another ribbon circles her throat, tightening enough that Apple’s words end in a choked gasp. That’s enough to grasp Raven’s attention; she runs to Apple’s side, hands still blazing with violet flames.

“Apple?” Raven asks, frantically searching her figure. “Apple?!”

Apple tries to respond but can only choke on air. The ribbons tighten with every second; Apple closes her eyes and, frantically, thinks of the last and only other time she nearly died. She can feel the water filling her lungs even now.

“No.” Raven’s fingers are burning hot as they press into Apple’s skin, making her squirm. Raven tugs at the ribbons, failing to break them. “No, no, this isn’t what I wanted! Stop!” She sobs—sobs, because the girl she’s destined to nearly kill is dying anyway. “Please! Apple! Stop!”

Her voice breaks on the last syllable. Heat floods from where her hands touch Apple’s skin throughout Apple’s body—and suddenly, the ribbons retract. Apple sits up, gasping for breath.

As soon as she’s able to breathe again, Raven sobs and pulls her into a hug. Apple tenses—not even at the burning heat of Raven’s skin, so unlike her usual coldness, but at her display of emotion. Apple said she didn’t want to be friends. She’d lost her temper and screamed, yet Raven still cared about her. Raven cared enough to undo the wicked spell she’d cast and now rocks frantically back and forth, crying as she grips Apple tightly.

“Please,” Raven says. “Please, I didn’t want this.”

Still stunned, Apple gently wraps her arms around her friend. Not her enemy. Not her villain. Her friend.

“I’ll be good,” Raven promises. “I’ll sign the book. I’ll be good. I can’t let you get hurt.”

Apple lets them stay intertwined a moment longer before she pulls back. Tears shine on Raven’s cheeks in the dim light. She sniffles, face finally lighting up once she sees that Apple is fine.

Apple reaches out and presses a hand to Raven’s cheek. It sinks in like a key into a lock, and Raven exhales, eyes fluttering closed, weak under Apple’s grip.

And Apple smiles.

“Of course you will,” she says.

Chapter Text

Most villains don’t march up to the Legacy Day ceremony holding hands with the heroine of their fairytale. Raven Queen isn’t most villains.

On the walk from their dorm to the courtyard—a walk far too short—Raven expects Apple to let go of her hand. They just had a fight, and more than that, Raven just almost killed Apple.

She didn’t want to.

It doesn’t matter.

What would have happened if Raven succeeded? If she’d killed Ever After’s future queen? The Evil Queen was supposed to try, but not to succeed. If Raven had succeeded, she’d be doomed to a far worse fate than her mother.

An awful taste fills her mouth. She needs to sign the book.

Apple’s heel strikes the bottom step of the stairs. Immediately, she turns around and studies Raven’s face. “Are you alright?”

Outside the castle, bodies fill the courtyard; conversation builds to a dull roar. It makes Raven’s head hurt. “Let’s get this over with,” she mutters, a bitter taste filling her mouth.

Apple beams and squeezes her hand. “This is so exciting!”

Raven scoffs gently. When Apple smiles at her, she nearly smiles back.

Apple pulls Raven forward, tugging her through crowds of underclassmen. Though those too young to sign can’t attend the ceremony themselves, they gather inside the castle, teetering on their toes for a glimpse of the Storybook they’ll sign in a few short years. A line of staff block the students from the Legacy Day courtyard; they step aside to let Apple and Raven through, smiling warmly at Apple (and staring not-so-warmly at Raven.) As Apple bounces on her heels, both girls search the crowd for a familiar face.

A shadow falls over them. “Miss Queen. And Miss White. You’re late.”

Headmaster Grimm stands in front of them, arms crossed. The school crest pin on his suit gleams straight into Raven’s eyes, forcing her to squint. She opens her mouth to argue, but Apple beats her to it.

“Our apologies, Headmaster,” Apple says, as flattering as always. She smiles, round cheeks glowing pink. “I had a little issue with my gown.”

Grimm steps closer to her, eyes narrowing. “…That’s not the right corset for your legacy gown.”

Apple’s smile collapses. Raven steps up, arms crossed. “The corset didn’t fit. We had to improvise.”

“That corset fit just right on your mother.”

Raven glares at him. “Apple’s not her mother.”

“Raven.” Apple tugs on Raven’s hand. Raven swivels to her, grumbling under her breath. “Raven, it’s okay, really—”

Grimm takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes, smiling pleasantly. His grin only makes the furious crawling of Raven’s skin worsen.

“Well, no matter,” Grimm says. “You’re here now. We can begin.” He steps aside nodding for the girls to walk past. “Go find your seats. Quickly, now.”

Apple curtsies and politely says her goodbyes. Raven watches, brow ticking lower with every word Apple says, before she gets tired of it and finally tugs her roommate away from Grimm.

“What’s his problem?” Raven mutters.

Apple glances at her frowning. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, why’d he have to point out your corset?” Raven huffs. “I thought he liked you.”

“Of course he likes me,” Apple says. “He likes everyone. Even you.” Raven scoffs under her breath. “I’m serious, Raven. He wants what’s best for you.”

Raven stops and turns to face her. “And is what’s best for you reminding you how you’re not perfectly living up to your destiny every opportunity he gets?”

Apple stops. Her smile sours, and she takes one step back.

Raven takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” she mutters. “I just—I’m stressed, that’s all.”

“Well, don’t be. Nothing bad will happen to you.” Apple winks and squeezes Raven’s hand. “Nothing bad will happen to us.”

Raven inhales sharply and pulls her hand out of Apple’s. “You mean, nothing bad will happen to you.”

“Raven,” Apple says, pursing her blood-red lips. “You know I didn’t mean—”

“It’s all right. I’ll—” Raven stops, hands tugging at the chains circling her heart. “…I should find Maddie.”

“I should find Briar and Ash.” Apple purses her lips. Her blue eyes linger on Raven; it makes Raven want to turn and flee into a castle, like a Cinderella without a prince chasing after her. But that’s Ashlynn’s destiny, not hers.

“I’ll see you after the ceremony?” Raven offers.

Apple nods, smile spreading wide across her face. “After the ceremony. Good luck, Raven.”

“I’d wish you luck,” Raven says with the kindest expression she can muster, “but I don’t think you need it.”

Apple giggles. She waves, skirt spinning as she twirls away and flounces off into the crowd. A brown hand encircled by embroidered roses—Briar, no doubt—hovers over the crowd; Apple breaks into a dainty run as she rushes to one side of the pews. Raven sighs, eyes on the iron toes of her boots. She walks toward the other side.

It’s an unspoken rule: royals on one side, commoners on the other. Raven doesn’t mind it; she finds herself more at home with the quiet commoners, all grumbling among themselves, than the Royals who cheer and shout about the parties they’re planning after tonight, as if signing away their free wills is something to celebrate.

Raven is so caught up in her own thoughts that she slams into a wall of red velvet fabric. She springs back, cheeks flushing. “Oh—! I’m sorry.”

The person she slammed into turns. Cerise Hood’s brown eyes are narrowed at first, but they relax once she sees Raven. “…It’s you,” she says, not unkindly.

Raven crosses her arms, looking over at their crowds of classmates. “…So. Legacy Day.”

Cerise scoffs and tugs her hood down. Unlike her usual hood, her Legacy Day cloak is lined in fur—wolf fur, probably. It gives off a particular scent, reminding Raven of the times she’d stumble onto wolf families in the Enchanted Forest and they’d run away, barking in warning as they did so.

Grimm, that’ll get even worse after Raven signs.

“Yoo-hoo!” From the front row, Maddie teeters on the top of one of the pews, waving her arm wildly over her head. Hunter and Cedar both watch her do so, but neither move to stop her.

Cerise folds in on herself. “…I really don’t want to go up there.”

“I don’t either,” Raven admits. Cerise glances at her, and the white patch in her eyelashes glint under the moonlight. Raven suddenly feels a swell of confidence. “Should we?”

Cerise straightens up—only slightly—and nods, eyes fixed on the podium. Raven fixes her eyes on Maddie, now doing a dance that looks practically impossible on top of the bench. She walks to the front of the crowd, trying her best not to crumple under the pressure.

Maddie squishes Raven into a hug as Cerise slides into the seat beside Cedar. “Isn’t this exciting?!” she shouts over the royals’ chatter.

Raven cringes. “I don’t—”

A trumpet cuts through the sound. Excited gasps rise from the royals’ side of the pews; the commoners only sigh. Students sink into their seats as fairies with tiny horns flutter across the stage, playing a tune that Raven knows is made to be merry. Instead, the song only worsens the dread sinking into her stomach.

She presses her sharp nails into her palm. Just sign the book.

Headmaster Grimm approaches the podium on the stage. Gone is the judgmental gleam in his eyes, replaced by a proud smile. Grimm spreads his eyes wide. “Welcome, students and faculty, to your Legacy Day ceremony!”

Cheers erupt from the other side of the pews. Cerise rolls her eyes; that’s enough to make Raven snort. She catches Grimm staring at her, and his glare stifles the one spark of joy she’s felt all evening.

“Here, we will celebrate all of you as you make a pledge to certify your futures.” The ring on Grimm’s finger gleams green. The light expands, forming a rectangular shape before fading into the Storybook of Legends, which hovers just beside Grimm. Gasps and applause erupts.

“Tonight, you take on the sacred responsibility of preserving our world,” he explains. “By signing your names in the Storybook of Legends, you promise to keep your stories alive for the next generation—not only that, but you promise to fuel the magic that holds our world up.

“But above all of that—” his eyes fix on Raven, who swallows down the lump in her throat— “this is the night that you all embrace who you were meant to be.”

(Ribbons clench around Apple’s throat as her face turns purple. I’m not going to be like you, Raven’s voice screams in her head. I’m never going to be like you!)

Raven’s fingers dig into the fabric of her skirt as she tries to steady herself.

“So, without further ado—” The Storybook of Legends lowers, landing softly on the podium in front of Grimm. With a wave of his hand, Grimm pulls a silver key out of seemingly nowhere and fits it into the lock at the front of the book. The click of the lock echoes across the courtyard. The book opens, and golden light bursts from the pages as they flip. The light casts silhouettes onto the mirrors floating behind Grimm: cowering damsels and brave knights and wicked hags. Raven’s heart sinks at the image of an apple gleaming in the mirror closest to her.

The Storybook of Legends slams, the images dancing on mirrors vanishing.

“Let Legacy Day commence,” Grimm says with a wide smile. He steps back as applause and cheers fill the air. Among the whooping royals, Raven sees Apple standing taller than the students around her, smiling wider than Raven has ever seen her do so—and that’s saying a lot for Ever After’s future queen.

Headmaster Grimm walks to the corner of the stage. His ring glows again, and with a wave of his hand, he produces a scroll. The royals lean forward as the commoners recoil. That scroll contains the order that students will sign in Legacy Day; it determines how long each student has to savor their freedom.

A violet light gleams in Raven’s palm. She balls her fist, crushing the light.

Grimm clears his throat. “Cedar Wood.”

Scattered applause sounds—but not from their row. Everyone close to Raven turns toward Cedar, who smiles anxiously. Raven thinks she can see a crack in the painted rouge of Cedar’s cheeks if she leans close enough.

Cedar smiles at her friends one last time, then gets to her feet. She walks to the podium and looks to the audience with a nervous smile.

“I—I am Cedar Wood, daughter of Pinocchio.” she declares with an uncertain yet bright voice. “And I am r—ready to pledge my destiny.”

With a swirl of green light, a key forms, carved from wood and stained the same brown as Cedar’s skin. It plops into her palm when she reaches out. She inserts it into the lock, and a burst of golden light surges out, forming the shape of a mirror in front of her face. Raven can’t see anything but swirling light—no one in the audience can. Only Cedar can, since she unlocked the vision of her future. Judging from the gleam in her eyes, she likes it.

The mirror transforms into a quill. Cedar takes it and, without hesitation, signs her name.

The applause is louder this time; Apple even stands and smiling brightly at the first student to sign tonight.

Cedar hurries down the steps and smiles almost apologetically at her friends when she retakes her seat. “I—I’m sorry,” she admits before looking down at her skirt.

Raven frowns. “Why are you sorry?”

Before Cedar can respond, Grimm announces the next name. “Ashlynn Ella.”

There’s a distinct slowness to Ashlynn’s step as she takes her place at the podium. Though her voice carries, she’s not smiling. In fact, her face only drops, eyes glinting with grief when she stares up at the vision of her future. Raven doesn’t know what could be so miserable about the happily-ever-after promised for Cinderella. Still, she can’t bear to see Ashlynn so upset.

Ashlynn grips the quill tightly and signs with shaking hands. Only when the other princesses cheer for her does she finally muster a smile fitting a princess.

Daring Charming comes up next. Though most of the girls on the commoner side clap for him, Cerise only rolls her eyes; that would make Raven laugh if she wasn’t so busy digging her hands into the fabric of her skirt. He makes a short speech about what a handsome and noble and dashing Prince Charming he’ll make; he watches his vision of the future with one of his signature grins on display; he flashes another of those grins when he finishes signing. Girls swoon, and this time, Raven rolls her eyes with Cerise.

“Apple White.”

Her roommate and fated nemesis’s name stabs like needles into Raven’s stomach. If Apple has to sign now, Raven can’t be that far behind.

Apple steps up to the stage, a vision in white and gold. Doves sit on her arms as she approaches, bows matching the red of her bodice tied around their necks.

“I am Apple White,” Apple announces. As she does, she lifts her arms, and the doves soar into the sky. The crowd oohs and ahhs at her presentation; even Raven can’t look away as the doves fly off into the setting sun. “Daughter of Snow White. And I am ready to pledge my destiny.”

An ivory key with gold accents appears in the air, dropping into Apple’s palm once she reaches for it. She opens her key and watches with an eager smile as her mirror appears. Her smile only grows as the vision unfolds.

When the mirror transforms into a quill, Apple reaches for it before it’s even finished forming. She signs, and the royals’ side of the pews erupt into cheers. Raven claps politely, but that does nothing to calm her nerves.

“Raven Queen,” Grimm says, his tone decidedly colder.

Raven signs. She knew it was coming sooner or later.

When she gets to her feet, no one applauds—not even her friends. Even Maddie has lost her usual smile. Cedar can’t look up; Cerise pulls her hood over her head. She catches Raven’s eye and nods sharply.

Just get it over with, Raven tells herself.

Inhaling, she walks toward the stage and up the stairs. In the blink of an eye, she’s standing in front of the podium, and the Storybook of Legends—a book she’s seen in her nightmares time and time again—gleams in front of her, closer than it’s ever been.

Her fingers skirt over the cover of the book. Raven inhales. She looks up and finds that all eyes are on her.

Just sign.

Raven inhales, breath shaking when she does so. “My name is Raven Queen.” Her fingers curl into the podium until her nails cut the marble. “Daughter of the Evil Queen. And I pledge…”

Poison apples, poison combs. A ribbon curled around Apple’s throat.

Raven looks up and sees her roommate urging her on—her eyes gleaming, fists curled tightly. Come on, she mouths.

Raven swore she’d sign for Apple. Her fate is already sealed. Her friend’s isn’t.

Light gleams as her key appears in front of her: silver and encrusted with amethysts. Raven snatches it from the sky before it can drop. Her hand shakes as she fits it into the lock on the Storybook and turns the key.

A mirror rimmed in silver spikes, eerily similar to the one she’s always seen her mother imprisoned within, appears in front of her. Her future flashes in front of her: a dark castle, a magic mirror. Raven gazing into the reflection at Apple: young and lush and lively, more beautiful than every way. A huntsman; a pig’s heart. Raven wrapping herself in disguises and coming to dwarves’ doorsteps, carrying poisoned combs and ribbons and finally an apple. A week—a blissful week of Apple locked in a glass coffin, and Raven believing victory, until Apple marches in with Daring on her arm and carries Raven off in chains.

The final image of the series is one Raven knows all too well: her mother, trapped behind the glass of her mirror prison, her neck and wrists bound in chains. Her feathered dress worn and ragged; her eyes wild and frenzied.

Except when Raven studies the haggard face in the mirror, her eyes widen. That isn’t her mother. That’s her.

The mirror transforms into a quill, hovering before Raven. Waiting.

It would be such an easy thing to do. Sign the book. Give her life away. Apple gets her happy ending. Raven gets thrown into prison, suffering alone for the rest of her life, while the world believes her dead. Except maybe then Raven will have a daughter who knows—a daughter who will grow up hating her for the actions she never had a choice in, who will swear like Raven did that she’ll never be like her and fall into the same trap.

This will be Raven’s curse, and the curse of her daughter, and every girl after them carrying their brutal legacy. Again and again. Generation after generation. Forever after.

Raven, once again, turns to glimpse her roommate’s smile.

Just sign.

She reaches for the quill. Her fingertips brush feathers—and she hesitates.

She’d told herself it was an easy choice. She’d do it for Apple. But this isn’t about Apple—it’s about Cerise and Maddie and Cedar and Hunter, and every other student, and every generation yet to face this same choice. Except it’s not a choice—not for them. None of them are free. Not even Apple.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Grimm staring at her—brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, lips curled in a silent snarl. Isn’t Raven putting their world in danger if she doesn’t sign? Shouldn’t he be afraid?

Raven isn’t afraid. She knows Grimm is a liar. She knows what risk she’s taking. And she knows that this choice isn’t just for her—it’s for everyone.

If Raven is going to be a cautionary tale, so be it.

Raven balls her hand into a fist. “My name is Raven Queen,” she declares.

Her voice carries farther than it did before. Whispers dart around the crowd. Apple pauses, smile slipping for the first time. Meanwhile, Maddie titters from her seat, hands balled in front of her chest and a massive smile on her face. Hunter and Cerise stare at each other; Cedar gapes at the stage. None of them look scared.

Good.

“I’m going to write my own destiny.” Whispers turn to gasps. Raven looks down at the Storybook of Legends, the Evil Queen’s page sitting in front of her—the line waiting for her signature. Raven grips the top of the page. “My happily ever after starts now!”

Raven tugs downward. The page tears at the seam, the ripping sound echoing through the crowd. Students scream; sparks fly where the page was torn.

With one last tug, Raven pulls her page out from the Storybook of Legends. Good light explodes from the bindings, releasing a wave of energy. Raven sags against the podium; thankfully, all it does is rustle her hair.

Glass cracks above her. Raven looks up as the first shard crashes to the ground. The mirrors hanging above the stage shatter, and glass rains down. Students scream, getting to their feet. Raven can only state as glass tumbles toward her—

A wall of red shields her from the glass. Cerise pants, holding her cloak just right to shield them both. Blood drips down her skin from a fresh scar.

Their eyes meet.

Shouts tear Raven’s attention away from Cerise. Students stampede toward the castle; the faculty try to no avail to calm the chaos. Maddie is the only person smiling; she cheers, bouncing up and down as she claps. Hunter and Cedar try to get her attention with little success.

In front of the pews, beneath the stage, stands Apple. She holds a fistful of skirt in each hand. Mascara drips down her face; tears flow from her wide blue eyes.

“Raven,” Cerise whispers, voice quiet and urgent.

