tomorrowrain: (Look down)
[personal profile] tomorrowrain
After his talk with Sorrow's brother in the garden, Raine had retreated fairly quickly to his room. His cigarettes were soaked through, Sorrow was nowhere to be found, and his stone was going insane trying to force-feed him snippets, possibilities.

It was more than a little overwhelming. He'd sat down on the edge of his bed, sodden clothing and all, and put his head between his knees, trying to catch his breath. Trying not to feel so dizzy, at least. It wasn't working out so well for him. But, at least, so long as he was thinking about not asphyxiating to death or something, he wasn't paying much attention to the possibilities that were flitting through his mind.

Raine was going to consider that a win.
silentsorrow: (glance down)
[personal profile] silentsorrow
Supper at Thrones Academy was always quieter at the end of the year.

At the very beginning of the year, it was different. Older students found their tables—some claimed in years past, others rearranging themselves to suit how friendships had changed over the course of the two month long holiday all returning students had endured—while the newest class, the ninth graders, congregated at the tables set up for them. In the weeks that followed they would realize that they were allowed to move to other tables. And they would realize that no one wished them to do so.

For now, they were thoroughly engrossed in talking to those of their year and the rest of the grades were varying degrees of relieved about it. The new kids did not notice the way that the Headmistress, Lenore Aubrey, did not at them even once for all that their tables were closest to her.

The older students knew why.

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