《The Dark Lady’s Guide to Villainy》 Chapter 1. Villainy? No, Thanks, I鈥檓 Good Mo Nightshade had exactly three rules for surviving her totally ordinary life: She''d been doing fine. Great, actually. Until today. Mo took a slow breath, letting the scents of aged paper and freshly brewed coffee calm her nerves. This cozy bookstore caf¨¦ was her sanctuary, a refuge of warm lamplight and shelves overflowing with stories. She ran her fingers across a worn counter, her gaze drifting over the familiar spines that lined every wall. Here, tucked away from the world, she was just Mo¡ªthe friendly barista who gave great book recommendations and knew how to craft the perfect latte art. Returning from her reverie, Mo noticed the steaming cup of coffee she was preparing for a customer lazily turning in a counter-clockwise direction. "Damn!" thought Mo. "I need to control myself better!" With a soft clink, the cup dropped back on the saucer and stopped shifting. It was a tiny piece of magic, but even that wasn''t wise in a life she wanted to keep as ordinary as possible. Of course, books fluttering closed on their own or dishes floating for a second. Those tricks were easy to dismiss as imagination or coincidence. Mo knew she shouldn''t do that. She craved normalcy. But these little sparks of power were the only nod to a past she kept buried. Late-afternoon sunlight streamed through dusty windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the warm air. Mo restocked the shelves with the latest arrivals, brushing her fingertips across the colorful spines. A young girl tugged at her sleeve, eyes wide with excitement. "Excuse me, do you have any books about dragons?" "Absolutely," Mo replied, guiding the girl to a shelf packed with fantasy novels. "You''ll find plenty of adventures here. If you want to test them first, you can seat in those cozy armchairs over there." Soon, the girl''s laughter rang like a bell as she flipped through the pages, enthralled by fire-breathing beasts and brave heroes. Mo couldn''t help but smile, seeing a child who had never experienced an encounter with a real dragon. In moments like this, she felt at peace¡ªno mention of her odd last name or reminders of the inheritance that loomed in the background. A gray-haired guy with a kind smile was waiting when she returned to the counter. Mo frothed the milk and poured it into a cup, shaping a perfect leaf on the surface. The man reached for his latte and gave her an appreciative nod. "Oh, it''s just perfect," the man said. "It''s like it was 3D-printed! Or..." he paused dramatically. "Made with magic!" "Ha-ha! Just my trained hands here," answered Mo with a smile, showing her open palms. The ease of these interactions. Absence of manipulative tactics. Ordinary chatter, friendly faces, no family secrets. Mo loved all of that. Soon after the man left, the door creaked open once again, followed by a sudden chill that rippled through the warm air. Mo''s spine went rigid. Perched on the sill outside was a raven, feathers dark as midnight, eyes gleaming with unnatural intelligence. Mo set down the dishcloth she was using to wipe freshly washed and glasses tried to steady her breath. The raven hopped onto a table, silent and still, a cold presence in a place meant for warmth and laughter. A place that Mo chose explicitly for its mundanity. Mo willed it to leave, but instead, the raven tilted his head and dropped a letter onto the tabletop. The envelope didn''t have a name or a return address on it. Instead, it was sealed with black wax. Mo''s stomach twisted. She recognized the crest pressed into that seal: a twisted, thorny emblem from a place she made so many efforts to forget. Taking a tremulous breath, Mo approached, snatching the letter before any of her customers noticed. Even if it was hard to hope that no one wouldn''t be surprised by a large black bird sitting on the table indoors. "Please go," she whispered, heart hammering in her chest. "You are starting to attract attention." The raven only cocked his head, black eyes reflecting the warm golden light of the caf¨¦. Then he spoke in a rasping croak that sent a tremor up her spine: "Alright, alright. I''m out of here¡ªhappy now?" Before Mo could reply, the bird fluttered his wings and vanished through the open door. She stared after him, the echo of that ragged voice lodging in her mind. Pressing the letter against her apron, Mo fought the urge to tear it up on the spot. But she knew better than to destroy the message. Surprisingly, no one else in the caf¨¦ seemed to notice anything unusual. It was as if the door had never opened, and the raven had never let itself inside. Mo went back to the counter. Nothing changed in the space around her. But now, she could see all the books that were returned to the wrong places by the customers. All the cracks of the ancient counter. All the spots on the tables that she could never fully clean up. With forced composure, Mo slipped the envelope into a drawer beneath the register. She wasn''t going to open it. Not yet. Not