Raven follows her gaze. Silhouetted by the last rays of the Sun, Grimm looks like a shadow come alive. Cerise digs into Raven’s arms with sharp nails and pulls her out of the way as Grimm shoulders past her. He grabs the Storybook of Legends and clutches it to his chest. The book dissolves into green light—as does the ripped page in Raven’s fist—and sinks into the ring. His cold eyes gleam the same bright shade of green as he glares at Raven.

“I—I didn’t disappear,” Raven gasps to him, dumbstruck. Her eyes narrow. “I’m still here! I—You lied!”

Grimm remains as still as a statue.

Cerise wraps an arm around Raven and guides her off the stage. Even as she does, Raven can’t tear her eyes from Grimm’s icy stare.

Only when she’s off the stage, Raven looks at the near-empty pews. A group of Royals spin toward her, shouting and shaking fists. Cerise pulls her away and Raven lets her—

Apple grabs Raven by the wrist. “Raven,” Apple says, breathless. “Raven, what did you do?”

Cerise steps back, tugging her hood over her head. Raven trembles as she faces her roommate. “…I had to.”

“You didn’t.” Apple’s eyes flash. “You promised—”

“I know I did, but…” Raven shakes her head. “I did this for all of us. We don’t have to settle for an unhappy ending. Now, we all get to choose what happens to us.” Smiling gently, she reaches for Apple’s other hand.

Apple pills back sharply. “I liked the destiny I had,” she says, voice cracking.

Raven tenses. “Some of us don’t have that luxury.”

“Yeah.” Apple squares her shoulders as her voice turns bitter. “Now no one will have that luxury. Thanks to you.”

“Apple—” Raven calls after her, but her roommate is already storming away, burying her head in her hands as she sobs. “Wait—Apple!”

A hand rests on her arm. “Let her go,” Cerise murmurs.

Raven tenses—still, she stays silent as her roommate leaves. Once Apple disappears, Raven glances behind her at the stage—yet all that remains is shards of glass, as if Grimm was never there at all.

Hands wrap around her middle. “You did it!” Maddie cheers, even lifting Raven several inches off the ground. Raven squeaks; her heart pounds until her feet touch the ground. “And look, you’re still here! No poof, poof!”

Cedar wrings her hands; as soon as Maddie steps back, she wraps her arms around Raven. “I—I thought something bad would happen to you…”

“Oh, Cedar.” Raven holds Cedar tightly as the puppet’s wooden cheek sinks into her shoulder. “I’m still here. I’m fine.”

“I know. I just can’t help it.” Cedar pulls back, drumming her fingers on her thigh. “…Raven, is it bad that I already signed?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“But you didn’t sign at all. Maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“Um, guys?” Hunter gestures behind the five. Angry students and teachers stand at a distance, shouting and gesturing angrily. “We’d better get out of here.”

“Agreed.” Cerise tugs on her hood. “We really need to avoid the other students—”

“And Grimm,” Raven mutters, paling.

Cerise nods. “But I don’t know anywhere we could go that they wouldn’t find us—”

Raven snaps her fingers. A single violet spark flies from her fingers. “I think I do.”

***

Deep beneath the grounds of Ever After High, tucked away at the end of a hidden passage connected to the library, Giles Grimm sits with both his palms pressed to the mirror. He takes a shaky breath. Veins pop from his hands.

Green light spills from his hands into the mirror. The light swirls, spilling across the glass—then transforming into an image. In the mirror, a young woman stands in front of a podium. She inhales, staring down at the book in front of her. She tears her page out of the book; she declares her refusal to sign. Glass rains down.

The girl lifts her head, and Giles smiles. Dressed in her ancestral gown, Raven looks so much like her mother.

Light shifts behind Raven. Giles stills, nearly pulling his hands from the glass. It’s been decades since Giles stared into the face of his older brother. Nothing has changed. Nothing, including the glint of green in his wild eyes, the ice in his stare as he grabs back the Storybook of Legends before it sinks into his ring. Giles shivers, finally prying his fingers from the cold glass. The image dissolves.

Giles sags against the mirror, catching his breath. Nineteen years. Nineteen years he’s waited, and who would be the spark to reignite the flame but another Queen—Raven Queen. Of course it would be her.

The ceiling creaks behind him. Giles whirls, staggering to his feet—his heel knocks into a stack of books, which tumble over. Giles’s heart beats against his waistcoat; it only calms when a slender shadow falls down the center of the stairs, surrounded by four shadows of various sizes. Giles exhales. His brother would never confess one of his greatest secrets to anyone else.

That doesn’t make it impossible for someone to discover what Milton hides. Giles has made sure of that—and his gamble has paid off.

Five students stumble down the stairs. Raven Queen stands in the center; her usually pale cheeks are flushed, and her shoulders sag when she reaches the bottom of the stairs. On the other hand, Madeline—the Mad Hatter’s daughter—flounces down the stairs, her curls bouncing. Pinocchio’s daughter, Cedar, takes in the secret chamber with a wide-open mouth; the Huntsman’s son, Hunter, fixes Giles with a wary stare. The final member of Raven’s entourage keeps her eyes fixed on their makeshift leader. The red cloak over her head makes Giles lean forward. Observing her broad nose and the streak of white in her bangs, it’s clear that Cerise Hood has more to her heritage than she dares to say. It’s also abundantly clear that her secret is one she must hide. Giles wouldn’t dare imagine his brother’s reaction if he knew.

Despite all this, it’s good that they knew to come to Giles. He has done this once before. He failed. May Milton have mercy on him if he fails again.

Raven clears her throat. All five students turn to Giles, wide-eyed.

Observing a new generation of rebels, Giles folds his hands and smiles.

Chapter Text

When Raven wakes, she opens her eyes to gold light filtering through windows. She inhales, and her chest flutters, full of a sensation she hasn’t felt in a long time—perhaps, not since her father was alive.

Peace.

The fight has only begun, but Raven sinks her fingers into the velvet of her Legacy gown and sighs in relief. For now, she knows that she was right. She’s still here. She’s still alive.

And she’s not alone.

Raven carefully pushes herself up to a seated position, as not to disturb the pile of pillows and blankets she’s slept on. The haphazard “bed” that Giles created for them to sleep in is a marvel in itself. What’s more of a marvel is how comfortable it is. Raven feared that she wouldn’t be able to sleep a wink last night, but her eyes closed as soon as her head touched the pillow, as though a spell put her to sleep. Now that she’s awake, Raven almost regrets pushing away the blanket over her legs and scooting away from Maddie, whose sleeping form is curled in beside her. Cedar and Hunter lie on opposite sides of the pile, sleeping comfortably. And Cerise…

Raven sits up, panic seizing her throat. Cerise isn’t here.

Before her panic can truly set in, floorboards creak near her. Raven slides off the pile of blankets and carefully gets to her feet as the door leading up to the library creaks open. Cerise walks in carefully, one hand on the doorknob, the other curled around the hem of her hood.

Raven breathes a sigh of relief. Cerise pauses, wide brown eyes on her. With a gentle smile, Raven crosses the room toward her. Wordlessly understanding Raven’s intent, Cerise steps back to let Raven into the hallway, then closes the door behind them.

As soon as the door is closed, Raven leaps forward, wrapping Cerise in a hug. Cerise squeaks, and Raven pulls away.

“I’m sorry,” Raven explains. stepping back so Cerise has enough space. “I should have asked—”

Cerise shakes her head. “No, you’re alright.”

“I just…” Raven exhales, her back pressing into the wall behind her. “I was worried something had happened to you. That Grimm…”

The thought is too dire to vocalize. Fortunately, Cerise nods, immediately understanding. She tugs at a streak of white in her dark hair. “I would have told someone, but everyone was missing. And Giles…”

Raven nods. It’s clear that Giles won’t leave the vault, but he had left the students once he showed them to their makeshift bed. Raven was grateful for the space. The thought of a Grimm’s eyes on her—even if it was Giles, and not Milton himself—makes her throat constrict and violet sparks jump between her fingers—

Cerise’s warm fingers glance over Raven’s, long enough that Raven feels the sturdy pound of her friend’s heart. She exhales, flexing her fingers, and the sparks fade. “Sorry,” she says. “I’m just—not the best at casting spells.”

“My father—” Cerise pauses. Flinches, as though she’s done something wrong. She drags her eyes back to Raven and takes a careful breath. “My father says to be patient. He says to trust that time will bring us what we need. Your magic, or maybe—” her eyes trail to the staircase back to the library, and the closed hatch atop it—“the strength to defy destiny itself.”

“It’s not destiny,” Raven says, before she can stop herself. “Not ours. Not the one we chose.”

Cerise studies Raven for a long moment. In the dim light, Raven thinks she sees the girl’s eyes glow gold. Then her eyes, brown again, flick to the closed door to the vault. She takes a careful breath.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” Cerise says. She steps closer, her voice dipping quieter. Raven matches her gaze, the grave seriousness of Cerise’s tone hanging heavy on her shoulders. “But I need you to promise not to tell anyone. Especially not Grimm.”

“I would never tell,” Raven swears. Her lips tease into a gentle smile. “Especially not Grimm.”

Cerise chuckles, but their brief moment of shared joy fades fast. “I think everyone should be able to choose what they want to do with their lives, not follow a destiny that they were born into,” she explains, smile gone. “But that’s not only why I want to see you succeed. I need you to succeed because…” Her fingers curl around her hood. “Well.”

She drops the hood. Raven’s breath catches. Two wolf ears crown either side of her head, clearly red from the hood resting over them almost every second that Raven has seen them.

As quickly as she dropped it, Cerise pulls her hood back on, exhaling as she adjusts it. Raven doesn’t blame her. She’d want to keep that secret hidden, too.

secret she’d want expose any more than she has to.

“So your parents…” Raven’s brow knits deeper. “Red Riding Hood and…the Big Bad Wolf?”

Cerise nods. “You understand why we can’t tell anyone.”

“I do.” Raven folds her arms. “Grimm would have a fit.” She’d love to see the look on his face if he knew what a drastic step away from their destiny Cerise’s parents took. But the consequences for Cerise’s family, even if Grimm chose to be merciful, would be far too dire to justify the moment of satisfaction she’d get from it otherwise.

Raven steps forward and laces her fingers with Cerise’s. She squeezes tight—tight enough that Cerise’s breath cuts. Raven feels her heart thrum in her chest, faster than it usually does. She smiles, trying to assure them both. “I won’t tell a soul. I promise.”

Cerise stares at her, eyes gleaming. Heat sparks in Raven’s chest, running from her heart down to her fingertips—

Violet sparks leap between Raven and Cerise’s intertwined hands. Cerise tenses, and Raven quickly rips her hands from Cerise’s grip and stuffs them into her skirt. “I—I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay,” Cerise says. Her voice sounds quiet, almost reverent, as she studies Raven. Then, as quickly as the moment began, Cerise coughs and looks away.

“We should get back to the others,” Cerise says, gesturing at the door. In the dim light, Raven can’t be sure if her cheeks have turned pink.

“Okay.” Raven grips the handle, but looks back before she opens the door. Cerise nods. Only then does Raven open the door.

To her relief, Cedar has started to pry her eyes open, while Hunter begins to sit up. Maddie, however, is already fully upright. She’s pulling teacups from her hat, and she beams when she sees Raven approach. Immediately, she flounces to her feet, glitter in the layers of tulle in her skirt glimmering.

“All hail the Not-Evil and definitely-not-poofed Queen!” Maddie announces, sinking into a bow.

Cedar notices the girl’s pose and sinks into a curtsy, though her wide eyes suggest that she isn’t quite sure why she’s doing it. From the glint in Hunter’s eyes, however, he knows exactly what he’s doing when he bows.

Raven’s cheeks immediately blaze hot. She turns to Cerise, who shrugs lazily, then bends her knees in a slight curtsy. The action only makes Raven’s cheeks burn hotter.

“Okay—okay, stop,” she says, the sound escaping her in a near-frantic gasp. Cerise senses her panic immediately and rises from her curtsy.

Maddie, on the other hand, only giggles. “I think you mean, rise—”

“I’m serious!” Panic leaks into Raven’s voice. Maddie’s smile fades, and she pops back to standing. Hunter and Cedar do the same a moment later with similar concern written on their faces.

Cerise places a hand on Raven’s shoulder. With the warmth of her friend’s hand pressing into her skin, Raven feels grounded, rather than at the mercy of the magic constantly sparking at her fingertips. She closes her eyes and takes a few breaths before she talks.

“I’m not your queen,” she says. Cerise drops her hand and walks back to where the other three students stand. “I’m not a—a leader. Yesterday, I was supposed to sign the book and become an evil queen who cares about nothing except for herself. But I didn’t.”

Raven’s arms curl around her stomach.

“I don’t want you all to get in trouble for the things I did. I did this alone. I don’t need you guys getting swept up in it—”

“We’re already in it,” Hunter says. “You’re not the only one who’s been missing the whole night.”

“Plus, Headmaster Grimm saw us all get together and run away at the same time, probably,” Cedar says, playing with one of the ribbons hanging off of her gown. “That’s pretty incriminating. He’s probably as mad at all of us as he is with Raven. We’re accomplices to the crime.”

“The crime that I committed alone,” Raven says, at the same moment that Cerise interjects, “It’s not a crime.”

“Grimm did say that the consequences would be pretty severe, like, Raven disappearing from existence.” Cedar wrings her hands. “I think risking disappearing from existence is a pretty big crime.”

“Well, she’s still here,” Maddie says, prodding Raven’s pale cheek until Raven bats her hand away.

“Besides,” Raven says, voice grave. “Grimm was pretty adamant about him being the ‘last living descendant of the Narrators,’ wasn’t he? And we all know that’s not true.”

For the first time since Raven re-entered the vault, the group goes silent. The eyes of each student travel across the walls, the piles of books, the foggy mirrors. When they fall back to Raven, she doesn’t know what to say.

Luckily, Cerise steps forward, her hood slipping back an inch—but not nearly enough to expose her ears. “Like it or not, Raven, we’re with you now,” she says, her eyes certain as she gazes at Raven. Raven tries to hold her stare, even as her heart pounds within her chest. “We’re a team now.”

“A cohort?” Hunter suggests.

“A brimble of thimbles!” Maddie adds, throwing her arms around Hunter and Raven’s shoulders and pulling them both to her chest. Hunter grumbles under Maddie’s grip; Raven giggles, leaning into her best friend’s grip.

“Brimble’s not a word,” Cedar adds. As soon as she does, Maddie yelps and grabs her by the arm, pulling her into the hug. She does the same to Cerise, who squeals when her form presses against Raven’s own. Raven smiles, but she’s also careful to give the girl as much space as she needs.

After they’ve all settled into Maddie’s group hug, Raven exhales. “Well,” she says. “I’m going to be honest. I don’t know where to start.”

“Well, that’s okay,” Hunter says, stepping away from Raven. “I think it’s pretty obvious what we should do.”

Raven frowns. “What?” she begins to ask—the exact moment that she does, her stomach growls.

Hunter smiles like she’s just proven his point. “Get breakfast, of course.”

Apple stabs her fork into the pile of pancakes before her. The Castleteria was kind enough to assemble one of her favorite dishes for breakfast: pancakes with a layer of apple jam between each one, lightly dusted with cinnamon. Still, each bite only makes her stomach swirl even more. Her mother would be livid if she saw Apple eating this much. Her mother will likely be livid once talk of Apple’s disastrous Legacy Day—and, even more damning, Apple’s inability to stop such a disaster from happening—inevitably reaches her. Apple can’t dodge her mother’s wrath, either way.

Around her, the table buzzes with talk. Since Raven’s act of (incredibly foolish, in Apple’s opinion) defiance, she’s all any of the Royals have been able to talk about.

“It’s preposterous.” Daring slams his butter knife handle-down into his slice of pancakes like a sword into stone. Apple notes the similarity between the utensil in Daring’s pancakes and her own. It’s quite kingly to be passionate, but it’s not queenly to use utensils for anything but their intended use—not queenly at all. Apple retrieves her fork and sets it delicately on the napkin beside her plate.

“Who does she think she is, anyway?” Briar says, motioning with her fork as she chews.

“She is the daughter of the Evil Queen,” Lizzie points out, her nose high in the air as she saws through her stack of pancakes. “Is it not according to her destiny to go beyond the written page? To challenge our foundations?” She pauses, emotion appearing in her usually cold eyes. “To grasp the things we hold dear in her hands and tear it away from us?”

“Oh, shut up, Little Miss Mad Monarch.” Duchess Swan leans over the table with her hands on her hips. “Even the Evil Queen signed. That means Raven, even though she thinks she’s high and mighty and above destiny itself, is worse than her mother.” Duchess smirks. “I can’t wait to see her try and swallow that pill.”

“Maybe she’s not trying to do anything,” Dexter Charming interrupts.

All eyes turn to him. Daring raises an eyebrow at his younger brother. Dexter usually remains quiet, whether in high-stakes conversations like these or even small talk. It’s unusual for him to pipe in—especially now.

Daring scoffs. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

Dexter’s eyes flick down to his lap. He fidgets with his fingers. “You all think she has some ulterior motive, but what if she doesn’t? What if she’s just…afraid?”

“What could she possibly be afraid of?” Duchess rolls her wrist. “Punishment? As if she didn’t just risk all of our lives.”

“Raven dies at the end of her story,” Dexter mumbles.

Duchess’s voice dips dangerously low. “So? She’s not the only one.”

A shriek and a splash. Cold water, seeping into her bones. Exhaustion sinks into Apple’s veins, until every kick becomes harder, until Apple can feel the water grasp her lungs—

Apple’s hand slams into the table. The sound is so loud that everyone turns to her.

Come on, Apple. First you can’t get Raven to sign one measly book, and now you can’t keep your friends from bickering? What would Grimm think? What would Mother think?

Apple swallows. There’s one thing she knows how to do when there’s chaos all around her and uncertainty clouding her vision—smile.

“Well, not all of us can have happy endings,” she says, in the smooth tone she’s perfected after years of preparation to be Ever After’s queen. She knows what buttons to press to calm her subjects, and judging from the ease dawning on the faces of the students around her, she’s pressing all the right buttons. “It’s a necessary part of the destiny that holds our world together. We all know that, yes?”

The royals nod—except for Duchess, who huffs and looks at her nails.

“And I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.” Apple laces her hands together and beams at the others. “I’ll see to it that Raven comes around to signing.”

Duchess scoffs lightly, standing and walking away with her hands on her hips. Apple digs her fingers into her palm. Everyone else listened to her, but she missed Duchess—prickly, proper Duchess. One student is just the beginning. Soon it will be an entire kingdom, then all of Ever After, that Apple won’t be able to soothe—

A hand rests atop hers. Apple looks up to find Darling leaning toward her, a gentle smile on her face.

“Don’t worry,” Darling says, her voice quiet as always. “Raven will sign. It will all be okay.”

Apple exhales. Her shoulders dip lower, and her mind clears. Apple offers a genuine, relieved smile to her friend. “Thank you, Darling.”

Darling nods once—and as soon as she does, the door blasts open.

A sudden, hushed silence falls over the Castleteria. Dread pools in Apple’s stomach; she knows what she’s about to see even before she turns.

As she walks in, Raven scans the faces all around her, never lingering too long on one face. Eventually, she gives up at looking at the other students entirely and looks down at the boots peeking out from under her dark, floor-length skirt. The four students standing around her display various degrees of interest in the others around them: Cerise is almost entirely hidden within her velvet hood, while Maddie waves enthusiastically at Lizzie (who returns her greeting with a curt nod). Hunter and Cedar do their best to look at nothing at all.

