Chapter Text
On Tuesday morning, a poster was discovered in the lounge.
Testimonies for before and during the overblot needed.
Location: Housewarden’s Office
If you would like to share your feedback, please schedule an appointment below.
Your efforts will contribute towards improving the quality of life at Heartslabyul.
The fliers were hung everywhere—the kitchen, the hallways, even the bathroom stalls. All printed in clean white paper with a stamp in red ink, bearing the signature of the infamous Riddle Rosehearts.
Some thought it to be a prank. When has the Crimson Tyrant ever listened to anyone? Her close-mindedness led to the whole disaster! It’s no surprise they’d avoid her like the plague.
Regardless of opinion, there was no doubt of the commotion in the Queen of Hearts’ dorm. Students whipped out their phones and, like crows to bread, hawked around each other trying to scan the QR code at the bottom.
By the end of the day, the slots were completely full.
“Are you sure about this?” Trinity asks.
Standing in front of the window, Riddle overlooks the gardens. Her eyes land on the mounds of dirt where the bushes used to be.
“You’re still recovering. This can wait until you’ve gotten more rest—”
“I’ll do what I must.” Her back is turned to the vice-housewarden. “For the good of Heartslabyul.”
Gloved hands force the curtains shut. Never mind the roses scattered outside (poor things, they’d just blossomed and been painted red days ago, but now they’re all dead).
“My leadership is already under question. If all of our house is to be re-evaluated, I ought to supervise the process myself.”
“Riddle—”
“You have only two objectives,” she declares, retreating to her desk. “First, to keep an accurate record of each testimony. Second, to prevent unwarranted assault. You are not to speak on my behalf, Trinity. In my defense or otherwise.”
Her footsteps echo against floorboard silence.
“Are we understood?”
Worry lingers in her senior’s eyes, but she has not yet learned to read it.
“Yes, housewarden.”
“Good.”
Riddle seats herself upon the giant armchair, but this throne, while rightfully hers, has lost its comfort.
“Now, then.” She folds her shaking hands atop her lap. “Let the first person in.”