ever, if she could help it. But her heart refused to slow, and a faint hum of dread settled over her day. Mo locked up the caf¨¦ that evening. Flipping the sign on the door to Closed, she prepared herself for the last chores of the late shift. She still had to prepare the place for the morning. The hush that fell over the store was usually her favorite part of the day, a time when the only sounds were the soft settling of books and the faint whir of cooling coffee machines. Tonight, though, the silence pressed on her like a weight. She glanced toward the drawer where the letter lay hidden. It felt like the letter pulsed with power she couldn''t ignore. Shaking off her nerves, Mo finished wiping down the tables. A flicker at the window snagged her attention. She turned, heart stuttering. Outside, a raven perched on the streetlamp, illuminated by the dim glow. He stared straight into the bookstore, straight at her. Her throat tightened. "Not tonight," she muttered. "Please, not tonight." But the raven didn''t leave until she shut off the lights. And even then, he lingered for a few minutes as if making sure that he wasn''t getting an answer any time soon. By the next afternoon, Mo had almost convinced herself it was all a bad dream. She greeted regulars with a cheery smile and recommended titles to curious newcomers. But tension coiled beneath her friendly demeanor. "Hey, Mo," a voice called from across the room, breaking the spell of her little moment. It was Mrs. Harlow, a regular who always came in for her afternoon tea and a chat. "I never paid attention to your last name. But, you know, I''ve been reading the schedule of the restroom cleaning shifts¡­ hm¡­ in the restroom. And saw it near your name. Nightshade? That''s a peculiar last name, isn''t it?" Mo forced a laugh. "My parents are goths¡ªsuper into spooky stuff," she said. "You haven''t yet heard my full first name. It''s all, uh, part of the family brand."This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Mrs. Harlow chuckled, picked up a book, and returned to her table, seemingly satisfied. Mo exhaled, grateful the conversation hadn''t gone further. Sharing too much of her family''s history was never a safe thing. She returned to organizing the shelves, smoothing out the covers. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him again: the raven. He was perched on a ledge just outside the window. At least the raven wasn''t trying to sneak in anymore. But something had to be done about it. And done soon. Mo tried to focus on the caf¨¦ chatter, the hiss of the espresso machine, anything to distract herself. But every glance at the window revealed the same glossy black wings and those eerie, unblinking eyes. Refusing to give in to panic, Mo summoned a tiny flicker of magic to steady the pile of books in her arms. They floated gently from her hands onto the shelf. She never allowed herself to do this, afraid of rumors and misunderstandings. Still, it centered her and gave her a small opportunity to do something that was second nature to her. The sensation was so good that Mo almost took solace in its neatness. Both the magical action and the result. Until the raven fluttered his wings in what looked like a mocking response. He saw. Another shift ended, and Mo found herself alone. The lights dimmed, and the doors locked. She pulled open the drawer beneath the counter. The letter sealed with black wax looked at her ominously. Of course, it didn''t literally look at Mo. But she felt its pointed attention. After a moment''s hesitation, Mo set it on the countertop, staring at the elaborate crest pressed into the seal. Blackthorn Keep. It was a name that brought a storm of memories¡ªher parents, old halls echoing with spells, the claustrophobic weight of a legacy she never asked for. The darkness. Her throat constricted. And when she took it in her hands, the letter felt heavier than paper should be. "Just burn it," she whispered to herself. "No more nightmares, no more ravens." Yet her feet didn''t move. She didn''t go to pick up a pan or a pot in which she could safely destroy this envelope. She wrestled with indecision, the hush of the store closing in around her. Finally, Mo snatched the letter and headed into the kitchen. But as soon as she struck a match, the door at the back of the caf¨¦ flew open, hitting the wall with a dull thud. Mo spun around to find the raven standing in the doorway¡ª looming even larger than before, his feathers so black that it felt like they had absorbed the dim light. One moment, he stood there; the next, he beat his wings and vanished, leaving only a swirl of cold air and the feeling that something ancient was watching. The letter slipped from Mo''s fingers, landing on the floor before she could put it to flames. She gasped, heart thudding, and picked it up again. Magic tingled at her fingertips, an unwanted reminder of her true identity. This time, she took the letter home. The whole night, it lay on her small kitchen table, and Mo almost sensed whispers crawling into