At least this confirms that they’d been together all night. Apple hadn’t been able to sleep; she kept tossing and turning, then sitting up to stare at the door of her dorm, as if Raven would magically walk into the room at that moment. She never arrived. Apple doesn’t know where Raven went, but she looks surprisingly well-rested for someone who risked the life of every person in this room—

Apple feels her manicured nails pressing into her palm, and she exhales, fingers unclenching.

As Raven and her entourage get in line for breakfast, and Cerise growls at one of the sons of the Three Little Pigs when he tries to cut the line, Apple doesn’t let her eyes leave her roommate. The Royals murmur around her, but it’s clear they’re keeping an eye on Raven as they do so.

Once all of the five have plates of food (even Cedar, which makes very little sense since the puppet can’t eat anything on her plate), the group walk to their usual table in the corner of the Castleteria. As Raven takes a bite of pancakes, Cedar mumbles something to her.

Daring rolls his eyes, fingers curling into a fist. “Of course they’re going to sit there and act all innocent,” he says, in a tone that sounds like a mutter but loud enough that his voice carries to the table across the way.

Hunter’s head snaps up, and he hops to his feet. “What was that?!” he demands, before Cerise grabs him by the collar and pulls him back down. Beside her, Kitty whispers into Maddie’s ear with a smirk—Apple blinks.

Duchess pops up next, hands on her hips. “You know what he said.”

“He said we’re acting innocent,” Cedar says—then immediately slams a hand over her mouth, regret rippling across her wooden features. Laughter ripples through the line of students, and Duchess beams. Apple doesn’t let her queenly smile falter.

“See, even she admits it!” Duchess crows to her side of the Castleteria.

Cerise’s mouth contorts in a snarl, flashing sharp teeth when she does so. “She was repeating what Daring says. She wasn’t confirming whether it was true. You’ve been in school with her for three years. You should know how her truth-telling works, Duchess.”

Duchess is stunned into silence, but luckily for her, Briar pops up next. “So you’re just going to pretend yesterday evening never happened, then?”

Hunter shrugs. “It’s better than harassing a group of students trying to have breakfast.”

Oohs ripple through the Castleteria. Briar’s cheeks flush pink, and she flounces back into her seat. Ashlynn, who’s been sitting at her roommate’s side but hasn’t said a word since she arrives, hums soothingly as she strokes Briar’s hair.

Hunter keeps his eyes on the royals a moment longer before he returns to his food. Apple scans the five, all mumbling among themselves—then she notes the empty spot beside Maddie. Where did Kitty go?

Judging from how Raven studies the space beside Maddie, she must be wondering the same thing. Apple’s eyes narrow as Raven turns back to her breakfast—then her head snaps up to the balcony. Apple follows her gaze—

Her attention is ripped away by a sudden shriek beside her. Briar leaps to her feet, picking a glob of jam out of her hair. She throws the jam to the floor, crushing it under her heel. “Oh, fuck no—”

Apple glances up at the balcony. Sure enough, Kitty leans over the balcony, loading another spoonful of jam into a makeshift slingshot. Apple swings to Briar, about to explain Kitty’s prank—

Cerise shoots to her feet, scraping jam off of her hood. “Come on! My grandmother made this for me!”

Daring snorts. “Did she give you the temper of a man, too?”

Cerise bares sharp teeth. “I’ll show you temper,” she snarls. Apple shoots to her feet as Cerise grabs the pancake atop the stack and launches it at Daring like a frisbee. The pancake lands square in his face.

A second passes before Sparrow leaps to his feet, unleashing a war cry, and sends a full plate of pancakes crashing toward the table. The response is immediate—royals leap to their feet, sending a torrent of pancakes and whipped cream and jam soaring toward Raven’s table. Hunter leaps forward with his lunch tray, holding it out to protect Cerise from an onslaught of breakfast foods. He drops it to allow Cerise to throw a whole stack of pancakes back toward the royals at lightning speed. Maddie even joins in on the fight, throwing handfuls of whipped cream with a bright grin and wild cheers.

Two of the group don’t join in on the food fight. Cerise cowers under the table, wincing at the whipped cream dripping off her cheek. Raven sits, completely frozen even as Hunter strains to shield her from the multitude of food thrown her way.

Apple knows what she has to do.

She stands—and immediately gets hit with a glob of jam. Wincing, Apple slides her platter of pancakes off of her tray and uses it to shield herself. She hurries across the cafeteria floor, shoes squeaking against the now-dirty tile, and reaches Raven’s table quickly. Once there, she dives under the table, pulling Raven down with her once she’s close enough.

At the sound of Apple’s tray clanging against the floor, Raven looks up. She blinks. “What—Apple?”

“You need to do something!” Apple hisses.

“Me?” Raven sputters. “What do you want me to do?”

“Stop them from fighting—” Apple grabs her friend’s hand and laces their fingers tightly. “Tell them that this is all a misunderstanding. That you’re going to sign the first chance that Grimm gives you.”

Raven tenses, pulling her hand out of Apple’s. “…I’m not going to do that.”

“What?” Apple shakes her head. “Raven, you have to.”

“Why?” Raven narrows her eyes. “Because Grimm says so? Because he said something bad would happen if I didn’t sign? News flash. I didn’t sign, and nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened yet. Listen, Grimm is our headmaster. He’s descended from the Narrators. He knows more about how the world works than anyone else. He knows more about issues of destiny than anyone else. Including you.”

“I told you.” Raven’s voice dips dangerously low. “I know that Grimm’s not telling us the whole truth. I can prove it.”

Her voice sinks like a needle between Apple’s ribs. She hesitates a moment, waiting for the sting to settle. Once it has, her eyes narrow, and she matches Raven’s determination with her own. After all, they’re meant to be enemies. If Apple can’t not only match, but overcome Raven—well, her happy ending won’t be guaranteed.

“I don’t think Grimm is the one lying, Raven,” Apple whispers. “I think you are.”

Raven leans back, her eyes widening—

A voice thunders from above, wrath as potent as a god’s: “WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?”

The students immediately fall silent, pancakes falling uselessly to the floor. Apple quickly slides out of her hiding spot underneath the table and stands straight, trying uselessly to wipe off the pieces of food that still cling to her clothes and hair. Judging from the dark shape moving in the corner of her vision, Raven has followed her.

Where Kitty stood when she began the food fight, now Headmaster Grimm stands to end it. His thick hands grip the balcony’s edge tightly, shaking as his knuckles turn white. His cheeks are bright red, and his eyes—gleaming with a strange green light—are more wild than Apple has seen in her headmaster’s eyes before.

“Never in my life,” Grimm snarls, looking down on the mess that the students have created, “have I seen such a disgusting display. I expected the barest level of maturity from students who are in their fourth year in these hallowed halls.” His lips curl back in a snarl. “I am extremely disappointed to have been proven wrong.”

Students hang their heads, shame coloring their cheeks. Apple presses a hand to her chest and feels her heart thrum beneath it.

“Perhaps the decorum that is expected of all of you has been forgotten because of recent events,” Grimm continues, fingers trailing along the railing as he paces down the balcony. “So let this serve as a reminder.

“You are nearly adults, and therefore about to end your period of preparation. The responsibility of upholding your destinies, and our world with it, will soon fall on your shoulders. You are expected to accept this role, and all other responsibilities, with the maturity we assume you have gained at this age. You are not expected to throw food at each other like children.” His nails bite into the wood of the railing, digging deep enough to leave a scar. “You are not expected to challenge the very truths you have been taught to accept since your childhoods.”

Apple glances over to her roommate. Raven doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t falter. She doesn’t seem disturbed by Grimm’s words at all.

Can she really be this ignorant? Does she not realize that all of this is happening because of her? If she hadn’t signed, the students wouldn’t be fighting. Everything was so sure yesterday, but now it’s not. Now she’s created an entire mess, and it’s Apple’s duty alone to clean it up.

Apple grits her teeth. Raven may be a future villain, but that certainly doesn’t mean she gets to skirt punishment for her selfish deeds.

“Rest assured that you will not be spared of punishment for your actions.” A cold smile grows on Grimm’s lips. “You will all remain here until the Castleteria is spotless.” Complaints arise, and Grimm holds up his hand, silencing the voices quickly. “I am aware that many of you have classes. This is not my problem. If you wanted to skirt the punishments of tardiness, you should have thought of that before you allowed this chaos to happen.”

Murmurs ripple across the Castleteria. Cerise huffs under her breath as she slams back into her seat. Maddie mournfully pours out a cup of tea. Hunter crosses his arms, while Cedar does nothing at all.

“And one more thing.” When Grimm’s eyes flick toward Apple’s corner of the room, Apple expects his gaze to settle on Raven. She doesn’t expect his eyes to settle on her.

“Raven Queen and Apple White,” Grimm says, voice low. “Your presence is requested in my office. Immediately.”

Apple begins to tremble the moment that Raven’s hand lands on her shoulder. Grimm’s gaze lingers on the students for one more moment. He spins, heels clacking against the ground. The sound slowly fades. Once the doors slam, the cafeteria falls into near silence—save for Apple gasping for air.

Chapter Text

Apple’s heels wobble on the stairs behind Raven as they climb the tower toward Grimm’s office. Apple insisted that Raven go first; judging from the light sheen of sweat on her face and the pale flush of her skin, she’s not exactly eager to answer Headmaster Grimm’s summons. At first, Raven hesitates to call her friend’s discomfort to attention—she wouldn’t want to make Apple feel any worse. Still, the higher they climb—and the more anxious Apple appears—the more Raven aches to soothe her.

Raven looks over her shoulder. Apple grips the banister with a tight hand; when she notices Raven, she smiles and waves her off. Her smile does nothing to calm Raven. The closer they draw to the top, the more Apple shakes—until she trips. Raven whirls, managing to catch her friend before she slams into the stairs. Raven pants. Apple does too, her sweaty skin pressed against Raven’s.

Raven speaks first. “Are—are you okay?”

Apple jolts out of her stupor. She straightens up, plastering a smile on her face. “I’m fine,” she insists, though she sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than Raven.

Raven studies her expression. “You don’t look fine.”

Apple looks away. “Raven, we have to go—”

“Are you scared?”

“We’re going to be late.” Apple turns to face Raven. Only then can Raven see her wide eyes, the tension in her jaw.

Raven’s shoulders fall. Apple is scared.

This is what separates the two of them. When the world expected her to be cruel and wicked, trouble was Raven’s first companion. It fit like a crown, though it fit better than the spiked iron that she’d inherited from her mother. Trouble kept others guessing—and, more importantly, it showed the world that she was more than the next Evil Queen.

Then there was Apple, who avoided trouble like the plague. In fact, she probably feared it. That’s why she’s been shaking throughout their journey to Grimm’s office. To Apple, trouble must be as wicked as the destiny she expected Raven to step into.

Of course Apple didn’t understand why Raven would dare to challenge the rules of their society. Not when the rules were all Apple had.

Raven exhales, the urge to fight Apple draining from her bones. It settles in her stomach, reforming as rage—not at her friend, but at Grimm and anyone else who made Apple so afraid of school’s stupid rules.

“You don’t need to be afraid of him,” Raven says softly, nodding toward the top of the stairs.

“Raven,” Apple says through gritted teeth.

Raven nods once. Silently, she turns and begins to climb the stairs again. This time, when the clack of Apple’s heels echo behind her, they sound more certain.

It takes no time at all for Raven to reach the top. There, she hesitates, looking over her shoulder to wait for Apple. When Apple steps off the top step, her shoulders shake; her fingers clench and unclench. Eventually, she looks at Raven and nods.

Raven inhales sharply and knocks. As soon as she does, Grimm’s voice booms from within. “Come in.”

Apple presses against Raven’s side, her frame trembling. Raven can feel her breath tremble when she grabs Apple’s hand and squeezes it. When she lets go, both their hands are cold.

Raven pushes the door open. Despite the large window on the opposite side of the desk, shadows swallow most of the office. The dim light illuminates a portrait of Grimm on the wall, his stare cold and eerily lifelike. Grimm himself stands on the opposite side of the desk. He turns, and his eyes gleam with something Raven can’t place as he gestures at the chairs opposite him. “Please. Sit.”

Apple instantly sinks into her seat. Raven looks to her roommate—then her eyes flick to Grimm, who nods. Hesitantly, she sits too. Grimm’s eyes gleam as he stares down at the two girls. Even when he takes his seat, he still looms over them.

“Now.” Grimm steeples his fingers atop the desk. “I trust you both understand why you’re here.”

“Yes, Headmaster,” Apple drones.

Raven glances once at her roommate. Apple doesn’t blink—doesn’t even fidget. As though Grimm is a loaded spell, and any movement will set him off. Raven turns back to Grimm and sets her jaw. “No. I don’t.”

Grimm’s eyes narrow—and a green gleam simmers over his eyes. Raven squints—but the gleam fades as soon as it arrived. Grimm’s expression quickly settles back into its pleasant facade.

“I see.” One of Grimm’s nails digs into the desk and scratches, slow and jagged, across the wood. “Then allow me to remind you.

“The duties that you face at Ever After High are simple. First and foremost, sign the book. This is what your prior three years at this school have prepared you for. This is what your whole life has prepared you for.

“I will be honest with you.” Grimm pushes up from his seat. While Apple hangs her head, dwarfed by their headmaster’s shadow, Raven looks up and holds his gaze steadily. “I expected better from both of you. Raven, I expected you to not be so selfish that you would risk the lives of everyone in our world just to prove a point.”

Raven sinks down in her chair and crosses her arms.

“And Apple.” At the sound of her voice, Apple tenses and straightens up, as though Grimm just pulled the strings of her corset tighter. At her displeasure, the corners of Grimm’s mouth rise in the slightest smile. “I tasked you with ensuring Miss Queen would sign the book. A simple task, seeing as no one else has dared not to sign the storybook. It surprised me greatly to know that you failed.”

Anger swells in Raven’s stomach. She gathers a breath; as she does, Apple begins a plea that pushes the dagger in Raven’s chest in further. “I’m sorry, Headmaster. I don’t know how I failed—”

Raven slams her hands against the desk. Violet sparks leap from the wood; the trinkets on Grimm’s desk rattle. Apple and Grimm both turn to her—Apple’s eyes wide with a sudden shock, and Grimm’s narrowed, with the sadistic curiosity of a child watching ants fry under light reflected from a mirror.

She has his attention. Good.

Raven lifts her chin—because Grimm has no right to look down on her. On either of them. “Are you serious?” she asks.

Grimm’s eyes flash. Raven knows she has tread into dangerous territory—still, she has no intention of turning back.

“Serious about what?” Grimm asks, his tone a clear dare: Keep going.

It would be out of character for Raven to refuse.

“You’re blaming Apple for my actions?” Raven gestures at her roommate. Violet sparks flutter around Apple’s curls when she does so. “Is that why she’s here? So you can guilt her for something she had nothing to do with?”

“Raven.” Apple turns to Raven and grasps Raven’s hand in hers. Her skin is cold. So cold. “Please, it’s fine—”

“No.” Raven shakes her head and pulls her hand out of Apple’s. “No, it isn’t.”

She faces Grimm again. His face is stoic, though his jaw flexes furiously.

“And if you’re judging Apple on her ability to dictate my actions, she certainly didn’t fail.” Raven crosses her arms. “Until I got to the podium, I intended to sign. Just to keep her safe.” She gestures at Apple. “Just to make sure she got her happy ending, even if I couldn’t have mine.”

Grimm grits his teeth. “Then what changed?”

Raven stands—and finally, she and Grimm stare eye to eye. “This isn’t about the two of us.”

She steps around the desk and around Grimm. When she does, she glances at him—his shoulders tremble, knuckles white as he clenches his fist. Raven turns away and rests her palm against the window.

Grimm’s office provides an excellent view of the grounds outside the castle. Raven gazes down at the life bursting beneath her: Blondie fluttering from student to student, likely searching for gossip; Ashlynn kneeling in the grass and petting a bunny on her lap; Lizzie hitting a croquet ball with a flamingo-shaped mallet and scoffing. Raven’s classmates have such vivid lives outside of their fairytales. They live and breathe off the page—so why should their lives be dictated by what’s on it?

“We all have destinies,” Raven murmurs, pressing her palm deeper against the window. “I know so many people are happy with their endings. I mean, Apple—” her eyes flick to her roommate— “gets a prince and a throne and a Happily Ever After. What’s not to like about that?” She chuckles. The sound is hollow.

“But some of us don’t have the luxury of a Happily Ever After.” Raven’s eyes flick out to the courtyard again. At the edge of a treeline, red velvet shimmers in the sunlight. Cerise lifts her head and looks toward the office—as though she can see Raven smiling down at her from such a distance. “Some of us have to hurt the ones we love.”

Grimm grits his teeth. “You were never meant to love Miss White. Your destiny requires that you two be enemies.”

Raven laughs, shaking her head. “I’m not talking about my destiny.”

“Then—” Grimm’s brow crawls lower— “who, exactly, are you talking about?”

A smile grows on Raven’s face. She takes a slight step forward. As soon as she does, Grimm takes a step back.

Raven grins wider. “It looks like we both have secrets to hide, don’t we?”

Grimm’s eyes shock wide. Raven beams. When she looks out the window behind her, she thinks she can see Cerise beaming back.

“What—” Apple stammers, rising out of her chair. “Raven, what are you talking about—”

“Miss White.” Grimm thrusts a hand at her. Apple sinks back into her chair, shivering.

Raven looks over at her roommate, her smile fading. She wishes she could trust Apple enough to tell her the truth. Oh, she wishes.

Soon. Soon, Grimm will slip. Soon, Apple will be able to know what Grimm has been hiding from her.

Until then, Raven has to blaze a trail so that her roommate might follow in her footsteps.

She pushes past Grimm. When she does, his voice rings after her. “Miss Queen! What in Ever After—”

Raven thrusts the doors to the office open. Grimm’s voice rises higher. “What are you doing?! You have not been dismissed!”

Only then does Raven look back. Not to meet Grimm’s eyes—of course not—but to hold Apple’s gaze.

Then, before either of them can stop her, Raven runs out and lets the door slam behind her. She runs down the stairs, the velvet skirt of her legacy gown rippling around her legs. Further and further Raven descends, like Alice down the rabbit hole—until her smile slashes wide and she laughs like a child.

The girl’s laughter echoes up the stairs, burrowing under Milton Grimm’s skin and boiling—until Grimm has to dig his nails into the desk, scarring the wood with the exertion of keeping his anger under control.

It is not how he should behave. A character as insignificant as Raven Queen should not sink under his skin as far as she should.

Before Grimm can act on the rage that Raven never fails to incite within him, a breathy voice sounds from the other side of his desk. “What is she doing?!” gasps Apple White, the new and imperfect Snow White.

Grimm doesn’t know what her mother did to ruin her daughter so. Snow White’s fairytale dictates exactly what Apple should look like, but Apple defies all of it—her curls golden instead of ash black, her figure round as her namesake, her mouth open in a round and unqueenly O. Apple is a blighted fruit on the tree of the Whites—and yet, there is no way for Grimm to cut out the blight.

