Chapter Text
Thavel's claws rhythmically tapped on her desk, watching the rain patter onto the window as the cold air within the room caressed her pale skin. Her class was currently working on some English work, writing a paragraph about their daily activities outside of school. A simple assignment, but as time went on, it became boring. She waited for a student to cause some commotion, but there was none, not even from the trio.
Thavel didn't hate the quiet. In fact, she enjoyed it. It reminded her of home in a sense. The quiet, snow-covered forest was such a nostalgic memory that she had to copy it the best she could in her classroom. The alpine smell, cold air, and if she ever had the chance, she would've covered her whole classroom in snow.
Though that would've made Grace incredibly angry at her, she would have made Thavel clean it all up like a mother scolding a child.
The longer the class went on, the deeper Thavel sank into her mind. She wasn't the boastful type like Circle, nor was she the serious type like Bloomie.
She didn't like to talk much about herself. Not that she was shy about it, more that she didn't care, and no one asked questions. Thavel was a wendigo and an English teacher. Enough said and done.
But was that all to her? Just a wendigo and a teacher?
Circle is a serious math teacher but has the social skills of a dead fish. Bloomie is a stern science teacher, but even if she won't admit it, she was way nicer than the two of them.
But what was there for Thavel?
The more she thought, the more a singularly different question began to form.
Was she even a good teacher?
She's good at English and teaching other languages, and tries her best to teach the students, but none of that matters when you have a body count that's hitting double digits.
Even when she was young, it was always like this.
Passing students are seen as perfect, while failing students are either harshly punished or killed. Thavel only managed to luck out by being the "weird" kid and being the English teacher's favorite.
Even so, being the teacher's favorite can only get you so far, especially those three who are Circle's favorite. She didn't hate them, but they were noisy and annoying, especially Oliver.
And speaking of noise, the school bell rang, signaling the students to leave for their next class. Thavel didn't say anything as the students left, some eyeing her with fear while others talked among themselves. All she did was stare at the grey world outside.
After all the students left, Thavel decided to take a walk around the school. Take her mind off this growing numbness.
But before she could walk towards the door, Thavel spotted a lone figure, slumped into his desk, quietly sleeping in his chair.
Even without the apple stem growing out of his head, Thavel could already tell it was Abbie.
To say Abbie was shy would be an understatement. He's a quiet kid who doesn't get into any confrontations, keeps to himself, and is easy to scare.
The prime target to bully. Hell, Abbie might as well have put up a sign that said: "Bully me!"
But in a sense, Thavel liked that about the apple boy. She liked the silence, and out of everyone, Abbie was the quietest.
Thavel stepped closer, her black-heeled boots barely making any sound against the cool tiles. Abbie's breathing was soft, fragile in its rhythms. Thavel was almost hesitant to disturb it. It was like a sleeping fawn, small and so breakable.
She crouched down, resting her elbows on her knees as she watched him gently snore. It's funny to see someone sleep in her class, snoring away in dreamland, while there's a monster in the room. How a small, anxious fawn could sleep so soundly. Maybe Abbie finally became brave, or he was exhausted.
Thavel inspected the unfinished assignment. Abbie's handwriting was pretty average, better than Zip's chicken scratches, but still average. The paragraph trailed off mid‑sentence, the last word slanting downward and scraping onto the table.
She let out a chuckle before placing her clawed hand on the small boy's back, "Abigail," she whispered.
Nothing.
"Abigail." This time louder and sternly, shaking him in the process.
A small groan escaped as Abbie slowly rose from his desk. He groggily looked around, seeing nothing but an empty classroom before sluggishly turning and meeting Ms. Thavel's stare. It took him a few seconds to register before snapping himself awake with a startled squeak.
"M-Ms. Thavel I'm so sorry I-I didn't mean-"
"It's fine. You'll get to finish the assignment later. Now, you'd better hurry up, or you're going to be late for Ms. Bloomie's class."
"R-right, sorry again, Ms. Thavel." Abbie fumbled around, clumsily putting his pencil case in his backpack.
Ms. Thavel snickered at the attempt before standing up and letting Abbie get ready for his science class. But as she walked towards the door, what Abbie said stopped her in her tracks.
"Ms. Thavel, are you ok?"
There was a strange silence between them, only broken by the heavy rain outside.
"Why do you ask?" Thavel's glare and her gruff voice made it sound more like a threat than a genuine question.
"S-sorry that I asked, Ms. Thavel," Abbie jumped a bit at her response, but, even to his surprise, he continued, his voice trembling, "It's just that I noticed you looked kind of sad today."
Thavel didn't respond; in fact, she didn't know how.
Not many people in Paper School would care about how someone felt. Not that Thavel blamed them. When the threat of death hangs over your head every day, caring or forming a bond becomes difficult, even for the teachers.
Abbie swallowed hard, "I-I didn't mean to upset you, Miss Thavel."
"I'm not upset, Abigail." The words left her mouth more steadily than she expected, but the room felt much colder with each passing second. "It's just the weather making things look gloomy."
"Oh, r-right."
"Now get to your class, Abigail. You don't want to be late."
“Y-Yes, ma’am.” Abbie kept his head down as he speedwalked past the wendigo and into the hallway.
But, as Thavel closed the door behind her, Abbie's anxious voice called out, "I'm not sure what's wrong and I'm sorry if I upset you Ms. Thavel, but I think you're a great teacher!"
The words bounced down the hallway with a type of sincerity you never get in this school. The sentence made Thavel freeze with her hand still on the door.
She turned her head, but Abbie was already gone. Just the faint sound of hurried footsteps disappearing around the corner. He hadn't waited for a reaction. He probably assumed she wouldn't give one, and he was probably right.
So, Thavel stood there, silent.
A great teacher.
Her.
The same person who's killed and eaten students, even in her previous teaching jobs. The same person who could barely contain her wendigo urges. The same person who everyone looks at with fear and disgust.
A great teacher.
Why did those simple words mean so much?
Thavel shook her head as she pushed herself off the door. Abbie probably only said that to make her feel better, and yet, when Thavel started to walk down the halls and looked out the window, the skies seemed less grey than before.
Thavel smiled.
Abbie. Small, soft, fragile as a fawn; yet kind to a monster like her.
Abbie is a great student.