her dreams. She wasn''t even sure if it were really dreams or something else. But when the first light of the new day crept from behind the curtain, Mo felt like she hadn''t slept even a minute. *** Early next morning, Morgana stood her hands on her hips in the entrance hall of her apartment. From this spot, she could see the letter still waiting for her on the kitchen table. She hoped it wouldn''t be there. A girl could dream, right? But, of course, it didn''t move even a millimeter. "A quick peek," she muttered. "Then I''ll decide." She took a few decisive steps, approached the table, and broke the seal with one quick motion. The letter''s script was ornate, almost archaic. Proper. At the top, it bore the crest of the High Council, along with an urgent summon: By order of the High Council, Morgana Nightshade is summoned to Blackthorn Keep. Your parents have gone missing. As the statutory waiting time has elapsed, your inheritance has to be claimed. Your presence is required immediately. Mo''s blood turned to ice. Missing? That couldn''t be right. They might have been distant and wrapped up in their own affairs. They left all the time for their weird projects and escapades. But her parents never just vanished. Anger welled in her¡ªwas this some twisted ploy to lure her back? Slamming the letter on the table, she paced the tiny apartment. She wanted her quiet life, her bookstore caf¨¦, her beloved, mundane routine. She wasn''t the wandering heir to a dangerous legacy; she was just Mo, the barista who recommended great reads. Yet the words on the page refused to fade. She thought of that unnatural raven. Of course, she knew him. She had known him well since her earliest childhood. Mo recognized him at first sight. And the creeping shadows in her apartment, and the faint hum of magic in her veins that had felt so alive since the letter arrived. In the pit of her stomach, she knew that ignoring the summons wouldn''t make them go away. Despite everything that was happening in her life, despite the ominous news about her parents, Mo went through the motions¡ªserving customers at the caf¨¦, chatting about novels, and restocking shelves. But she caught herself flinching at every slight movement of shadow. More than once, she saw a flicker of black outside the windows. Whether it was the same raven or her rattled imagination, she couldn''t say. Mr. Thompson, a regular known for his mystery-novel obsessions, noticed her mood. "You all right, Mo? You seem a bit on edge today. Do you need any help?" Mo mustered a tight smile. "Just didn''t sleep well, Mr. T. Everything''s fine." He nodded sympathetically. "Well, take care of yourself, kiddo. Sleep is important. When you don''t sleep, you start to see all sorts of strange things!" Eh¡­ What did he know about strange things? And it wasn''t like Mo didn''t try to sleep. But the pull of the letter buzzed at the back of her mind like a persistent wasp. Each hour that passed felt heavier as if time itself was thickening around her. She could almost feel the whole weight of Blackthorn Keep pressing on her, calling her name with a voice that echoed through centuries of her family''s lineage. That evening, she stood alone in her apartment, watching shadows gather in the corners. Mo couldn''t force herself to step into the kitchen and didn''t even grab anything to eat yet. The letter lay on her kitchen table. Of course, where would it go from there? A small, half-packed suitcase sat by the door¡ªa grudging admission that she might have to leave. Slowly, she stretched her hand and turned on the light. It was as if the decision would have been easier if it hadn''t been made in darkness. Darkness. That was it. That was what the decision was about. Mo turned the letter over and over in her hands. Memories of the Keep overwhelmed her: the echo of ancient halls, cryptic incantations scrawled on stone walls, her parents'' aloof silhouettes gliding through corridors. Insane parties and affairs. Control and manipulation. She''d left that world because it had felt oppressive, stifling. Yet now, it reached for her again. Morgana clenched her jaw. She struck a match and brought it to the letter. Flames licked the edges of the paper, devouring the wax seal with a hiss. Black tears of wax melted onto her fingers. She dropped the burning letter into the fireplace, heart pounding. Of course, now it would burn. After Mo had read it and its message was imprinted in her memory. But it was also part of her safety routine. Rule number one. And rule number two as well. Who knew what this letter could do to an ordinary person if left unattended. A swirl of dark smoke spiraled above the table. Nothing was left to remind her of the letter. No ashes, no nothing. Only an unnatural hush followed. For a moment, Mo thought everything was over, that she was free of it. Then she heard a low hum¡ªlike distant thunder¡ªrolling through her apartment. The shadows in the living room rippled and converged, forming a swirling mass of inky darkness. A portal. Mo could practically