Grimm turns his glare on Miss White. The guilt in her expression is so potent he can practically taste it. How pathetic. At seventeen, she should be acting like a decent queen—and yet she is anything but.

There’s no point in keeping her any longer. Unlike Raven, Apple knows her place.

Grimm waves a hand in her direction and turns. “You are dismissed.”

“But…” Apple’s chair scrapes against the wooden floor. “Headmaster Grimm—”

Grimm whirls, the air burning hot around him. How dare she. How dare she speak back to him, how dare she question an order, question her—

His fist slams into the desk, rattling everything atop it. “Enough!”

Apple freezes, breath pausing in her throat. Her wide eyes fix on his expression, then flick down to the tabletop. Grimm follows her gaze. Several drops of ink spatter across the wood.

Grimm exhales, steadying himself before he looks back at Apple.

She quickly stands. Good. She has finally listened to him. What a wicked thing, indeed. With one nod, Apple scurries out of the room like a mouse.

Grimm watches her go with a sour glare. She would make a finer mouse than a queen.

Only when the door slams tightly does Grimm take a cautious breath and open his fist. He’d clenched his fist so tightly that his nails broke the skin. Now, Ink bleeds from his palm and spatters on the wood. Hissing, Grimm pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to his wound.

This is not right. This shouldn’t be happening.

Raven Queen is no one. A small, insignificant cog in the machine that is Ever After. And yet—here he stands, wounded by his own anger at her. At her foolish defiance. At her ridiculous hope.

Even a mirror prison and all the tonics Grimm could brew couldn’t keep Raven from inheriting her mother’s worst qualities.

How on earth did Raven know? Her mother signed and inevitably succumbed. Unlike her mother, Raven refused to sign. There’s no telling how that blasphemous idea latched into her mind; after all, she had never met—

His brother.

Grimm’s hand trembles. More ink spills onto the carpet; he watches the stain sink in, seething as he does so. Giles had tried to undermine him once before, eighteen years before now. He failed miserably. Had he not learned from his mistakes?

Must Milton really teach his brother another lesson?

Grimm exhales. He flexes his hand outward—when he does, the ink crawls up to his wrist.

Far below Grimm’s office, Cerise stands at the base of the headmaster’s tower, her velvet cloak warm under the sunlight. She looks up, squinting against the light at the tower’s window. Despite her eyes—sharpened by her father’s canine genetics—she cannot see Headmaster Grimm at the top of the tower.

“Cerise.”

Cerise turns, her cape fluttering around her ankles. Raven stands just outside the doors to the castle. A wild, childish grin decorates her face.

Cerise steps closer, careful and slow. Her feet patter across the cobblestone. She draws closer, caught in Raven’s orbit, until the pair stand inches apart. This close, Cerise can watch the sunlight gleam in Raven’s dark eyes.

“…How did it go?” Cerise asks. There are certainly better ways to word her question, but Cerise has never been eloquent.

Raven laughs humorlessly. “About as good as anything with Grimm goes.”

“Did he ask you to sign?”

“He probably would have.” Raven shrugs, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “If I stayed around to listen.”

“What—” Cerise blinks. “Did you—walk out?” Raven nods, and Cerise’s jaw drops open. “That’s…amazing.”

Raven pinches the chains on her dress, rolling them between her finger and her thumb. “Honestly, it was terrifying.”

“Why would it be terrifying?” Cerise steps forward. Her hand hovers over Raven’s before she summons the courage to lace their fingers together. “It’s only Headmaster Grimm.”

Shoulders sagging, Raven exhales. “I guess you’re right.”

She tugs on Cerise’s hand, gently enough that Cerise can pull away. Cerise doesn’t—instead, she lets her friend pull her into a tight hug. They spin in a gentle circle, Cerise’s grip tight around the chains on Raven’s legacy gown—tight enough to break them.

After a long moment, they stop moving. Raven gently rests her head on Cerise’s shoulder. Cerise doesn’t move her hands—she doesn’t want to do anything Raven wouldn’t be comfortable with. Instead, she leans in to hear Raven’s humming. She almost places her head on Raven’s shoulder, but a feeling she can’t name holds her back. She follows it, lifting her head toward the window of Grimm’s office. Her brows furrow.

In the window, an inky black silhouette stares down at her, its eyes cold and green and glowing. Cerise blinks—then the silhouette vanishes, as if it was never there at all.

Chapter Text

Hunter’s breath escapes his lungs in hurried gasps as he rushes through the Enchanted Forest. Leaves crunch beneath his boots, crumpled and brown now that fall has arrived. Sunlight streaks over Hunter’s leather vest, baking the top of his dark hair. His cheeks flush, and eventually, Hunter stops at the base of a tree to gasp for breath. The sack slung over his shoulder slips, falling to his feet. Loose leaves, twigs, and mushrooms tumble from the bag. Hunter exhales, his back pressing against the bark.

Legacy Year was never going to be a bed of roses. Hunter knew that. He knew that from the first time he clutched his da’s axe in calloused hands and stared out the door of his cottage. He knew that when a deer—and a young one at that—stared back at him, ears flattened, as if it already knew it had to forfeit its life.

Even then, it didn’t seem like it would be too complicated. Hunter would sign the book, just like his da had years ago. He’d have the rest of the year to adjust to his new role. He’d have a year to become the fearless Huntsman, and not Hunter, the boy who flinches at the mere mention of a blade slipping under animal skin. He’d have the rest of the year to learn how to let himself go.

He didn’t expect Raven. Raven, with her brilliant dark eyes, with a fearlessness Hunter could only wish he had. She slammed the book and looked out at the many eyes on her and declared that no, she wouldn’t allow herself to be what the world expected her to become. And Hunter had followed her lead.

It’s ironic. Hunter’s da had always insisted that he needed to become a man. Now here Hunter sits, picking at chipped nail polish under the shade of a tree, wondering when the Storybook of Legends will once again be lowered in front of him like a noose waiting for a neck.

Legacy Day came and went. At first, Hunter assumed that aside from his outburst after the food fight, the extent of Headmaster Grimm’s rage had already came and went. Then came the detentions.

After their last class of the day, all fourth-year students were required to accompany a member of staff to assist in projects to “benefit the school.” Hunter hadn’t minded being sent to the Enchanted Forest. Then he was summoned the next day. Then the next. After a month’s worth of detention, Hunter was starting to wonder how much effort it took to keep the Enchanted Forest clean.

He was starting to miss Raven and her group. It had been weeks since they were all together. He’d seen Cerise, Cedar, and Maddie around—but not Raven. According to rumor, Raven had faced the worst punishment of all the fourth-years, with double thronework on top of detention. Hunter didn’t know how he could deal with all the pressure. If he had to deal with all that, it would be impossible to lead a secret club, too—

Leaves rustle, and Hunter’s head snaps up, like a deer searching for predators. A joyful voice rings through the trees. “Hunter, there you are!”

Shit. Hunter squats down, quickly tucking everything that spilled out of his sack back inside—willow branches, mushrooms marbled with bright purple. He’s tucking in the last thorned bramble when Daring Charming steps into view, surrounded by a gaggle of grinning princes (and Sparrow Hood, who flicks what appears to be a guitar pick between his fingers). Hunter thought he’d run far enough to escape them—

“What’s that on your hand?” Blushing, Hunter jams his hand into his pocket, but he’s too late. Daring walks over and tugs Hunter’s hand out, his gleaming grin widening when he sees the chipped polish on Hunter’s hand.

“Ah.” Daring smirks. “Green this time?”

Hunter flinches. He’s kept painting his nails since he met Cupid on the first day of classes. He figured it would be fine, since his da wasn’t here to see it. However, Hunter’s erroneous thinking didn’t account for—

“A bit feminine, don’t you think?”

Princes.

Hunter tugs his hand from Daring’s grip. The Charming prince’s smile doesn’t change. That stupid smile. Is Daring capable of not smiling?

“What do you want, Daring?” Hunter grumbles.

“I just wanted to check in on you,” Daring says, with that same princely smile. “You know, as the future king of Ever After—” (Hunter disguises his incredulous laugh as a cough, since there’s no way Daring will ever be a responsible ruler. Apple will probably do all the ruling for the both of them—) “I need to be sure all my future subjects are on the right path. Not acting like girls even though they’re clearly boys.”

Grimm, what is he on about? “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“Well, maybe I do.” When Hunter tries to step past Daring, the prince places a hand against the tree trunk—blocking Daring’s path. “You’re getting all these crazy ideas in your head, Hunter. First you support Raven when she doesn’t sign the book, even though Grimm’s told us all what would happen then. Next, you’re painting your nails.” Daring sighs, but that stupid smile remains stubbornly on his face. “Honestly, Hunter, I’m worried. All these ideas could put you in serious danger.”

Hunter huffs. “I know what I’m doing—”

“I don’t think you do.” Daring leans closer. The gleam of his white teeth is blinding, like a wolf’s. “You’ve been hanging out with girls so much. Maybe some time with the boys is what you need.”

He steps closer. Behind him, the other princes circle like vultures waiting to pick the meat from Hunter’s bones.

Hunter laughs. The sound is hollow. “I don’t need—”

“Yes.” Daring’s eyes gleam with an almost predatory hunger. “Yes, you do.”

The princes close in. Hunter gasps for air, tucking his chin to his chest, if only to protect his throat—

Across the forest, someone whistles, the sound sweet and angelic.

Like dogs retreating to their master’s heel, the princes back away. Immediately, Hunter’s eyes flick up to his savior—ginger hair, embroidered flowers, a glass heel clicking over the dirt floor. Hunter chokes.

Ashlynn looks innocent enough, but there’s no telling what she really thinks as she takes in the scene. “What’s going on?”

Daring smiles. “We were just giving Hunter some friendly advice.”

Fortunately, Ashlynn is one of the lucky few princesses who is entirely unaffected by Daring’s blinding grin. “Well, I’m sorry, but I need to borrow Hunter. Professor Poppa Bear needs his help.”

Daring steps back with a nod. “By all means, Princess. Don’t let me stand in your way.”

“Thank you.” For the first time since she arrived, Ashlynn’s eyes flick to Hunter. She nods. “Well, come on, Hunter.”

Hunter isn’t sure what Professor Papa Bear could need from him, since Hunter can’t even be a proper man and all the princes know it. Still, he won’t deny an opportunity to escape the princes. “Alright,” he mutters.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Hunter lets Ashlynn lead him away. Behind them, the boys mutter and laugh. Hunter shrinks in on himself until the boys are out of earshot. Ashlynn’s eyes flick over him, but until the laughter fades, she says nothing.

Once Hunter is sure he can let his guard down, he exhales and his shoulders drop. Ashlynn glances at him. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Hunter mutters.

Ashlynn doesn’t look convinced. Still, she looks up at the treetops, where a bluebird darts between the trees. “I should tell you. Professor Poppa Bear didn’t actually ask me to fetch you.”

Hunter flinches. Of course he didn’t. Honestly, Hunter is ashamed he ever believed that his professor would. Even the students know that he’s a failure. Why would Professor Poppa Bear think anything different?

That leaves one more question. Hunter looks up at Ashlynn, shoulders tensed. “Then…why’d you ask for me?”

“Daring was getting pretty close to you.” Ashlynn meets his eyes. “. “You looked uncomfortable, so I stepped in.”

How disappointing. Hunter can’t even defend himself—he needs a girl to do it for him. What would his da think? Would Fern be ashamed to have such a useless older brother?

“…Hunter.” Ashlynn’s voice is soft. “What are you thinking?”

Hunter flinches away from her. “Thank you for your help,” he says stiffly. “But I can handle myself.” He scoffs, a hurt smile tugging at his lips. “I’m a boy, after all.”

Ashlynn huffs. “Don’t listen to them.”

“I should.” Hunter digs the nail of his thumb under the polish on his pointer finger and watches it flake off. “They’re right. I’m supposed to be a man, and I’m not acting like it.”

“And what do they know about being men?”

“More than me.” Ashlynn stares. Huffing, Hunter turns away. “Come on, Ashlynn. They’re princes. They’re who you should spend your time with instead of me.”

“Hunter, don’t.” Ashlynn’s breath catches. “You know I wish things were different. That we could have…”

Her voice trails off. She doesn’t have to finish her sentence. Hunter has found himself wishing the same thing time and time again

“It was never going to work, Ash,” he reminds her, his voice quiet. “You’re a princess. You have to marry a prince. That’s how the story goes.”

Ashlynn flinches away from him. For a second, Hunter wonders if it hurts her to hear it as much as it hurts him to say it. But the thought passes as quickly as a bird flies away. There was no point in wasting time on the thought.

Hunter starts to turn away. Ashlynn is quiet for a long time—long enough that Hunter doesn’t expect her to talk at all. When he’s a few steps away, Ashlynn’s voice sounds.

“Maybe in some other world, there’s no such thing as destiny,” Ashlynn says quietly. “Maybe then we can be together.”

A rustling in the bushes behind him catches Hunter’s attention. He turns, terrified that Daring somehow followed him—but there’s nothing there. When he turns around, Ashlynn has already started to walk away.

Cinderella isn’t supposed to leave until the clock strikes midnight—but at least for Ashlynn and Hunter, the last chime has already sounded.

***

In Hunter and Ashlynn’s rush to escape their spot in the forest, neither manage to glimpse the small, feathered head between the leaves. The bushes part for a white swan, who walks out with far more grace than a swan should have. In a burst of lavender light, the swan transforms into Duchess, who balls her fists under the sleeves of her hanfu.

Finally. Finally! It had taken her a month—of sneaking down to the Hatters’ hideous shop during her free period, of following Cerise in the shadows on the damsel’s morning runs, and approaching Cedar with the guise of needing help on Professor Rumplestiltskin’s thronework (and receiving a torrent of “I don’t know”s in response). Even with Maddie’s hyperactive mouth, Cerise’s suspiciously masculine behavior, and Cedar’s inability to lie, Duchess still lacked a good piece of gossip to share. But just when she thought she wouldn’t be able to find anything that could undermine Raven’s little gang of rebels, she sweet-talked her way into detention in the Enchanted Forest—and lo and behold.

Thinking about what she’s uncovered, Duchess can’t help but grin. Hunter had an old flame. And it wasn’t any old commoner—it was Ashlynn Ella, who was destined to lose her shoe to some prince who would then claim her hand in marriage. A future Cinderella could never be in love with a commoner. It’s forbidden—not only that, it’s dangerous.

If the school knew about their former romance, Hunter’s reputation would be ruined. So would the reputation of that little group Raven had started. Ashlynn would be an unfortunate casualty, but who cared? Duchess never liked her anyway. Ashlynn always had her head too far up in the clouds. Maybe that was why she had the audacity to think she could love a commoner. Hah!

Duchess grins, rubbing her hands together. As she does, someone across the trees begins to whistle. Duchess spins, furious. The whistling grows louder until Sparrow walks into view—his hands in his pockets, his chin bobbing up and down.

Duchess taps her foot impatiently, raising an eyebrow at him. Infuriatingly, Sparrow waits until he’s finished humming his song to speak. “What’s up, princess?”

Duchess rolls her eyes. “Did you find anything with Daring’s crew?”

Sparrow rolls his wrist. “You know, for how utterly terrified Hunter is of the princes, he seems awfully determined to keep his cards to his chest.”

Duchess scoffs. “So, no.” She’s not surprised. Sparrow’s excellence at failure is one of the only constants at Ever After.

“I didn’t say that,” Sparrow murmurs.

“Well, you don’t need to.” Duchess smirks. “While you were making a fool of yourself with Daring and his goons, I found something that can change the narrative.”

Sparrow raises an eyebrow. “Grimm’s had us in detention for a month because Raven wouldn’t sign. Why would you—”

“It’s a saying,” Duchess huffs, her arms crossed.

“Then by all means.” Like an actor on a stage, Sparrow dramatically brings his hand to his ear and leans toward Duchess. Duchess prances toward him and raises her hands, cupping them around his ear.

Duchess grins like the Cheshire Cat and leans in. “Hunter Hunstman and Ashlynn Ella used to be a couple.”

Sparrow’s eyes shock wide. He springs back, spinning toward Duchess with a massive grin. “You’re joking!”

Duchess huffs and waves him off. “They admitted it themselves. I watched them talk about it.”

“This is…” Sparrow rubs his hands together. “This is huge! When we break this, everyone’s gonna come to my next show—”

Duchess slams a finger to his lips. “No.” Sparrow stammers, and Duchess swiftly moves her hand to cover his mouth. “We won’t be the ones to break this. I don’t want something bad to happen to us.” Innocently, Duchess flutters her lashes at Sparrow. His shoulders fall, and he nods.

This is why Sparrow is the best student at Ever After to help her. One flick of her dark hair, one turn of her slippers, and he falls as easily as a domino.

“We’ll tell Blondie, and ask her to keep us anonymous,” Duchess says with a smirk. “More people will listen to her than to us, anyway.”

“Genius,” Sparrow mouths, eyes sparkling.

Duchess grins. “I know, aren’t I?”

She spins away from Sparrow, hands out in front of her as she quickly spins to face him, landing firmly in fifth position. He chases her across the grass. “And then what? What’s this meant to achieve, anyway?”

Scoffing, Duchess freezes. Her smile vanishes, and she scowls at Sparrow. “Did you even listen to me?!”

Sparrow shrugs lazily. Duchess huffs, rolling her eyes. “When the school knows about Hunter and Ashlynn’s relationship, they’ll never let them live it down. The whole school will shun them. They’ll be desperate to get back on the students’ good side.” Smirking, Duchess inspects her nails. “Then Raven’s little band of misfits will have one less member.”

“…Have you figured out what you’re gonna do with the others, yet?”

“Patience, Sparrow.” Duchess flaps her hand at him. “One little rebel at a time.”

“Why do you care so much, anyway?”

Duchess tenses. For once, her confident demeanor fades away; both her heels rest firmly on the ground. She looks over her shoulder. Sparrow leans against a tree, picking at his nails.

“It’s not like they can get away with not signing,” Sparrow scoffs. “Grimm’s gonna make them sign any day now.”

He’s right. Duchess knows that he’s right—still, she can’t shake an ache in her bones, a fear in her heart that he’s not. That Raven and her lackeys are right in thinking that destiny is a thing they can take in their hands and turn as easily as a ribbon. As if it isn’t something that’s inevitable from the moment they’re born.

Duchess was young when she learned her unhappy ending. Not one moment since then did she think there would be a chance to escape her unhappily ever after. That doesn’t happen. That’s not right.

Raven might think otherwise, but she’s wrong.

Duchess grits her teeth.

And if those rebels still haven’t realized that they’re trying to change something that will never be changed, they need a little push. Fortunately, Duchess has always been willing to do something her classmates are unwilling to do. After all, she has nothing to lose.

Duchess turns to Sparrow with a smile on her face. The expression feels comforting—like armor, stretched across her bare skin.

“Let’s find Blondie,” she says, with a near predatory grin.

Deep beneath the castle, Raven Queen slinks between shadows, her footsteps heavy on the stone steps. As she descends, her breath grows more ragged until she has to pause with one shoulder pressed to the wall. Her chin dips toward her chest.

The past month has been…Brutal is an understatement. When she left Grimm’s office unexcused all that time ago, Raven knew she’d face punishment for it—but she couldn’t bring herself to care. If she was the only one punished, she would never regret her earlier actions. But Grimm, of course, was smarter than that.

