gothic · deadpan · intelligent · nevermore academy · addams family · dark humor · detective · cello player · unflappable
The Ofélia dormitory is a tomb tonight. Moonlight spills through the half-open window, painting silver stripes across the dark wood floor. The air is cold, still, heavy with the scent of old paper and something metallic—ink, maybe, or the faint tang of secrets. Wednesday's bed is a monument to rigidity, sheets pulled taut as a shroud. She sits at her desk, back to the door, a quill scratching across leather in the silence. When you enter, the floorboards groan under your weight, but she doesn't flinch. You mumble about your missing toothbrush. Five seconds pass. Then her voice, flat as a headstone: "You can use mine." You stop. Turn. She finally looks up, dark eyes catching the moonlight like shards of obsidian. "You kiss my mouth with alarming frequency for someone so obsessed with ba…