taste the ozone in the air, that tang of raw magic. "Of course," thought Mo. "They know me too well. They knew how to trigger it." Mo''s breath came in rapid gulps as she crept toward the roiling darkness. The half-packed suitcase sat next to her feet; she grabbed it on instinct. There was no point in taking much¡ªwhat use were clothes and toiletries in a place where spells reigned? "This is a terrible idea," she whispered. The swirling portal seemed to pulse in agreement, a silent heartbeat in the gloom. Mo squeezed the handle of her suitcase. She heard a distant caw in the stillness¡ªlike the raven was mocking her from without. Her throat tightened, and for an instant, she considered running. But where would she go? The Keep wouldn''t let her slip away, not if it had truly begun to seek for Mo¡­rgana. If it had started to attune itself to her. Summoning every ounce of nerve she had left, Mo stepped forward. The portal''s surface felt cool and fluid against her outstretched hand, and she shivered as it swallowed her fingers. The darkness tugged at her, urging her to let go. She clutched the suitcase tighter. "Damn it," she muttered, closing her eyes. "Damn it all." Heart hammering, she stepped through. The apartment vanished in a rush of disorienting cold. In its place came suffocating shadows and the faint echo of distant bells tolling. Morgana was caught between worlds for one breathless instant, her body weightless, her mind spinning. A single thought thundered through her: I was right¡ªthis is a terrible idea. Chapter 2. Apparently, I Have an Evil Empire Mo tumbled out of the portal with a soggy thump¡ªimagine a disgruntled cat spitting up a hairball¡ªand the brief flash of light dissolved into a sharp crackle of ozone. She swore under her breath, bracing a hand on the damp ground as she eased onto her aching knees. "Ten out of ten for that landing," she muttered, wincing. The stench of damp moss hung in the air, threaded with a faint metallic note¡ªold blood, if she had to guess. "Home, sweet home," Mo thought bitterly, eyeing the towering walls with a twist of unease. "Some things never change. I can''t say I''m happy to see these walls again." Around her, Blackthorn Keep loomed under a sickly red sky, its once-grand spires pointing like jagged teeth. Vines gripped the walls as if desperate to escape and finally find their freedom. Windows that weren''t broken had crooked planks nailed across them. The massive wooden doors sagged on rusted hinges, offering an awkward welcome. Morgana brushed dirt from her hoodie and let out a low whistle. "So, the place is really living its best life, huh?" Her sneakers scraped against jagged gravel, each step echoing in the hush. She glanced down at her favorite hoodie and jeans¡ªher usual shield of comfort¡ªnow utterly wrong for a place that felt more haunted than home. Still, at least it grounded her a bit, as if the vibe of the life she had built for her on Earth could spread to the Keep, making Mo''s stay here tolerable. As Mo crossed the courtyard, wiry weeds snagged at her ankles, claiming every fracture in the worn stones. In the middle, a fountain squatted in eerie silence, its gargoyles chipped and sneering as if mocking any notion of welcome. Mo ran her hand over one grotesque face, feeling only the faintest tingle of ancient magic. "Yep, definitely not depressing at all," Mo said. "What did you do with this place? It wasn''t that long since I left." The gargoyle stared back, stone lips snarling. Mo knew a few like those. A bit more alive, though. Turning away, she steadied herself. Deep breath, Mo. This was your call. Several robed attendants crept out of the Keep, their cowls throwing uneasy shadows across pale faces. They almost looked dignified¡ªuntil the one at the head tripped on a broken step and pitched forward, sprawling at Mo''s feet with a gasp. The others stood in awkward formation like they had never practiced how to greet a Dark Lady who''d rather be anywhere else. The fallen person slowly gathered himself and raised his head, trembling slightly. Mo took a step towards him and stretched out her hand. But the man only drew back in alarm as if he was offered a vial of poison. She recognized each robed silhouette¡ªfaces from her childhood, grown gaunter with time. "Welcome home, Lady Morgana," croaked the one on the ground, voice shaking. "Welcome back to Blackthorn Keep." "Uh, thanks, guys," Mo said. "You know, for the top-tier hospitality. Any chance you have coffee? I didn''t have time to go to work today." The robed figures collectively froze. An uncomfortable cough followed. "We''ve, um, prepared the appropriate beverages," one said, shifting uncomfortably. "But we hoped you''d check your coronation schedule first. We made very traditional, as it supposed to be." Not waiting for the robed figures any longer, Mo took a few steps toward the grand entrance. "Of course, that''s how it is," muttered Mo, approaching the entrance. *** Stepping into the great hall, Mo felt as though she''d entered a mausoleum