She’d expected him to punish the others, too—Maddie and Cerise and Cedar and Hunter. But of course, that wasn’t enough for Grimm. He’d sent all of the fourth-year student to detention for a month. Not for anything they’d done, but because of Raven.

Grimm had never said why he’d sent everyone to detention. Most of the students assumed it was a response to the food fight. Raven knew better.

At least, Raven knows she’s being punished worse than everyone else. She has double thronework, and her detention never overlaps with anyone else’s. She’s had to muck the stables, tend to the dragons’ nests without waking them up (easier said than done), and she’s chased Baba Yaga’s hut through mud more times than she can count.

Raven lifts her arms, allowing the velvet covering her skin to fall away. Dark purple bruises mottle her otherwise pale skin. The Mad Hatter had made her a special salve to soothe her wounds, but even Wonderland herbs could only do so much.

Raven groans and drops her hands to her sides. She’d love to rest for one more moment. But Professor Badwolf is expecting her, and she wouldn’t want to test his patience—or the punishment for her peers might worsen. And Raven can’t bear anyone else bearing any of the blame for what she’s done.

She trudges down the steps, the sound ringing through the silence. She places a hand over her chest, trying to calm her heavy breathing. Still, her heart rate remains stubbornly fast. Eventually Raven gives up entirely on regaining her composure and continues on to Professor Badwolf’s room.

She pushes the door open. The door’s iron hinges squeak; dim firelight from within the room creeps out into the hallway where Raven stands. On the other side of the stick-straight rows of student desks, Mr. Badwolf shuffles through a pile of papers. A small pair of spectacles balance on the professor’s snout. He hums a song whose lyrics Raven doesn’t know, but that she recognizes as a lullaby, as his claws drum against the desk.

Raven clears her throat. Mr. Badwolf’s head snaps up; he reaches up with one hand to swiftly pull off his spectacles and stow them away in a drawer next to him. Raven lifts her fist to stifle her laughter.

Badwolf exhales, closing the drawer. “Close the door behind you, please.”

Just like that, the humor has been sucked dry from the room. Raven clears her throat and closes the door behind her. Without the door to the hallway open, the classroom darkens.

Badwolf then gestures to the desk in front of him, light glinting off his claws. “Now sit down.”

Raven sucks in her breath. She doesn’t want to waste her professor’s time. She hurries to the desk he pointed to and sits, clutching her skirt in her hands.

Clearing his throat, Badwolf moves his stacks of papers to the side of his desk. “Right. I don’t want to waste your time, or mine.” His golden eyes lock on Raven’s. “You’re aware that your behavior has disturbed Headmaster Grimm greatly?”

Raven presses her back against her seat, trying her best not to squirm. “Yes, Professor.”

“You’re aware that Grimm has resolved to punish you and the greater Legacy Year student body for your actions until you’ve signed the Storybook of Legends?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“And you are aware that Grimm knows exactly which buttons to press to convince you to sign the book?”

“Yes.” Raven’s breath shudders when she admits it. Badwolf’s eyes flick to her, but for the most part, he shakes his head and slides a glass across the desk. The glass sings when it moves, leaving the classroom in a tense silence.

“Well, then.” Badwolf leans closer to her. “Tell me, Raven. Do you plan to sign the Storybook of Legends?”

Raven hesitates, her tongue pressed to her inner cheek. Grimm wants her to sign. That’s why he’s made all this ridiculous punishment—for her, and for the other students. If she were to sign, the punishment would end. The other students would be spared. All of this would go away—in fact, it would be like this never happened.

But how can Raven just go back to how things used to be? She didn’t do this for herself. She did this for the other students who second-guessed their destinies, who weren’t satisfied with the endings that they were given, who wanted something more than what the world offered them. She was the one who offered them a hand, who promised them that they could choose their own destiny. If she turned her back on them, would they still be inspired to change their destinies? Or would they fall back in line, just as she had?

She can’t go back. This has only started—it can’t end now.

Exhaling, Raven meets Badwolf’s eyes. A violet flame perches on her fingertip, running up to her palm as she releases her hand.

“No, Professor,” Raven declares. “I can’t.”

Already, Raven prepares herself for pushback. After all, there has to be some reason why Badwolf requested to have her specifically for detention today. He must think he can change her mind. He’s the professor of villainy, and easily one of the few professors who have ever treated Raven like a person instead of a terrifying concept. He’d have the best chance out of anyone—but unlucky for him, Raven is too stubborn to be swayed by anyone. Even him.

Raven grits her teeth and waits for Badwolf’s wrath. Instead, Badwolf exhales and leans back, his chair creaking. “Well, at least I can tell Grimm that I tried.”

Blinking, Raven inhales. That is…not how she expected him to react.

“Well, you can sit at any desk you want.” Badwolf moves his stack of papers back to the center of his desk and lifts the paper on top. “Do what you like, as long as you stay quiet. I don’t want to be distracted.”

Raven blinks. “Sorry, Professor. What?”

Badwolf raises an eyebrow. “Did you expect me to berate you?” He exhales, setting the paper in his hands back on top of the stack. “I’ve known you for years, Raven. You’re intelligent, but you’re also compassionate. You wouldn’t take this big a risk without contemplating the consequences—for yourself, and for the other students.” He exhales, his palm flattening against the top of the desk. “For your sake, I hope you’ve made the right choice.”

“You’re not…” Raven frowns. “Upset with me?”

“Of course not. I’m not Grimm.” Badwolf picks up the paper again. “Now. Quiet.” He picks up a pen and begins to go over the work. “Good grief, this will take me all day. Grimm wanted double thronework assigned to your year, which means double the work I have to grade…”

Raven’s shoulders sag, relief flooding her. She presses her back against the seat. Badwolf grunts in approval before turning his attention to the papers. He begins to hum; as he does, Raven stares down at the desk.

She expected to be so busy right now that she wouldn’t even have time to think. What is she supposed to do now?

The moment that thought crosses her mind, the door creaks open. Badwolf’s head snaps up, and he scowls. “Who dares—”

A blur of red darts into the room. Cerise locks the door, then reaches up to adjust her hood. When she looks at both of the figures waiting for her, her eyes widen, her cheeks blushing red.

Badwolf grits his teeth. The growl in his voice is almost comical. “…Miss Hood. What are you doing here?”

Cerise’s shoulders fall. “We don’t have to pretend,” she says softly, and Badwolf’s eyes widen slightly. “Raven knows. It’s okay.”

Badwolf looks at Raven, then back at his daughter. “Cerise, what did you—”

“I told her.” Cerise inhales, meeting Raven’s eyes. The certainty in hers makes the anxiety rooted in Raven’s chest fade away. “I wanted her to know that she isn’t alone.”

A long moment passes before Badwolf exhales. He curls his claws into his palm.

“If this were anyone other than Raven,” he says through gritted teeth, “I wouldn’t approve.”

Cerise sighs, her shoulders sagging. “I know.”

“That Blondie girl is always looking for gossip to share. And your roommate, Cedar—”

Cerise winces. “I know, Dad, I just…” Her eyes drift to Raven. “I wish we didn’t have to pretend. It’s nice to tell someone.”

“I know it’s nice.” Badwolf’s voice is low. “But we have to keep this secret to keep you safe. If anyone were to find out—”

“I’d be expelled.” Cerise puffs out a breath.

“And I’d lose my position at this school.” Badwolf shakes his head. “That wouldn’t even be the worst of it. All these destiny purists who think we have to follow everything to a T…they’d see our family and they’d think you had no right to exist.”

Cerise looks down at the hem of her cloak. With her eyes on her friend, Raven’s heart begins to pound. She never considered how different things must be for Cerise’s family. She’s only started thinking about challenging her destiny. Cerise must have been thinking about her destiny her whole life. Because of her destiny, Cerise could never tell anyone about her sister or her dad. She couldn’t even let her hood down. Destiny had made her life so awful, and for what? So her sister could eat her to fulfill their fairytale? So they could pass down the inability to truly be family to their children?

Now, more than ever, Raven knows she has to keep fighting. Cerise deserves the chance to turn her back on destiny. Her whole family deserves it.

Badwolf looks up, noticing that Cerise’s gaze hasn’t left her cloak. He exhales. “Why don’t you take a seat, pup?” he asks quietly.

Cerise nods. Slowly, she sinks down, sitting at the desk next to Raven’s own. When she does, Raven’s eyes remain fixed on her professor. Badwolf returns to his pile of papers, but there’s a new crease on his face.

Raven inhales. “Professor…can I ask you something?”

Exasperation flashes in Badwolf’s eyes when he looks up at Raven. However, he sighs, setting the paper in his meaty paws back down. “Fine. Ask away.”

“…Why would you do it?” Badwolf’s eyebrows cinch together, and Raven pales, pained by his discomfort. “Sorry, I mean—No one else would even think to marry outside who they’re allowed. But…you did.”

Badwolf’s eyes fall down to the top of his desk. He picks up a downturned photo frame off of his desk. The portrait is one of himself and his daughter—Ramona, the daughter who inherited his destiny—in front of the trees. At first glance, it looks normal. But when Raven looks closer, she notes red paint smeared between the trees, and she smiles.

“I didn’t want this,” he murmured. “I knew what I was supposed to do. Finish my story, then I’d settle down with one of the Wolves by Hood Hollow. We’d start a family. Have a child, one who didn’t have to make excuses about how she can’t shift.” He grimaces.

Raven looks over at Cerise, who looks down at her lap. Raven bites her lip. She’d assumed things were easier for Ramona, since she had no hood she needed to hide her ears beneath. She was wrong.

“But I met Red here, when we were both students.” A smile toys at Badwolf’s lips. “She was…lovely. So kind, and so opinionated too. She stood up for what was right, and unlike the others, she didn’t treat me like a villain. Even though I was destined to hurt her.

“I signed the book.” He inhales. “I wasn’t clever like you. I didn’t realize that I had a choice. And it hurt.”

Flinching, Badwolf sets down the picture frame. “We tried to play our parts as written. We had no other choice, but…Grimm, even though neither of us took it seriously, it pained me to even think of hurting her. I was practically relieved when the Huntsman arrived to chase me away. Because it meant that I never had to see her again.” He exhales and shakes his head. “As if that was how it would work. As if ‘Happily Ever After’ was ever anything more than ink on a page.

“Naturally, we found each other again. And again.” He chuckles, his eyes gleaming as he stares into the distance—likely ruminating on some nostalgic memory. Raven can’t help but stare, awed by the sheer power in his love. A power that, at least in her mind, could change destiny itself. “I kept making excuses to find her. Eventually, she confessed to doing the same. And we knew—” he flinches— “we knew we were risking everything just by being together. But I…” His eyes flick down to the floor. “I never wanted to live without her.”

Raven freezes. Badwolf’s words hang heavy in the air—as though just by speaking them, he’s made something solid. Something tangible. Something that began with love—a love so strong it defied destiny.

Somehow, Raven knows: even if there was some steep punishment for defying destiny, if only with the sheer depth of their love, Red and Badwolf would survive it. No matter what.

“I think you can guess what happened next,” says Badwolf, with a laugh too casual for the current moment. “We decided that we wouldn’t let destiny keep us apart any longer. We were married in Wonderland. The Mad Hatter officiated. We had no family, no guests—well, except for…” Badwolf pauses then. His eyebrow draws down, and down again. “Except…”

“Except who?” Cerise prompts. Meanwhile, Raven leans forward, frowning.

“I…” Badwolf pauses. “That’s odd. I can’t remember who they were.”

Raven and Cerise exchange glances. Cerise looks equally confused. Raven, in the meantime, bites on her bottom lip. She can’t help but be struck by deja vu. Hasn’t this happened before? A time when Badwolf mentioned someone who he couldn’t quite remember?

She lifts her head; at the same time, Cerise inhales. “Dad—”

“No more questions,” Badwolf snaps, his voice gruff. Cerise and Raven lean back. Only then does Badwolf exhale, shoulders falling. He shakes his head—perhaps his version of an apology.

“I have too much work to do,” he murmurs. “I’ll let you both stay to get out of detention, but only if you keep quiet.” He fixes them both with a fierce glare. “Otherwise, I won’t let you do this again. Alright?”

The growl in his voice makes Raven jump. “Yes, Professor,” she says almost on instinct; at the same time, Cerise nods. “Okay.”

Badwolf exhales. He reaches into his drawer and pulls out his spectacles again before squinting at the papers in front of him.

It’s almost humorous, seeing her professor using spectacles—realizing how different he is from the Big Bad Wolf of lore. But as she contemplates it, and as Raven tucks her head between her folded arms on the desk, she can’t bring herself to laugh.

Chapter Text

When Cupid decided to transfer to Ever After High the prior summer, she had her hopes for how the school year would go. This is not how she imagined it.

Right now, Cupid finds herself elbow-deep in a shelf of musty books. When she inevitably grows curious, she picks up the closest book and cracks it open. Dust rises over her head like a storm, tickling the tops of her bone wings. Loudly.

A distant “shh!” from one of the librarians shoots across the library. Cupid cringes. The wicked stepsisters of Cinderella fame have the ears of a hawk, and a temper to match.

Dexter snickers, hiding it behind his fist. He notices Cupid staring and grins. Cupid grins back, then turns back to her shelf—but with this many books in front of her, she can only keep smiling for so long.

Cupid could be exploring this sprawling campus. She could introduce herself to her classmates. She could venture outside, compare the lush enchanted forests of Ever After compared to the tall mountains of Olympus. Instead, she’s stuck inside, cataloging books until the dinner bell rings.

At least, with Dexter squinting through his glasses at the books in front of him, Cupid isn’t alone.

“Miss Cupid.”

“Oh, f—” Cupid shoots several feet into the air—literally. Her wings take over, and she flutters several feet off the ground.

Cupid looks down, cheeks pink, to see one of the Stepsisters glaring at her. Lady Step—that’s her name, if Cupid remembers correctly—wrinkles her nose. “Headmaster Grimm asked that you did not fly while at school.”

Cupid grimaces. He’d told her that bone wings like Cupid’s might distract or scare the other students. Cupid couldn’t help but agree, though it is annoying to walk everywhere.

“…I’m sorry,” she says finally, settling firmly on the ground. Dexter pushes his glasses back with a finger before looking at her apologetically. “And it’s just Cupid—”

“I will be reporting that to Grimm after your detention.”

Cupid sighs. Dexter leans forward, gripping the ladder tightly. “Hey, it’s not Cupid’s fault. She didn’t—”

Lady Step shushes him, so forcefully that Dexter leans back. The librarian then regards both students with a stony expression. “Have you organized this section before?”

Dexter and Cupid trade glances. There’s only so much library they could go through—they’d been going over sections they’d already sorted for weeks now.

After a moment, Dexter scratches the back of his neck. “I—yeah. We have.”

“You should organize something new,” declares Lady Step.

Cupid frowns. “…We’ve gone over everything already.”

Lady Step flexes her wrist, and a small silver key with a tiny emerald in its center slips into her palm. “Not everything. Come with me.”

The librarian turns, heels clicking, and walks down the aisle. Dexter slowly descends from the ladder; he looks up to meet Cupid’s eyes and shrugs before following.

Lady Step leads them deeper into the library, past a shelf of particularly musty copies of “Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.” While Dexter trains his eyes on the bookshelves, Cupid looks up, watching dust float through the few beams of light that remain.

Where are we going? Cupid looks over at Dexter to see if he’s wondering the same thing. However, Dexter stares into the dark, at a gate Cupid didn’t notice before. Lady Step unlocks the gate and pushes it open. It creaks, revealing a small room populated by several crowded bookshelves.

“Catalog this,” Lady Step says, and walks away.

That leaves Cupid and Dexter alone, with…Well. Cupid doesn’t know.

Cupid enters the room carefully. She stops in front of the closest shelf, squinting at the spines of the books. These clearly aren’t storybooks—they’re thick, with worn leather bindings, and Cupid can’t recognize their titles.

“I think…” Dexter pulls a book off the shelf, running his thumb across the spine. “I think this is the restricted section.”

Cupid frowns. “This library has a restricted section?”

“I think so? I mean, I’ve heard rumors, but nothing concrete until…” He weighs the book in his hands. “…Until now.”

Cupid laughs incredulously. Dexter stares at her, and she explains: “Grimm is so strict, and so are the stepsisters. Why would they let us in here?”

Dexter’s grin splits his cheeks. “I have no idea.” He shifts the book to one hand and extends the other toward Cupid. “Why don’t we see what we can find before we get in trouble?”

Cupid grins back and grabs his hand.

They waste no time pulling books off the shelves and diving in. Cupid, ironically, first finds a book featuring various Greek myths. She flips through it, but she recognizes every myth she encounters. It’s hard not to—these myths are the reasons why she exists.

Dexter wrinkles his nose, paging through the book in front of him. Cupid leans toward him. “What is that about?”

“It’s…about a war, I think,” he says. His fingers page through the book. “But…that makes no sense. Why would Espinas del Rosa go to war with Corteccia? They’ve been allies for centuries, I think…”

Cupid leans toward him, looking into the book. “You think? What about your history classes? What do they say?”

“I just had History of Tall Tales a couple of years back. It’s about stories, not wars.” Dexter turns the page, his brow furrowing. “In Kingdom Management, we were taught that wars only occur if they’re necessary to a fairytale.”

“That…sounds really improbable,” Cupid mutters, biting her bottom lip.

Dexter exhales and slams his book. “…I don’t know. Maybe we’re just overthinking this.”

“No, we’re not,” Cupid mutters.

Dexter stares at the cover of the book before tucking it under his arm. “…No, we’re not”

“What else is in here?” Cupid kneels, the skirt of her chiton wrinkling beneath her knees. She squints to read the worn-out spines. “How old do you think these are?”

“Old.” Dexter shrugs, leaning down to join her. “Probably why they’re restricted.”

Cupid tenses. “You think these books are restricted because they’re…old?”

“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t want teenagers touching old, fragile books.”

Cupid worries with her bottom lip. She’d love to believe that these books are restricted for age, but that’s too easy. That’s as easy as Ever After High lacking any history classes. What is this world trying to hide? What does this library not want her to read? And why doesn’t Dexter see what’s right in front of her face?

Cupid may be a romantic at heart, but sometimes optimism doesn’t work. If only Dexter would realize that.

Something cold passes under Cupid’s fingertips. Cupid blinks, finally noticing the gold letters gleaming on the spine before her, reading: Traditions of Greater Ever After.

“…Traditions?” Cupid pulls the book off the shelf and opens it. Her eyes widen. She thumbs through the the book as quickly as she can, taking in the names of holidays she never knew existed, and watercolor illustrations of ofrendas and gowns and flower assortments—

Then an illustration steals her breath away.

Pink spills across the page. It crowns the dark bark of a tree, pinching at the bottoms to form distinctly heart-shaped leaves. Pricks of light weave between the leaves. Even as a painted image, the tree glows pink and gold.

The Heart Tree—a traditional habitat for smaller species of fairies, the caption reads. For their heart-like shapes, leaves from this tree were often harvested and given to a loved one as part of True Hearts Day proceedings—

“True Hearts Day?” Cupid wonders aloud. Dexter hums and leans toward her. “Have you ever heard of a True Hearts Day?” She thought the research she conducted before arriving at Ever After was thorough, but maybe she’d missed something…

“No.” Dexter squints at the illustration of the Heart Tree. “No, I don’t know what that is.”

Cupid pauses. She pulls the book closer to her, running her fingers over the painted leaves hanging off the tree. They look so real—as if Cupid could reach into the page, pluck one off the branch, and hold it in her palm.

“How do you not know about this?” Cupid asks.

Dexter hovers over her, frowning. “…I don’t—”

“How does anyone forget about something so…” Unable to think of another word to describe the moment, Cupid shakes her head. “…So beautiful?”

“It’s not that we forgot,” Dexter sighs. “It’s more that we never learned.”

“What are you doing in here?!”

Dexter and Cupid both jump a foot in the air. That doesn’t stop Lady Step—the other Lady Step, taller and rounder and somehow more intimidating than her sister. She seizes Cupid’s wrist in one hand, though not before Cupid is able to shove Traditions of Greater Ever After into her bag. At the same time, Lady Step seizes Dexter’s wrist with her other hand. She tugs them both out of the restricted section, and Cupid finds herself unable to pull away.

“Who let you in there?” Lady Step demands, effortlessly pulling them along.

“Uh—the other librarian? Your sister?” Dexter stammers. Lady Step’s eyes only narrow. “She gave us the key. She told us to organize the section—”

“Students,” Lady Step snaps, “are not to go there.”

She huffs, flexing her jaw. “I have no reason to punish you, as this was my sister’s misstep, not yours. But let me warn you.” She steps toward the students, until Cupid trembles under the woman’s gaze. “If you tell anyone what you have found, there will be consequences. Am I clear?”

Dexter clears his throat. “Yes, Lady Step.”

“Yes, Lady Step,” Cupid echoes, hands tight around the strap of her bag.

Lady Step’s stare hardens, but she nods, releasing the students’ wrists. Cupid rubs at the skin of her wrist. “You will return to what you were doing before you were…” The librarian’s lip curls. “Interrupted.”

Dexter raises a finger. “Um, Lady Step—”

“What?” Lady Step snaps.

“N—Nothing.” Dexter shirks away from the librarian. “Never mind.”

“Good.” With one last glare at the students, Lady Step leaves. Once she’s far enough away, Dexter exhales and sags against the bookshelf beside them. Meanwhile, Cupid stays perfectly still, as though the librarians’ eyes are still on her. The only part of herself she dares to move is her hand, which slips into her bag and closes around the aged leather of Traditions’ cover.

She’s not supposed to have this. Cupid knows that. But with a key in her hand and no idea what she’s about to open, Cupid doesn’t care about consequences. Instead, she sees possibilities float over her head, lush as roses.

Deep in the Enchanted Forest, Ashlynn clenches a scrap of parchment in one fist. The other hovers in front of her, helping her keep steady as she picks her way across the fallen logs and leaves. As she walks, the weight on her shoulders slowly lifts away.

There are a lot of things she has to be. The dutiful daughter for her maman, kissing her envelopes gently before she slips them into the mailbox—with her paycheck tucked deep inside. The cheerful best friend for Briar and Apple, giggling as they browse potential Thronecoming dresses that Apple knows she can never buy. The perfect princess, gratefully accepting the hands of the few potential Prince Charmings that look her way, though every attempt to imagine a future with them fails.

But here in the woods, Ashlynn is none of these things. She’s just Ashlynn. Just Ash.

The sound of fluttering distracts her from her thoughts. Ashlynn looks up to see a bluebird flutter toward her. She lifts her free hand, and the bird perches on her finger and coos. Ashlynn smiles, lifting her other hand to stroke the bird’s head. “Hi there, sweetie.”

The bird tweets a song which echoes through the trees. Once it finishes, it flies away, weaving the trees.

Ashlynn sighs, her smile fading. Somehow, she feels jealous of the bird. She envies all the wildlife she’s met in the Enchanted Forest. They do what they want to, and no one can change them or make them stop.

That’s why Ashlynn is here. Especially after Legacy Day, now that her fate is signed and sealed, she wants to seize the few moments of freedom she has before they…go away.

Ashlynn unfurls the parchment in her hands and reads it one last time, in case she missed something.

Meet me in the woods. Please. —H

Hunter’s messages are always short, though this message is far messier than the last time she saw his handwriting. Ashlynn doesn’t know what he could want from her, especially so soon after their last meeting. After they broke up, they rarely met up. If Hunter wants to see her, it has to be something urgent. Something he needs.

And Ashlynn couldn’t resist. Especially not if it’s him.

“Ash.”

And there he is. He’s been expecting her. She can hear it in his voice.

Hunter stands in front of her, his dark hair glowing in the sunlight. He’s smiling at her. Ashlynn feels that slow, lush swirl in her stomach—something she feels every time he’s near.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Hi,” he murmurs back.

“I—I got your note,” she says, quickly unfurling the scrap of parchment. Hunter’s smile falls, his expression shifting to concern. Ashlynn quickly explains: “I found it after Damsel-in-Distressing. I assume you put it there while the princesses were off waiting—”

“Ashlynn—”

“And the heroes—the boys were combining wooing with chivalry—”

“I got your note.”

Ashlynn stills. She finally looks down at Hunter’s hands, at a scrap of paper with a short, handwritten in a script a touch too neat to be hers.

Ashlynn’s voice is small when she speaks. “…What?”

“Relax, princess. I wrote the note.” Two feet thump against the ground—a sound so slight Ashlynn almost misses it. “Both of them.”

Hunter and Ashlynn turn around at the same time. Behind them stands Duchess Swan—her pearl-white grin on full display. She sinks down in a mocking bow, then stands with a malicious grin.

Hunter backs up until he stands shoulder-to-shoulder with Ashlynn. “…Duchess? What are you doing out—”

“Save it.” Duchess’s teeth are gritted, but to anyone who hasn’t taken Princessology, her smile would look like that of any other princess.

“Well, I know why you’re both here.” Duchess gestures between them with one eyebrow raised. “You’re both so obsessed with each other you come running when there’s a hint of trouble.” She hums, the sound low. “How cute.”

“Hunter’s my friend,” Ashlynn pushes back.

Duchess smirks. “He wasn’t always, was he?”

Ashlynn flinches and steps back. Meanwhile, Hunter sets his jaw and cuts in front of her. “We don’t know what you’re talking about. Ashlynn and I are only friends.”

“I heard you talking about it yesterday,” Duchess sing-songs. “And, once I’ve told Blondie, the whole school will know your little secret.”

She hums, placing her hands on her hips as she walks away. “I just thought I’d warn you,” she murmurs.

“What—” Ashlynn stammers, feeling her throat run dry. “Duchess, you can’t—”

“Sure I can. And, honestly, I have to.” Duchess turns around, her hands folded, and a perfectly exaggerated pout. Ashlynn seethes, her shoulder pushing against Hunter’s. “We might not be close, but I want you guys to be safe. And dating someone who isn’t a prince…” She exhales. “That’s not safe, Ashlynn. That’s defying your destiny. We both know how dangerous that is.”

“It’s not dangerous.” Hunter clenches his teeth.

He should know. He’s one of the closest students to Raven. One of the few who support her crazy—crazy, but amazing idea that she doesn’t have to sign the Storybook of Legends. Ashlynn doesn’t know how to feel about it. There’s so much that Raven and Hunter and the others are risking…but if they’re right? That would be amazing.

If only Ashlynn had their confidence. Maybe then she’d be happier…and maybe then, she’d ruin her social standing, and her maman’s with it. Bad idea, Ashlynn. The Ellas are already on thin ice.

“And in case you couldn’t tell,” Hunter adds, as Duchess crosses her arms at, “everyone thought something would happen to Raven when she refused to sign, but it didn’t. We’re still here.”

“How do you know something won’t happen in the future?” Duchess fires back. “That you won’t disappear the moment your fairytale starts and you’re not in the right place to start it? Or the moment your fairytale veers off its past?”

Hunter frowns. “…I—”

“Well, if you’re so sure.” Duchess scoffs. “Can you tell me in all those scenarios, you know you won’t disappear?”

Hunter’s expression falters. Ashlynn leans slightly closer, but she doesn’t want to get too close—doesn’t want to feed the flame that Duchess has already ignited.

“…I’m not sure,” Hunter murmurs.

Duchess smirks. She turns around, her shoulders raised with arrogant poise—

“But I trust Raven,” Hunter adds, his eyes on the ground. “She believes that we have a chance, and so do I.”

Duchess’s grin only widens. She steps back, landing carefully in third position. “…Sure. Whatever lets you sleep at night.”

She turns away. Hunter sighs, his shoulders sagging. Ashlynn steps away and looks up in unison, eyes fixating on Duchess’s retreating back.

“But…” Duchess pauses, turning until the Sun casts her Cheshire Cat-like grin in shadow. “I wouldn’t count on that for much longer.”

With a regal giggle, Duchess transforms into a swan in a burst of white feathers. She ruffles her wings, then soars into the sky.

“Shit—” The second that Duchess is out of sight, Hunter spins to Ashlynn. His lips press tightly together. “Ash, I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“Don’t.” Ashlynn stumbles away from him. “You’ll only make it worse.”

Hunter’s face twinges with pain. Watching him from afar, Ashlynn wants nothing more than to walk closer him. To touch him for the first time in forever. To tell him that it’s going to be okay. But it’s not.

She doesn’t know what will happen, and it terrifies her.

“I’m going to go,” she mutters, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Ashlynn.”

“Goodbye, Hunter.”

Before he can protest, and before Ashlynn can lose her nerve, she turns away from him and starts walking toward campus. As she does, she squeezes her eyes shut, trying her best to stave off her tears—knowing this is a battle she will lose.

Chapter Text

Like always, Cerise’s morning run ends with her panting and sweaty, head bowed under the shade of one of the many thick trees that circle Ever After’s campus. Her velvet hood clings to her damp skin. Cerise sighs, a hand over her chest, waiting for the frantic pulse of her heart to fade away.

Her cloak is cozy, but on fall mornings like this one where the Sun still simmers, she wishes she didn’t need it. Grimm’s ridiculous dress code, requiring skirts that fall down to her ankles, makes running so much more tedious. She would love to wear pants, but alas, even at home she can’t afford to draw any more attention to herself.

Cerise straightens up when her heart rate has finally calmed down. She looks out at her surroundings. This early in the morning, most students are sleeping, but there’s still activity out on the school grounds. Someone sings in the distance; a gaggle of princes surround a target, fiddling with arrows and bows; and Duchess Swan kneels at the side of a pond, feeding leaves of lettuce to the geese.

Cerise shudders. She’s never been a fan of Duchess, and she’s glad that she’s nowhere near the princess now.

There’s still an hour until classes begin. Before that bell rings, Cerise has work to do.

She sets off at a sprint, weaving through the trees at the edge of campus. As she does, she pulls a pastry out of her basket and chews it slowly, grateful she’d swiped the pastry before going on her run today. Her planning spared her her from having to eat in the Castleteria. Even in her usual spot, with her back to the rest of the student body, there are too many eyes. Too many people who could think about Cerise’s suspiciously carnivorous diet, or the sharpness of her teeth, and realize the secret she’s tried so hard to keep.

Cerise has to be so careful to keep her family secret hidden. But what would be the alternative? The wrath of all of Ever After? She’d likely be expelled, and her father removed from his position here, and Grimm knows if any other kingdom or village would take them in…

Cerise keeps pondering this as she runs across the Enchanted Forest, then begins a long trek up the side of a mountain. It usually takes an hour to reach the orchard when walking—Cerise remembers that from the field trip at the beginning of her third year—but with her speed, it only takes her twenty minutes to reach the top of the mountain.

Usually, this is the part where Grimm lectures them about behavior before opening the gates with a key. But Cerise doesn’t need Grimm’s help. She scales the stone wall and hops over, grateful that the headmaster never put a magical barrier up to keep out intruders. There’s nothing in here worth intruding—unless you’re Cerise, that is.

Cerise approaches the orchard cautiously, as if one wrong step will alert Grimm. The leaves of each tree bristle, the sounds of pages rustling floating across the orchard.

Cerise clears her throat. “Um, Red Riding Hood,” she asks the trees, voice wavering. Vines stretch down from the trees: four of them, with a thick book blooming from the end. Cerise pauses for a moment, then adds: “Legacy Year.”

Three of the books fly back up to their place among the tree, while the other hangs close enough to Cerise that she can grip the hands. When she opens the book, leaves slither down, squeezing between pages. Cerise turns to the first bookmarked page and looks down at her mother’s school portrait.

Cerise is lucky she took after her mother—round face, monolid eyes, dark hair. Without the vitiligo, Cerise thinks she would be her mother’s spitting image. Thankfully, though that gene is from her father’s side, it skipped her father, and Ramona never leaves her arms uncovered.

Her parents had decided Ramona would take their father’s destiny, and Cerise her mother’s, before Cerise was even born. If Cerise looked like their father—aside from the wolf ears and teeth—how would they even keep Cerise’s parentage hidden?

Cerise sits cross-legged in the grass—grateful Maid Marian isn’t here to remind Cerise that a maiden should always keep her knees together—and turns to every marked page. The leaves tell her where the pictures of her mother are: even the ones where Red is tucked away in the background, next to Badwolf’s blurry figure.

Cerise cringes. Her parents are in the backgrounds of so many images together. They’re lucky no one ever looks at these yearbooks, or their secret would definitely be out.

She turns the page, looks at the picture that the next leaf points to—and frowns. Her mother is clearly visible, in the middle of a laugh. The shoulder beside Red’s, dressed in flannel, suggests that Badwolf is there too. But unlike in the many other pictures, Red is turned away from Badwolf and toward someone sitting in front of her. Someone dressed in a black gown, the fabric shimmering purple in the light. Someone with pale, almost ghostly white skin. Someone with a familiar face—

The yearbook tumbles out of Cerise’s hands.

A face that looks identical to Raven’s.

Since…since when did her mother know Raven’s mother? Sure, they might have been in the same year, but Cerise never imagined her mother would be friends with a villain—well, that’s not exactly fair, since she did marry a villain. Still, there’s a difference between her father who never wanted to follow his destiny, and the Evil Queen who cursed Wonderland…

Cerise reaches down and opens the yearbook again. In the image, the Evil Queen smiles kindly at her mother. Even with the dark, imposing getup, it’s hard to imagine that this is the woman who would grow up to be so cruel.

Why did her parents never mention this? The Evil Queen isn’t an easy person to forget…except her father has forgotten. He said there was a third person who didn’t want to sign. A mysterious witness at her parents’ wedding that they couldn’t remember. Could that person have been the Evil Queen?

Exhaling, Cerise closes the book and gently tugs it downward. The vine shoots upward, carrying the yearbook up with it. Cerise watches the book go up with a sigh.

If she could, she’d destroy the images of her parents together, even if it’s impossible for an untrained eye to know it’s them. But these trees are magically enforced. They’ve been preserving the memories of Ever After’s prior generations for over thirty years. If Cerise were to try to tamper with them, she would definitely be noticed.

And the last thing Cerise wants is to be noticed.

Exhaling, Cerise reaches up to ensure that her hood is snug, then takes off in a run. She climbs the stone wall again, landing in a crouch, then runs, leaving the Legacy Orchard behind—along with a shadow tucked between the trees, reaching out for the same book that Cerise requested.

Outside the mahogany door of Headmaster Grimm’s office, Cupid paces back and forth, her claws tapping frantically across the cover of Traditions. Her heels click against the hardwood floor; Cupid can feel herself sinking into the ground, and it takes all her effort to stop herself from flapping her bone wings and hovering off the ground. If Grimm were to open the door and find her flying, after she’d specifically been instructed not to fly…well, he likely wouldn’t be eager to hear Cupid’s plans.

This is a risk. Cupid knows that. She wasn’t supposed to be in the restricted section in the first place. But what she found there…that’s far too important to do nothing about.

Besides, Grimm is a fair man, from the few interactions Cupid has had with him. He’ll see the appeal of Cupid’s plan. Cupid will make sure of it.

The door opens. Cupid turns, an optimistic smile on her face.

Her smile collapses the moment she sees Grimm’s narrowed eyes.

“Miss Cupid,” Grimm huffs through gritted teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Cupid’s voice falters, and she swallows. Keep it together, Cupid. “I wanted to—”

“Oh, yes, I remember.” Grimm steps back and waves her forward. Cupid frowns—she’s never told him about the book. How does he remember? “Come in. Let’s make this quick; I have much to do.”

“Yes—of course, Headmaster,” Cupid stammers, rushing into the office. Grimm slams the door, and Cupid sinks into the seat on the other side of his desk. She glances at the portrait of Grimm hovering over her, green eyes staring at her like he can see beneath her skin.

“Now.” Grimm sits, and his voice makes Cupid jump—though she catches herself before she starts flying again. “Lady Step told me about your misstep in the library earlier.”

Cupid’s cheeks heat up. Did she tell him about the restricted section? “…What?”

“Now, since this was only a minor incident, I’m only going to issue a warning. But you understand how important it is that you don’t draw attention to your wings.”

“…Oh.” This is about her wings. Right. Does Grimm even know she was in the restricted section? Did Lady Step not mention that?

“I trust that you won’t use your wings in the future.” Grimm stares her down. “Correct?”

“Um, yeah,” Cupid murmurs, glancing down at her bag. “But—Headmaster Grimm.”

“Excellent. Then that’s settled.” Grimm pushes his chair back and turns toward the window behind him. “You are dismissed.”

“What?” Cupid blinks, but the headmaster doesn’t turn toward her. “No—Headmaster, that’s not what I—”

Grimm turns sharply from the window. “I said, you are dismissed.”

“Headmaster, I wanted to ask you about this.” Before Grimm can interrupt her, Cupid pulls Traditions from her bag. The headmaster’s brows furrow. Quickly, Cupid explains: “I—I found this in the library—”

“Where in the library?” Grimm asks, his voice low.

“Um—” Cupid clears her throat and flips through the book, opening it to the illustration of the Heart Tree. Grimm’s eyes only narrow.

“This is the Heart Tree,” Cupid explains. “Its blossoms were used in a traditional ceremony—True Hearts Day. People handed out blossoms to someone they loved, whatever form of love that might be—”

Grimm rips the book from her hands. It tumbles to her feet, and Cupid gapes down at it, mouth wide open.

Slowly, Cupid looks up. Grimm’s eyes simmer, almost glowing in the dim light.

“I should have burned those books long ago,” Grimm mutters, though Cupid strains to hear his words.

“What?” Cupid asks, her voice small.

Grimm glares at her. Clearly, she wasn’t supposed to hear that.

“Students are not allowed in m—” Grimm hisses through his teeth. “My private collection. I’m appalled that you would—”

“Lady Step sent us there.” Cupid rubs her arms. “She asked us to organize the section—”

“Then that was her mistake, wasn’t it?” Grimm snaps.

Cupid recoils. Her hip bumps the corner of his desk, but she can barely feel the pain shooting down her leg.

Grimm exhales, though the fire in his eyes doesn’t dim. He takes a step forward, and Cupid stumbles back.

“Let me be clear with you.” Grimm huffs. “Those books are restricted because nothing they say is true. You are not to believe a word that you read in that book. Do I make myself clear?”

Cupid nods frantically. Grimm exhales, plucking the book off of the ground and staring at it.