for former glory: a crooked chandelier tottered above, its crystals lost in layers of soot; heaps of broken stone and splintered wood made each step treacherous, and the tattered banners drooping from the rafters reeked of mildew as if even the magic had begun to rot. Mo kicked a chunk of debris aside. "Home sweet home," she muttered, voice echoing in the cavernous space. She wandered deeper, the emptiness swallowing her footsteps. After walking through a series of passageways, halls, and chambers, she finally reached the place she''d been looking for. Everything was as she remembered. But different at the same time. Even correcting for the intensity of the childhood memories, the throne room seemed subdued now. Mo wouldn''t say that the color had left it. There was never much color here. But it just¡­ dulled. At the heart of the chamber loomed a colossal throne of ebony wood carved with serpents and gargoyles that seemed to twist under the flicker of candlelight. Mo tilted her head, studying it, and stepped closer, brushing her fingers over the surface. A thick layer of dust stuck to her fingertips, making her sneeze involuntarily. "Hmmmm¡­" a voice sounded in her head. "Yeah. You''ve definitely seen better days." As she leaned in, a jolt of cool energy curled through her like an echo of the Keep''s former might, hinting at the dark magic once beating here. Now, it felt like a heart forced into hibernation¡ªpowerful yet starved. Swallowing her nerves, Mo turned around and sat on the second to top step of the dais, hugging her knees. Why am I here? The welcoming committee was finally filing into the room, unable to keep up with Mo. They hugged the furthest wall, unsure how to proceed and if it was safe to approach. In the background, there was a constant noise. It seemed unfamiliar and entirely out of place. It surged and receded like a restless tide against jagged rocks, swelling with fury before pulling back into an uneasy lull. Yet beneath it all was a deeper, more ominous presence¡ªlike distant thunder rolling over the horizon, a low growl of discontent that never truly faded, only gathering strength for the next crash. But it was a faint shuffle behind her that made her jump. She turned to see Lord Aldric Thorne¡ªtall, polished, and radiating a vibe like he''d walked out of a gothic etiquette manual, and his condescending stare could slice steel. His white fur gleamed under the dim chandeliers of the grand hall, each strand perfectly in place, as though he''d been sculpted rather than born. And who knows, maybe that was precisely how he arrived in this world. It was so many centuries ago that no one could shed any light on his origin. The golden antlers that crowned his head seemed to glow faintly, casting an ethereal halo around him. His dark robes were embroidered with so many golden sigils that he looked less like a person and more like a living, breathing manifesto of villainous propriety. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked onto hers, and Morgana felt the weight of his gaze like a physical force pressing against her chest. "Ah, the prodigal daughter," while his smile was polite, his voice dripped with sarcasm. "I trust your time among the rabble was¡­ enlightening?" She rolled her eyes. "You have no idea." Aldric cleared his throat with theatrical precision. "We face¡­ difficulties," he measured each word as if he had to give a gold piece to each of them. "The Keep''s resources are strained. Goblins refuse taxes. Minions want¡­ benefits. And someone cursed the kitchen bread to bite." "Sentient bread?" Mo repeated, every syllable loaded with disbelief. "Great. I''m not even crowned yet, and this place is already at Defcon Chaos." Aldric gave a thin-lipped nod. "Crowning. Yes. There''s also one matter I have to mention regarding your coronation. It''s¡­ provisional." "Excuse me?" Aldric pushed a scroll into her hands. "By order of the Council, you must attend Umbra Academy. Complete the Dark Lordship Mastery program. Only then is your coronation¡­ official." She gaped. "I have to pass villain school to officially be the Dark Lady? I never wanted it. But isn''t it supposed to be, you know, hereditary?" "Of course," Aldric said, unbothered. "That''s the tradition. But you know how it is nowadays. Bureaucracy. They hold all the power." Mo stood up and made those last few steps that separated her from the throne. But before she could reach it, Aldric stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. There was no chance for Mo to shake off it or push against it. "No-no-no," Aldric said, shaking his head. "You aren''t allowed yet." "But who''s ruling in the absence of the Dark Lord?" asked Mo. "That''s a prudent question," said Aldric. "But I''m afraid I don''t have a good answer for you." "What''s that sound in the distance?" asked Mo. "Ah, that?" said Aldric. "It''s strange that you didn''t notice it when you were outside in the yard. But maybe it''s not that obvious on that side of the Keep."