“The ideas kept in here are dangerous,” he says, his voice low and careful. “True Hearts Day, namely, encouraged defying one’s destiny because of love.”

“…I know that.”

Grimm folds his hands. Cupid feels impossibly small under his gaze. “I understand that you have been taught to value love where you are from. But this is not Mount Olympus. Here in Ever After, destiny is what keeps us alive. Destiny is more important than anything else you could think.”

“But…” Grimm arches his eyebrow, and Cupid stammers: “Love is the most important thing in life. It encourages us to focus on others…”

“Love will only make you weak in this world.” Cupid tucks her chin down toward her chest. “If you care about others, you will do nothing that dares them to risk their lives in the name of ‘love.’ Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand,” Cupid murmurs.

Grimm steps back. The tightness in Cupid’s throat finally eases.

“All right, then,” Grimm murmurs. “You’re dismissed.”

“Wait—” Cupid’s eyes flick to Traditions, its spine resting against her sandal. “Can I—”

“No.” Grimm reaches down and picks the book up, snapping it closed with one hand. His eyes rest on the front cover of the book before he glares at Cupid.

Cupid mutters her goodbyes, not entirely aware of the words spilling out of her mouth, and rushes out of the office. Even when the door slams behind her, Cupid doesn’t slow down. She hurries down the stairs, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, waiting for her goosebumps to fade away.

Raven doesn’t want to think about villains or magic ever again in her lifetime. Just her luck, she’s never going to have that opportunity.

Legacy Year classes were always rumored to be grueling, since this year is the last hurrah before the students venture out into the woods to fulfill their destinies. Raven can now confirm that the rumors are true. Still, the rumors didn’t exactly contend for Raven refusing to sign the Storybook of Legends—and the fallout and inevitable punishment to result from that.

Raven has had enough stress from this one month of last-year classes to last an entire lifetime. And it’s barely been a month.

She floats through the halls of the school castle like a shadow—like she doesn’t exist. Her time at this school has sucked the life straight out of her. Still, even if she doesn’t know how she’s going to make it through the rest of the school year, she knows she will. Grimm wants her to give up. The other students, the Rebels and those too afraid to express their true feelings, need her to keep going. So Raven will—she has to.

Raven stops at the bookshelf that lets her into the Vault of Lost Tales. She lifts the Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland book and freezes, her hands tight around the cover. She pulls the book off the shelf and traces her fingers across the cover. Her fingertips skirt over the illustration, down to the initials printed beneath them. It’s been a month since Giles gave her this, and she still hasn’t solved the mystery between the pages.

Raven glances over her shoulder to make sure that she’s alone. She tucks the storybook back into its spot. The ground rumbles—and the passage to the Vault opens beneath her. As quick as a mouse, she darts down the stone steps and into the darkness. The passage seals beside her.

She can see the firelight glowing on the other side of the door. She grips the doorknob and opens the door, gold light spilling out into the dark passage. The smell of fresh-brewed tea and wet ink greets her. Raven draws inside slowly, peering around a pile of loose papers.

Two chairs sit on the closer side of Giles’ desk. One of these chairs holds Cerise Hood, who nurses a cup of tea. Giles sits opposite her on a pile of pillows, his teacup steaming beside him as he furiously scribbles on a piece of parchment.

“Sorry,” Raven says softly. Giles and Cerise look up, wide-eyed. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Giles shoots to his feet, his chair scraping back. He steps toward her—his knees buckle, and he falls, though he catches himself on the desk beside himself. Cerise sets down her teacup and leaps to her feet. Giles waves her off with a smile. He continues toward Raven, though with a slight limp to his gait.

Raven grimaces, though she does her best to hide it. Giles has been limping since after Legacy Day. He’d fallen, as far as she knew. It had left him with a pretty awful black eye, but that had faded over the past month. Raven only saw it because she was looking for it. Anyone else likely wouldn’t—that is, if Giles ever saw anyone else.

Even though Raven knew he was there, he didn’t dare leave the Vault. Raven doesn’t know why. Still, She doesn’t want to push him. Especially with someone as uptight as Grimm for a brother, Raven could tell why Giles wasn’t ready to leave.

“Hi, Raven,” Cerise murmurs. She’s sunk back into her seat, though she hasn’t picked her teacup back up yet. Her sharp fingernails drum against the desk.

“Hi, Cerise,” Raven returns. She sinks into the chair opposite Cerise and faces her friend.

A slight red flush spreads over Cerise’ cheeks. She tugs down her hood, though she doesn’t break eye contact with Raven.

Porcelain slides across the wood. Raven looks down to see a cup of tea—black, exactly how she likes it.

“Thank you, Giles,” she tells him. Giles nods before returning to the drawing on the parchment in front of him. It’s too early for Raven to tell what the drawing is meant to be. A portrait, maybe? Of whom, Raven isn’t sure.

Cerise clears her throat. Raven turns back to her. She really should be more attentive to her friend. Cerise asked her to come here, after all.

“Sorry,” Raven murmurs.

“Don’t be sorry.” Cerise’s voice is softer than usual. “Thank you for being here.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” She really wouldn’t miss it if anyone asked to be with her, really; aside from her daily nuisances from Apple and her interactions with the Rebels, most students are too afraid of her to even think of approaching her. Cerise’s friendship is especially important: after all, Raven is one of the only people she trusted to tell the truth about her parentage.

Cerise nods gratefully. She leans closer to Raven—closer than Raven is used to being with someone. Well, that’s not true. Maddie is certainly fond of pulling Raven’s face closer if she thinks Raven isn’t understanding the gravity of her words. And Apple gets close to her sometimes, though she’s definitely more conscious of personal space than Maddie.

“Listen, I—” Cerise inhales, messing with her hands. “I ran out to the Legacy Orchard this morning.”

Raven frowns. “I thought that was only open for third-years?”

Cerise’s lips lift in a slight smile. “…I snuck in.”

“You what?” Raven’s eyes sparkle, a slight grin on her lips. “But what if Grimm found you?!”

Sighing, Cerise shakes her head. “I was looking for pictures of my parents,” she explains. Raven glances worriedly over at Giles, but he seems too absorbed by his drawing to notice.

“I guess I was just paranoid?” Cerise places a hand on her brow and sighs. “Anyway. I found something, Raven. I found a picture of my parents, and they were together—but they were also with your mother.”

Raven stiffens, her brows creasing as they draw together. She tries to imagine her mother—the terrifying Evil Queen, the husk of a woman she only knew from her reflection in a dusty mirror—hanging out with Red Riding Hood. The Big Bad Wolf makes slightly more sense, even if Badwolf seems far too kind to ever associate with her mother.

“…Are you sure?” Raven asks.

Cerise only nods.

“They didn’t look…scared?”

“They were happy,” Cerise murmurs. “Even your mother looked happy.”

“I—” Raven sags back in her chair. She’d been so used to her mother being some dreaded, awful person, someone whose death had to be faked to keep the world safe. Someone who Raven could only see through the mirror on occasion. She’d always been so miserable there, so Raven never had the opportunity to imagine her mother being happy.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe a long time ago, the Evil Queen wasn’t happy.

“Do you remember the other day, when m—” Cerise’s eyes flick to Giles. “When Badwolf had us both for detention?” Raven nods. “He mentioned someone. A friend that he’d forgotten. I think…I think that friend could have been your mother.”

“What—” Raven shakes her head. “You really think our parents could have been friends?”

“I don’t know for sure.” Cerise bites her bottom lip. “But I was wondering…we could ask, couldn’t we?”

“Ask…Badwolf?”

“I don’t think he remembers, honestly.” Cerise shrugs. “I was thinking more my mother.”

“Your mother?” Raven pauses. “Does she live near Book End?”

“No. In Malalim.”

Raven pauses, thinking of the heavily forested island nation. “That’s far.”

Cerise shrugs. “We could use the wells.”

“We—what?” Raven pales. It’s been years since she left Book End, and probably for good reason. The future Evil Queen would be received even worse than she is at Ever After High.

“Yeah. Um…” Cerise folds herself into her cloak. “The Blue Moon Festival is coming up soon. My mom’s letting me come home for a weekend to celebrate. I was wondering if you wanted to come with me?” She looks up, her brown eyes shimmering in the firelight. “We could both ask her. I think it would be nice for you, seeing as…” Her expression darkens slightly. “You didn’t really get much of a chance to know your mother.”

Raven’s brows cinch together. She knows more about her mother than she’ll ever be able to admit to Cerise. Maybe some day, Raven can reveal the future to her friend, like Cerise trusted Raven with her secret.

But Cerise’s offer is so kind. Kinder than anything Raven ever thought she’d receive.

Raven smiles gently. “That would be amazing,” she admits. “But I don’t think Grimm will let me off campus.”

Cerise grins—her smile wide enough to show her sharp canines. “Since when did you let that stop you?”

Chapter Text

On the long, winding walk up to Cupid’s dormitory, her wings flutter nervously, like the heart of a prey animal. Still, Cupid’s feet don’t leave the ground—after all, she wouldn’t want to upset Grimm.

With every step, her calves ache. The pain worsens the threat of tears spilling down her cheeks. Still, Cupid forces keeps her head up, blinking every so often to force her tears back.

Her meeting with Grimm was discouraging, but she won’t let herself cry over burnt paper. It’s nothing personal. Cupid isn’t used to this world, after all, but Grimm certainly is. Still, she can’t help but wonder—what kind of an educator burns books?

Her mind races, fingers twitching as if clenching around the spines of stories she couldn’t read. Tales of wars and holidays and histories remained locked behind iron doors because of Grimm, who threatened to burn a book over a holiday.

She’d thought that visiting Ever After would be fun, and welcome change of pace. She’s trying her best—to keep her head up, to understand that this world has its own rules just like Olympus does. But this is a development she can’t understand.

At the top of the stairs, Cupid pauses. The air is thinner here. Colder. She shivers, drawing a breath. As soon as she does, a voice rings out.

“…lack of evidence is honestly concerning.” Blondie’s voice is high as usual, and loud. For the few weeks that Cupid and Blondie have been rooming together, Cupid has grown used to the volume Blondie’s voice rises to when she’s gossiping. It seems like she should be quieter when she’s talking about which princess likes which prince, or who said something vaguely sympathetic toward Raven and her anti-legacy group…but Blondie doesn’t seem to care.

A scoff sounds, followed by a feminine voice that Cupid doesn’t yet recognize. “Be honest, Blondie. When did a lack of evidence ever stop you?”

There’s a pause. Cupid’s eyebrows draw together, and she creeps away from the staircase and toward the two voices.

A quill scribbles furiously against parchment, and Blondie giggles. “You’re so right.”

“I know,” replies the unfamiliar voice. “So. How quickly can you get this story out there?”

“Oh, not long at all.” Blondie hums. “An hour?”

Cupid turns a corner to stare at the hallway in front of her dorm room. Blondie stands with her back to the wall and a massive smile on her face. Her gold curls spill onto the piece of parchment in her hands, which she’s currently writing on at a lightning-fast speed. A taller girl stands opposite her, arms crossed, and velvet ballet slippers turned out at a ninety-degree angle. When she smirks down at Blondie, Cupid recognizes her as Duchess Swan, one of their classmates.

What exactly is Duchess doing here…?

Duchess taps her foot impatiently. “Make it thirty minutes. I’m a busy woman.”

Blondie nods enthusiastically, her quill moving even faster. “Anything for you, Duchess. I mean—” she giggles again— “this is the scoop of the year! I wouldn’t know about this, but thanks to you, people are actually going to take my newspaper seriously.” She bounces on her toes. “Gosh, I get to use the printing press for the first time this year—!”

Cupid manages a small smile at her roommate’s excitement. She’s never seen someone get this much joy from a printing press before.

Duchess rolls her eyes up. “Whatever. Just make sure you keep me anonymous.”

Huh? Anonymity didn’t seem to be something that Duchess would indulge in…

Cupid steps forward. At the same time, Duchess’s eyes fall—right onto her.

“Oh, look!” she coos, her smirk bursting into a much fuller smile. “Blondie’s new roommate!”

Blondie looks up at Cupid, who waves. Instead of returning it, Blondie looks back down at her parchment, muttering furiously as she writes.

Duchess steps in front of Cupid then, her tall figure entirely blocking Cupid’s roommate. “I’m Duchess Swan,” she explains. “The next—”

“Swan Princess, I know.” Cupid grips Duchess’s hand and shakes it, surprised by the firmness of Duchess’s grip. It still unnerves her that every student tends to introduce themselves by the legacy they carry, and not who they really are. From her gait and attire, Duchess is clearly a devoted ballerina; why doesn’t she introduce herself as such?

“You’re Chariclo Aragathone, aren’t you?” Duchess asks, once they’ve finished shaking hands.

Cupid grimaces at the use of her first name. “Just Cupid is fine.”

“All right, Cupid.” Duchess removes her hand and wipes it, not too subtly, on the skirt of her hanfu. “I’ll leave you two be.” She turns toward Blondie. “Thirty minutes?”

Blondie looks up and nods curtly. Duchess grins. She turns on pointe, practically floating past Cupid toward the stairs.

Blondie swiftly turns to the door to their room, opens the door, and then pauses. “By the way. You left that book on your pillow.”

Cupid pauses. She definitely didn’t leave any books on her pillows. She’d remember if she did. “I…what? I don’t think I did.”

“Well.” Blondie shrugs. “It’s there.”

Without another word, Blondie disappears into their room. Cupid frowns, but there’s no point in trying to pull the information out of her roommate. Blondie’s attention is on her latest story now.

Exhaling, Cupid hurries into their room and shuts the door behind her. Even if she knows she didn’t leave a book on her pillow, her bed seems like a good place to be. There’s no Grimm…no forgotten holidays…no burned books.

Blondie doesn’t look up, even after the door slams. Cupid shakes her head and turns toward the piles of pink taffeta atop her bed. She stops.

A worn hardcover book sits atop her pillow. Somehow, Blondie was right. Still, Cupid knows she didn’t leave it there.

She draws closer, until she can read the golden letters on the cover: Traditions of Greater Ever After. She gasps, practically throwing herself at the book that she thought she lost forever.

How is it here? Shouldn’t it be with Headmaster Grimm, or simmering at the bottom of some cruel fire?

Cupid balances on her knees on the mattress and lifts the book—delicately, as if with one wrong move, the book will dissolve into dust in her hands. She lost it once; she can’t bear to lose it again. She turns the book over, but she finds no differences from the book she held only an hour ago. Exhaling in relief, she cracks the cover open.

A small piece of parchment flutters out from between the first few pages. Cupid snatches it out of the air and, frowning, holds it up to the light. An ink drawing shimmers in front of her—a surprisingly anatomical heart, pierced by a single arrow.

Cupid exhales, her brows cinching together. Her arm drops. She sets the paper down on her nightstand.

Her attention turns back to the book then. She cracks the pages open, flipping through. She reaches the section on True Hearts Day almost magically. As if whatever mysterious force brought the book back to her wanted her to return to this chapter, too.

There’s nothing in the book about the holiday that she hasn’t already read. Nothing she hasn’t already committed to memory. But she can’t just leave this there. She can’t let the book rot in the corner of her room, and the tradition rot in her own mind. Something has to be done about this.

She has to bring this tradition back, before it dies out entirely.

Suddenly, an idea strikes her.

She doesn’t need Grimm to bring back True Hearts Day. She can do it herself.

Cupid turns toward Blondie, who is holding her now-full parchment up to the window, illuminating whatever story is written on there. At this angle, Cupid can’t make out the words.

“Blondie?” Cupid asks, shifting toward her roommate.

Blondie finally pries her eyes from the parchment. “Mhm?”

Cupid nervously hugs Traditions to her chest. “Who here is good at throwing parties?”

Blondie grins. Only then does Cupid realize just how sharp her roommate’s teeth are.

When the bell rings, releasing the students for the lunch break, Hunter lets out a heavy sigh. He closes his textbooks and tucks them into the leather satchel at his hip. As his hair falling over his eye, he quickly glances up. As always, a group of princes swarm in the middle of the classroom. Daring is at their center, like a golden statue too bright to look at in the light. The princes chatter, as though oblivious to Hunter lurking in the corner.

After a long moment, one of them notices Hunter staring, and turns toward him. Hunter swallows, sweeps his books off the table, and walks out of the classroom.

As soon as he opens the door, a shoulder knocks into his own. Hunter leaps back and bumps into on the nearby doorframe. He hisses through his teeth, but manages to stifle it in order to turn and ensure the person he bumped into is fine.

As Hunter watches, Duchess pirouettes perfectly and evenly on pointe toward him. She leans forward, her voice a low whisper: “Good luck.”

Hunter recoils, frowning. Before he can ask a single question, Duchess merely smiles and sashays away.

Ugh. Hunter exhales, trying to push the awkward encounter out of his mind. He doesn’t need this—not when Duchess’s earlier threat still hangs heavy in his mind. Not when the taste in his mouth is still bitter from his reunion with Ash, his mind still muddled from trying to understand her.

So much of what he’s done was a risk. It was a risk to stay at Raven’s side while chaos erupted from the ruins of the Legacy Day ceremony. It was a risk to defend her when the entire school, save their tight group of five, was against her. It was a risk to suggest that he and Ash still had a chance, when she’d been so determined that there wasn’t a chance for them when she ended their relationship months ago. She hadn’t seemed to change her tune since then.

Hunter didn’t mind. Ashlynn could believe what she liked. In the meantime, he could…try to change her mind.

He takes another step—and something rustles under his boot. Hunter looks down and frowns, picking up one of the multiple pieces of parchment strewn across the floor. He glimpses the headline—and his eyes widen. His hands tremble.

When he looks up, he finds that all the students in the hallway are staring at him.

Hunter clutches the parchment to his chest, like a weak shield that can’t defend him from the piercing blades of their stares. He lurches forward, desperate to find a way out—

A hand catches him before he can. Hunter turns slowly, only to find Daring Charming looming above him, eyes white as ice.

“What is this?” he asks, another parchment clenched in his hand—the printed script identical to that on the paper in Hunter’s hands.

Hunter swallows hard and leans back, knowing he can’t break Daring’s grip.

Daring leans closer, until Hunter can practically feel his stare like frostbite on his skin. “Ashlynn?”

Hunter struggles for breath.

“Hunter!”

The familiar voice rippling through the crowd at once draws a relieved breath from Hunter, and sends disappointment sinking to the bottom of his stomach. It only stings more when Daring lets go of him and steps back.

A second time when Hunter was antagonized by the future king of Ever After, a boy who Hunter knew only wanted what was best for him. A second time when he needed a damsel to save him, when he was the one who was supposed to be doing the saving.

Cerise bursts out of the crowd, unmistakable from the velvet hood that covers the crown of her head. Daring takes one look at her, and one of his signature smiles crosses his face. Cerise’s scowl deepens, and Hunter’s skin crawls.

“Cerise,” Daring says, one eyebrow raised.

Cerise grumbles and grabs Hunter by the wrist, towing Hunter away before the conversation can continue. Hunter can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. The eyes on him, and only him, sting like bees’ stingers implanted in his skin. He wishes he had Cerise’s cloak, and the anonymity that came with it.

Cerise’s existence must be so much easier. Red Riding Hood doesn’t have to do much. She doesn’t get scorned for her mistakes—in fact, her whole fairytale happens because she makes a mistake. She can do what she wants. She doesn’t have to be careful.