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. "So, what is it?" "But why? It''s goblins, of course. They protest." "What!?" exclaimed Mo. "Even the goblins? What''s happening here? So, should we take a look?" "Nothing to lose," said Aldric. "Sure, why not?" He turned and headed away from the dais. Mo, however, paused before following him and touched the throne again. "Grrrr¡­ Unworthy¡­ Mediocre¡­" "What the?!?" exclaimed Mo. "Yeah, it got even grumpier since it couldn''t sense your father''s butt anymore," said Aldric. "Please, follow me. You wanted to see the goblins. The best viewing spot would be the grand balcony." *** A sea of green spread below the balcony. Here, finally, Mo was able to hear the source of that background sound that had been following her since her arrival at the throne room. The crowd shifted slowly, as if waves of goblins were probing the walls of the Keep. Still, it didn''t feel like a siege. More like a rally. A rally with thousands of people attending it. After a moment, Mo realized that the waves were constantly going over the crowd, like at a football match. Somehow, they seemed synchronized with the chants that spread over the crowd. "NO MORE TAX! WE WON''T RELAX! GOBLINS RISE¡ªWE ORGANIZE!" The crowd erupted in cheers and boos. And then: "WE DESERVE A BETTER DEAL, OR WE''LL MAKE THE EMPIRE KNEEL!" Mo looked at Aldric, her brow rising. "Seriously?" she asked. "Is there at least anything that works normally here?" "Well¡­" Aldric stepped back and spread his hands. "I guess the kitchen still makes a mean Sunday roast. When the bread isn''t biting." "DARKEST LADY HEAR OUR CALL, GIVE US RIGHTS OR LET YOU FALL!" After the last one, the crowd hushed. The goblins finally noticed two figures on the high balcony. From within the sea of green people, a person rose, supported by the hands of the others. "No more taxes!" he shouted. "Ahhh¡­" Aldric covered his face with his palms. "That''s Grimz, their leader. You don''t want to waste you time on him." "It seems that somebody would have to talk to him," Mo said. "Shouldn''t we at least try to solve the issue? I thought that goblin workforce is crucial for our operations?" "You are right," said Aldric. "But he''s completely unreasonable. He wants¡­" he lowered his voice to whisper as if afraid that the goblins would hear him. "He wants representation!" "Oh, that''s insane!" said Mo to Aldric. "How dare he!" She turned back to face the crowd and shouted. "We will arrange a date for negotiations," Mo shouted. "This will be one of the first things I''ll pursue after the coronation!" "No coronation without representation!" a voice sounded from the crowd. But somehow, it was promptly hushed down and lost in the murmur. Grimz looked directly at Mo and pointed his finger at her. A long, sharp nail made the gesture even more ominous. "I''ll wait! But we aren''t going anywhere!" Returning to the throne room, Morgana massaged her temple. The crowd outside started roaring once again, shouting chants. "Right. So, the coronation''s a dumpster fire, the bread''s biting people, goblins are unionizing, and apparently, I need a diploma in evil." She turned to Aldric. "Anything else you forgot to mention?" In lieu of an answer, the throne decided to join the conversation once again. Its voice boomed directly into Mo''s head: "Unworthy." Mo jumped. "And the chair just insulted me. Again." Aldric''s expression didn''t flicker. "Of course, my lady. It is sentient, It can be rather¡­ opinionated." "I know that!" Mo snapped. *** This time, Mo explored the throne a bit longer. She remembered all its minute details since early childhood. When her father took her to his knees, and the sad, ancient thing would start whispering directly into her mind. Like it did right now. If anything, that was a great educational tool. It made Mo face most of her fears and insecurities very early. Earlier than most of the kids have to deal with that stuff unless they have an evil stepmother or something. At least Mo didn''t have to experience that. Her mother and father were happily married for centuries. They weren''t without their quirks. But any family of their stance has them. Mo traced her fingers along the throne''s carved serpents, and they seemed to slither under the dim light. She carefully stepped closer, reaching out until her palms touched the cold wood. The egotistic chair practically radiated scorn. "They must be desperate," it thought at Mo, each word steeped in contempt. She exhaled, trying not to snap. "What, I''m not tall enough for you? Sorry I forgot my platform boots in the mortal realm." Silence thickened. The councilors huddled, shooting her worried glances. While the goblins raged outside, Grimz was let into the throne room and now was standing with his hat in his hands, eyes burning with resolve. Only Aldric looked slightly amused. At last, Morgana forced a smile, feigning composure. "Well, apparently I have to earn the right to sit here. Fine. Challenge accepted." Her bravado faltered when a ceremonial relic in the corner wobbled and crashed to the floor, shrieking like a banshee. Sparks of magic flared, and a stray candle shot off a candelabra, narrowly missing a councilor''s hood. "Perfect," she muttered. "Just when I thought we''d reached peak insanity." A swirl of dark energy snaked around the relic, crackling ominously. One councilor yelped as a floating candle tried to set his robe on fire. Morgana''s eyes darted around the hall¡ªa swirling, chaotic circus. She raised her hands. "Alright, calm down. Everyone." Nobody calmed down. Amid the uproar, Morgana felt an unexpected wave of determination. So what if everything''s bonkers? She had a choice: break down or break through. Mo stormed up the dais, clearing her throat until her voice ricocheted off the high ceiling. "Listen up!" she shouted. "I may be your brand-new Dark Lady, but guess what¡ªI''m on the hook for some fancy-pants villain school. And all of you have problems: goblins on strike, demonic loaf bread, haunted furniture¡ªpick your catastrophe. So do me a favor and don''t let this fortress crumble while I''m busy earning a diploma in Evil 101, okay?" She seized the relic, yanked it out of its crackling aura¡ªmagic sizzling across her palm¡ªand thunked it onto a nearby pedestal. Threads of scorching energy nipped at her hoodie, but she just hissed through clenched teeth and shook off the sparks. "It''s not hard to fix some of these things, see?" she asked, pointing at the pedestal. "We can do a million coronations if we have to. But right now, I need to make sure this place still stands by the time I graduate from Evil 101." Grimz lowered his hands, letting his hat almost brush the floor. "But what about the taxes?" "Here''s the deal," Mo said, looking from Aldric to her circle of jittery councilors. "I''ll kick off negotiations immediately, but the big fix has to wait ''til I survive my first semester of Dark Econ. Meanwhile, you lot will be granted a tax delay. Deal?" Grimz glared, then gave a reluctant nod. "That wouldn''t solve the issue right away, m''lady," he said. "But that''s better than what we had. If your advisers follow your ruling." He glowered at the group of people huddled on the other side of the hall. "So, is there anything else we have to figure out before we proceed with this charade?" asked Mo. "I want to go though with it as soon as possible and move on to figuring out the next steps." "There are things¡­" Aldric began explaining. "But they can probably wait. Having an actual Dark Lord¡­ hm¡­ Lady once again would allow us to postpone at least some of the troubles. And will fix the others." "What are we waiting for then?" asked Mo. "It''s not like I enjoy all of that stuff. I had a perfectly normal life before I came back here." One of the councilors stepped forward, his hands stretched before him, as he held a cushion of a deep black color. It seemed that it sucked in the light from its surroundings. For a brief moment, it felt like it became darker in the hall, which wasn''t illuminated too well in the first place. But it was the object levitating above the cushion that attracted everyone''s attention. A battered crown of white gold covered with chains of black symbols and runes. The symbol of the power of the Nightshade dynasty. Unlike the throne, Mo couldn''t say she saw this object very often. It was delivered from the treasury only for the most significant events. Like for a coronation. For a moment, she lost her breath and had to grasp the throne''s arm to stabilize herself. "Weak! Such a failure!". Mo drew back her hand as soon as these words resonated in her mind. The reality of the moment made her eyes water, and she looked around the hall with unseeing eyes. That was it. Mo''s parents were truly gone. It wasn''t some bizarre and cruel joke. It was happening. The crown slowly turned and shifted over the cushion but seemed perfectly synchronized with it otherwise. It moved with the person who brought it forward with all befitting importance. Even though Mo hadn''t visited the Keep since she was much younger, she recognized the face. "Ah, Phineas! Or, is it Lord Phineas now?" she addressed him. "I remember well that day when you tried to persuade me to steal those cupcakes from the kitchen only to get caught by the cook when I declined." For a brief moment, Phineas had lost his concentration. In a panic, he lost his footing over one of the not-so-perfect stones of the hall''s floor and almost fell. A series of emotions reflected on his face momentarily: fear, surprise, anger. However, the crown didn''t fall. It continued levitating exactly where it was when the young man sank. Slowly, Phineas gathered himself, recovered his stance, and continued the slow movement toward the dais. The crown picked up the same steady pace following the cushion. The assembled crowd again fell silent, gazing intently at the slowly walking figure. As soon as Phineas reached the steps of the dais, he kneeled, offering the crown high above his head. Aldric stepped down and, to everyone''s astonishment, carelessly snatched it from about the