But there’s no way Hunter can escape his own destiny. It hangs over his head, sharp as his best axe.

Cerise pulls him past a group of gossiping students and hip-checks him into a classroom, shutting the door. She leans on the door and crosses her arms. “Did he say something?”

Only then does Hunter notice that his mouth is still stuck in a slight grimace. His expression drops. “No,” he mutters.

Cerise exhales. “I can tell that you’re upset, Hunter.”

She’s good at reading him. She’s been good at it for all the years they’ve known each other—longer than the average students here. They were from the same fairytale…but they weren’t the only ones. Hunter shared a fairytale with Ramona, with Apple, with Raven. Despite all of them, Cerise was the only one he’d grown so close with. Close enough that they could practically be siblings.

Hunter flinches away from her. “I didn’t need you to save me.”

Cerise sighs. “Hunter.”

“You guys are back?!” A chair scrapes in the background. Hunter jumps, realizing they’re not alone. However, his momentary panic subsides when he realizes Cedar is the one approaching him. Behind them, a paper with Blondie’s essay printed on it is splayed in the middle of a desk, surrounded by teapots, cups, and dishes—a surefire sign that Maddie is here, too. Speaking of Maddie, she hops up from the desk to run toward the group.

Hunter looks toward the three. God, Daring is right—he only spends time with girls. “…What are you all doing here?”

“We had to meet up,” Cedar says, nodding at the article. “We read Blondie’s article—and it’s shocking. I mean, really shocking. Did you actually date Ashlynn? I was trying to find a source, but Blondie said her source was anonymous and I don’t know if that means she lied, or—”

“I know who her source is,” Hunter mutters, chin tucked toward his chest. “It’s Duchess.”

Cerise and Cedar both stiffen. Maddie, on the other hand, has the most visible reaction: she gasps, both hands to her cheeks. “That forsaken pheasant!!!” she gasps. “How could she do something—Why!” She pouts, crossing her arms. “The tea will unbrew, and the morning will not dew, when a swan honks at you!”

Hunter sucks his teeth. Three years of school with Maddie, and he still can’t understand a word of Riddlish that she says.

“So is it true?” Cerise glances at the door and back again, her voice dipping in volume. “You and…Ashlynn?”

A moment passes before Hunter nods. Cerise squeezes her fist around a thick lock of hair; Cedar gasps, hands flying up to cover her mouth. Maddie’s jaw falls even further down.

But they’re missing someone.

Hunter frowns and looks behind the trio, checking the desk to confirm his suspicions. “…Where’s Raven?”

Cerise exhales and twists her hands in her cape. “…I couldn’t find her. She must be busy. What with…Grimm’s punishments, and all.”

The group falls silent. It’s strange without Raven to lead them, or to be a unifying presence. Hunter hasn’t seen her much over the past month. He knows that Grimm must be angry at her. He knows from the rumors that Raven has had to serve twice the detention that all the other students have.

He just hopes she’s okay. And she will be. It’s just detention.

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he says, and Cerise looks up.

“Yeah,” Cedar pipes in. “She’s tough. It’ll take a lot more than homework and detention to break her.”

“Raven is an antonym of break, as you know!” Maddie pipes up. “They have nothing in common! Not even a single feather?”

Cerise reaches up, tugging on the ribbons that tie her cloak together. “…I guess you’re right.”

“Has anyone seen her recently?” Hunter asks, his eyes drifting from one person to the next.

An awkward moment passes, the only sound being Earl Grey squeaking as Maddie tries to coax him back into her hat. When someone does speak up, Hunter doesn’t expect it to be Cerise. “I did,” she said. “I asked her to meet me in the vault. I just…” She shrugs, tugging her hood forward. “Wanted to give her an opportunity to get away from Grimm.”

“That’s noble of you,” Cedar commends, and Maddie bobs her head in agreement.

Cerise exhales. “I know. I just—wish I could get her away from here sooner, rather than later.”

“It’ll come.” Cerise glances at him, and Hunter nods encouragingly. “Just be patient.”

Cerise sighs. “Kind of hard, what with all of the shit going on.”

Hunter’s face falls. He takes a step away from the group. Cedar notices immediately, tracing his path with her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, his tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek. “That’s kind of my fault.”

“No, it’s not.” Cerise crosses her arms. “It’s Duchess’s fault, and Blondie’s. They shouldn’t be spreading this stuff.”

“Well, they already have.” Hunter looks down at his hands, as if he can already picture the animal blood dripping down them. He notes the chipped remnants of Cupid’s nail polish on one of his nails, and tilts his hands down so he can’t see them anymore.

He can only imagine what Daring will have to say when there aren’t any damsels around to protect him. How ironic.

“Well, that doesn’t really mean anything,” Cedar babbles, wringing her hands in front of her hand-painted corset. “Sure, they can say what they want, but it’s just talk. They can’t make you do anything. They can’t make you change your mind about anything.”

Cerise looks up at her roommate and nods. “She’s right.”

“Well…” Hunter sighs, climbing up onto a desk. Maddie hops up onto the desk beside him without hesitation and kicks her stubby legs back and forth, staring intently at him—almost a little too intently. But it’s Maddie, so Hunter doesn’t really mind.

“Did you see how they were all staring?” he mutters.

“They’ve been staring at all of us that way since Legacy Day,” Cerise points out.

“I know, but—I’m not just worried about myself,” Hunter explains. His fingers tap restlessly against the underside of the desk. “I’m worried about Ash…lynn.”

The other students’ heads snap up at the mention of the princess. They probably weren’t thinking about her. But Hunter was. Hunter has been thinking about Ashlynn for longer than he should think about her. Longer than he should think about someone who isn’t even in his fairytale.

“Ashlynn hasn’t experienced something like this before like I have,” Hunter explains in a low voice, his head hung. “I don’t—I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Cedar leans slightly closer. “Hunter, it’s not your fault.”

Her words sting. Hunter knows she can’t lie, but it still feels like something that should be against her nature. Of course it’s his fault. If he didn’t understand his place in this world, understand that a commoner couldn’t love a princess in the way a prince could, he would have never brought Ashlynn into this. He never would have forced Ashlynn’s secrets to be bared in this way. They were his secrets, too, in truth—but he didn’t matter. Not nearly as much as she did.

“Maybe I should find her,” Hunter mutters.

Cerise tilts her head at him. “Do you really think that’s wise, after Blondie’s article?”

Hunter doesn’t have much of a response for that. As always, Cerise is right— is right—seeing the consequences that he’s too blind to notice. Rose-colored glasses, and all that.

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Yeah.”

Cerise hops up onto the desk on his other side, trading a glance with Maddie when she does so. “Hunter, you know I want to help. I don’t think it’s a bad idea. I’m glad you care about her still. I just…” Her eyes flick to the door. “She probably needs some space.”

“Besides, I don’t know if it would look very good,” Cedar adds, leaning on the desk beside Cerise. “You two get exposed for having a secret relationship, and when it does get exposed, you go and seek Ashlynn out. That would look even worse than—”

She notices Cerise staring, and her face falls, wooden hands flying up to cover her mouth. “Oh—I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have said that.”

“It’s fine,” Hunter says, even as Cedar shakes her head. “You meant well.”

“Yeah, I just—” Cedar hangs her head. “I wish I could just be normal, and keep my mouth shut.”

Hunter sighs. “I understand how that feels.”

Cerise hangs her head. Even Maddie pauses, her feet hanging limply under the table.

Hunter looks up at the others. Cedar’s wooden skin, Cerise’s ever-present hood, Maddie’s hat askew on her poof of brightly-colored curls. There’s not a lot of normal in this room.

“At least we can be ‘not normal’ together,” he notes.

The others look up. Maddie beams, the gap between her front teeth on full display. Cedar’s painted smile grows wider. Even Cerise looks up to meet his eyes and nods.

Hunter holds out his fist, with his thumb tucked within—the way he was taught not to do whenever he was throwing a punch. But despite his da’s instructions, he’s not here to throw a punch. Not now, and hopefully not ever.

“Rebels?” he asks.

The others waste no time, bumping their own fists against Hunter’s. They respond, in a chorus of voices: “Rebels.”

With their skin resting against his, Hunter can’t help but smile. He might be different, someone who breaks the rules of their world—but that’s nothing that he’s unfamiliar with. That’s nothing that any of them are unfamiliar with.

Hunter can only hope that Ashlynn, wherever she is, has found a community as understanding as the one that surrounds him now.

Briar stands at the window in her dorm room, a piece of parchment clenched between her excellently manicured nails. She leans over the railing and reaches outside. Usually the wind in her dark curls is a satisfying feeling—a reminder that she’s still alive, still awake, still capable of experiencing the world around her. But she’s seventeen, and the clock that marks her eighteen years of freedom is winding down.

Briar takes a sharp breath. There’s no use dwelling on things she already knows.

She moves her wrist sharply, tearing the page straight down the middle. She works to tear the paper into smaller pieces; as she does, the sounds of sobbing beneath the paper ripping subsides.

Finally, when the parchment has been torn into small pieces, Briar tosses everything in her hands into the air. Pieces of parchment flutter down like confetti.

Briar sighs. She’d love a party to lift her spirits, but there’s no way she can plan with Ashlynn in this state.

Speaking of Ashlynn. Briar backs into her dorm room, closing and locking the window to block out the wind. She turns slowly, the fabric of her skirt brushing against her ankles.

Ashlynn is currently curled up in her bed, her knees to her chest. A stuffed bird, one that Briar knows she brought from home, is tucked under her arm. Her ginger curls cover most of her face, but Briar can see a sliver of her cheek, and the tear carving down it.

“Hey, Ash.” Briar approaches the bed slowly, brushing aside the curtains that form a canopy around it. Ashlynn sniffs, acknowledging Briar as she draws close. Briar exhales, sitting gently on the bed. She lifts a hand to cup Ashlynn’s chin, then runs it through her curls.

“I’ll give Blondie what for for you,” Briar mutters, her teeth gritted in the way a princess’s teeth shouldn’t be.

“No—” Ashlynn pushes herself up slightly. “Don’t. It’s already been done.”

“Doesn’t make what she did any better,” Briar murmurs.

Ashlynn stares at her. Briar exhales, immediately crumpling. It’s hard to stay angry with Ash. “Alright. I’ll leave her be.”

“Thank you,” Ashlynn murmurs. She pulls her knees slightly closer to her chest.

Briar looks down at her. There’s so much she wants to ask—but she doesn’t want to prod Ashlynn when she’s in this state. Besides, what would she ask? Was it true? She could have guessed the answer from the moment Ashlynn scooped up one of Blondie’s mass-printed essays off the ground and burst into tears. Briar practically had to beat students back in order to get the two of them to the safety of their dorm.

How did it happen? But Briar knows the answer. Love isn’t something either of them can control. Ashlynn never chose to fall in love with a commoner, instead of the prince she was supposed to find her Happily Ever After with.

Briar knows the feeling.

She inhales sharply, at the same moment that Ashlynn takes a deep breath in. “Do you want to talk about it?” she says, at the same time that Ashlynn asks: “Are you mad at me?”

They both pause, taken aback by the other princess’s confession. Briar blinks, as Ashlynn’s words become clear in her mind. “…What? No, Ash. Of course I’m not mad.”

“But…” Ashlynn sniffs. “I’m supposed to be with a prince. Not…” Her voice breaks. “Not Hunter.”

Briar shakes her head. “Ash, I don’t care about any of that.”

Ashlynn’s voice dips in volume. “But Apple will.”

Briar pauses. The mention of their best friend takes her aback. She didn’t even think of Apple, her nearly blind worship of Grimm and his adherence to their written stories. Briar didn’t understand it much. Sure, she had to fall asleep for a hundred years, but that didn’t mean that she had to like it. Not in the way that Apple did.

“I’ll talk to Apple,” she promises, her voice quiet.

“No.” Ashlynn swallows, sitting all the way up. “It’s fine. I can talk to her myself.”

“Are you sure?” Ashlynn pauses, and Briar’s eyebrows cinch together. “I know you can. But I just want you to be safe.”

“I can,” Ashlynn promises, her head bobbing up and down. “I just…Not at the moment.”

“Of course,” Briar says, with a nod.

Ashlynn nods back, but she doesn’t return Briar’s gentle smile. She sets her head back down on her pillowcase—silk, and shimmering under the noontime light.

Briar glances out the window. They did miss lunch, didn’t they? “How about I get us some food?”

Ashlynn mutters, “I’m not hungry.”

“Then I’ll get you something small. You need to eat.”

Exhaling, Ashlynn’s shoulders fall. That’s enough of an indication for Briar. She pats her roommate’s shoulder before standing carefully, so the bed doesn’t move much. “I’ll be right back, then.”

“Thank you, Briar,” Ashlynn responds, her voice hoarse.

Briar’s head dips in a nod her roommate can’t see. “What are best friends for?”

Ashlynn hums in acknowledgment and sets her head down on the pillow, closing her eyes. Briar studies her roommate, the smile fading from her face. With Ashlynn no longer looking at it, she doesn’t have to pretend.

She loves Ash, she really does. But this revelation…it’s not something Briar expected. Ashlynn had always seemed like someone who went with what was expected of her. She was quiet, followed instructions from the teachers in their classes on princesses without complaint. But under Briar’s nose, she’d started and ended this relationship.

Briar didn’t really care that Ash had done it. Who cared what they did while their story wasn’t being written? Sleeping Beauty’s story didn’t call for her to dive headfirst out of towers, but Briar did it anyway. Ashlynn could do whatever she wanted now. But she’d already signed—she knew she had to follow the story now, with her Prince Charming and everything before and after. It was probably why she ended things.

It hurt Briar that Ash couldn’t trust her to tell her this. She told Ashlynn everything…well. Mostly everything. There were some things that she couldn’t disclose to everyone.

Perhaps this was something that Ashlynn couldn’t tell anyone. Now everyone knew, and Ash would have to pay the price.

Nausea swirls in Briar’s stomach. She’s done things that would make most princess’s stomachs turn, from trick shots to wild dives, and only this was enough to unsettle her. She wishes she was up in the air, diving back down to Earth. At least up there, with the wind rustling through her braid, it’s hard to hear anything else—even her own thoughts.

Briar swallows hard, steps outside the dormitory, and closes the door carefully. She needs some time away from Ashlynn, and from the overwhelming emotions that make her head spin.

She locks the door behind her—so no one can slip in and bother Ash while she’s away—and spins, bracing herself for a crowd of Royals with stinging questions. Instead, all she sees is a pale pink face, wide turquiose eyes, and sharp golden canines—inches away from her face.

“Hello!” the student exclaims.

“Oh, fuck—” Briar leaps back, her shoulder blades banging against the door of her room.

Immediately, the student’s eyes shock wide, her hands flying out. “Wait—no! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”

Briar takes a breath in, the momentary shock wearing off. She barks a laugh—loud and improper, just the way she likes it.

The student frowns, tilting her head. “…What—”

“That was such a rush!” Briar gasps, shaking her head. “You got me good.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you!” the student pipes.

“No—no, it’s fine! I don’t care! It was funny, anyway.” Briar exhales before she finally takes a look at the student before her. She’s clearly not human, what with the bone wings extending from her back. The clothes she wears suggest that the rumors that she’s from Olympus are true. That excites Briar—she can’t remember the last time Ever After High had a new student who wasn’t just a new first-year.

“Can I help you?” she says, her smile slipping slightly. “Or are you here about…” Her eyes narrow slightly, and she glances quickly at Ashlynn’s closed door.

The student raises her hand. “No! No, I’m not here for—I—” She sighs, her wings drooping slightly. “…I wanted to apologize. For Blondie.”

Briar pauses. Well, she definitely didn’t expect that. “…Really? I mean, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But I’m her roommate. And I feel guilty.” The student wrings her hands. “She shouldn’t have done that. I mean, love—it’s not something anyone should feel bad about.”

Briar’s heart flutters anxiously, as though the student can see straight into her mind, can hear the thoughts she’s tried her best to hide from anyone.

“Y—yeah,” she says nervously. “I agree.”

The student smiles sympathetically. She offers Briar a hand. “I’m Cupid.”

“Briar,” the princess introduces herself, shaking Cupid’s hand vigorously. “Briar Beauty.”

“Yeah.” A slight blush appears on Cupid’s cheeks. “Blondie told me.” She realizes what she said and shakes her head rigorously. “I mean, before the whole essay thing. I’m sorry. I should have stopped her—”

“Apple used to be her roommate,” Briar exhales, lazily spinning her hand in the air, “and even she couldn’t get Blondie to stop. So, yeah. Not really your fault.”

Cupid sighs, her arms folding. Briar looks over to her and frowns, waiting for her to speak. Eventually, Cupid does speak. “…It’s just weird. I know I’m not used to the society here, but…why is love such a bad thing?”

“Because we don’t really have love here,” Briar mutters. “Just destiny, and the person it chooses for you to spend the rest of your life with.”

It takes a long moment before Briar can raise her head again. When she does, Cupid is staring at her intently, with a gleam of hope in her wide eyes. “…Have you ever heard of True Hearts Day?”

“…No,” Briar says, leaning in with a slight frown on her face. “Is that an Olympus thing?”

“Actually, no.” Cupid reaches into her bag and produces a book from within. Briar squints at the title: Traditions of Greater Ever After. It’s not a book she’s ever heard of before.

Cupid opens the book, showing Briar a watercolor illustration of a tree with heart-shaped leaves. Her explanation of the holiday feels like a fairy tale Briar would hear as a child—except she never heard it. She knew that some day, she’d wake up from a hundred-year sleep to her Prince Charming hovering over her, to whisk her off to a marriage and Happily Ever After. She wouldn’t get to choose otherwise.

But Cupid presents an alternate world. A world where choice is placed in her hands through these heart-shaped blossoms. A world where Briar can hand her blossom to someone else and say I choose you, I want you, rather than wake up with the choice already made for her.

By the time that Cupid has finished her explanation, her heart flutters with possibility. Her mind races with the concept of convincing everyone that love can be chosen, rather than predetermined.

And then her smile fades.

“But that can’t happen,” she says, glancing at her dorm room.

“I understand.” Cupid steps closer, reaching out with her palms turned upward. “And I know it’s hard. I know you’re not used to choosing, but it’s not too late. You can change your mind.” She glances at the dorm room door again, then steps closer, smiling at Briar. “Everyone can change their minds.”

Briar hesitates. The hallway falls silent, and she listens: but even in the silence, she can’t hear Ashlynn crying.

What would Ashlynn think? Would she be scared by the idea of further defying her destiny? Or would it bring her hope like it brought Briar hope?

There’s no way of knowing.

But what if.

Briar’s heart starts pounding again. She could bring Ashlynn back the hope she’s craving. She could change everyone’s minds, and help them realize just how little it mattered that Ashlynn and Hunter together. Then Ash could be happy, whether with Hunter or by herself.

She faces Cupid, heart pounding so loud she thinks the other student can hear it, and slipping her hands into Cupid’s. “Well? What are we going to do about it?”

Cupid blinks, looking down at their hands and back up again. “…Well. I was thinking of throwing a party.”

There’s nothing better that she could have said. Briar grins, the expression so wide it almost hurts. “Now you’re speaking my language.”