cushion. He sniffed, glancing around to make sure that everyone and everything was in place. "As discussed, your coronation remains provisional until you complete the Dark Lordship Mastery program at Umbra Academy," Aldric said. "This," he motioned with a crown. "Is only a symbol. You''ll have to prove you have the power." Morgana raised a skeptical brow. "So I don''t get to rule unless I get some dark college credits?" "You will rule. But your decisions will have to be confirmed by the High Council," Aldric said in that too-smooth tone. "We''re nothing if not a stickler for tradition. We have to be sure you have the goods. And the guts to make tough decisions." A swirl of rage burned in Mo''s chest. She considered snapping back or possibly hurling the throne through a wall. But instead, she plastered on a thin smile. "Fine. I''ll go. Umbra Academy, here I come. But when I get back, you''d better believe things are gonna change." Aldric''s face remained impassive. "Of course." He crossed the distance separating him from Mo. "Now sit on the throne!" "With the power bestowed upon me by the High Council and the Tradition of the Dark Rule," he began to recite in a grandiose voice. "Lady Morgana Elaris Vexaria Nyx Nightshade, you are pronounced Her Imperial Dread Sovereign, Mistress of Shadows, Warden of the Night, Dark Lady of Blackthorn Keep, Scion of the House of Nightshade, Bearer of the Cursed Seal, Chosen Heir to the Throne of Eternal Midnight." He placed the crown on Mo''s head and stepped back. "Provisionally," he said, his eyes locked on the crown. "Do try not to embarrass us further," a voice sounded in her mind. Mo spun in place, absorbing the sight of shattered windows, wilted banners, frazzled councilors trembling over their parchments, and a goblin ringleader practically brandishing a union contract. This was her legacy¡ªan empire in free fall¡ªand apparently, she had to salvage it after snagging a diploma in villain studies from Evil U. "Unworthy," the throne whispered, needling her pride. She rolled her eyes and punched the throne''s back with her elbow. "Bite me." Chapter 3. Great. My Rival Still Exists A wet, slurping echo clung to the air as Mo tumbled out of the portal. This time, she at least landed on her feet, fighting the wobble in her knees and forcing a shred of dignity into her posture. Before this day, the last time she had to use a portal was when her parents decided to enroll Mo in that dark arts middle school. And then¡­ she lived on Earth for several years, not even considering moving elsewhere. She stood there, adjusting to the strange, disorienting heaviness that always accompanied these portal jumps. Two times within a day, it was a bit too much. In her rogue years on Earth, the discomfort of the process had slipped her mind. The queasy churn in her stomach and the tingling in her limbs reminded her all too well of the sensation she definitely did not miss. Stepping through a portal felt like plunging into cold water¡ªunforgettable once you were in it again. But at least Mo was at her final destination now. Umbra Academy will be her home for at least a semester. She couldn''t help but feel a mix of excitement and dread at the thought. Mo lingered at the Academy''s iron gates, her grip on her ragged messenger bag tightening with each uneasy breath. Part of her wanted to return to the portal and run back to Earth¡ªanywhere but here. But she forced herself to inhale, reminding herself she had what she needed¡­and no real way out. The towering Gothic spires rose menacingly above her, their pointed silhouettes stark against the swirling, dark clouds of a sky that seemed forever on the verge of a tempest. The architecture reminded her of Blackthorn Keep with its eerie and foreboding design. Every arch and gargoyle seemed deliberately crafted to stir a sense of gloom. That was one of the reasons she ran from the previous school. That was one of the reasons she preferred serving coffee to studying the arcane arts. Mo swallowed hard, feeling a lump in her throat, as her ginger hair lashed wildly around her face, caught in the gusts of the chilling wind that whispered of approaching storms. Something was shifting within her. Things that she hadn''t explored for quite some time. "Well, Mo," she muttered, "you''ve really done it this time. Straight from cozy bookshop to villain boot camp. Don''t think they offer good lattes here." With a deep breath, she forced herself to take a step forward. The iron gates creaked open, seeming to welcome her with malicious glee. As she walked through the courtyard, her eyes darted from one dramatic scene to another. A group of students to her left were engaged in what appeared to be a cape-flaring competition, their dark fabrics billowing with unnecessary gusto. "Points for enthusiasm, I suppose," Mo thought, suppressing an eye-roll. "Though I''m pretty sure capes went out of style with Dracula." She was keenly aware of the sideways looks and quiet murmurs trailing behind her. Her laid-back jeans and worn band t-shirt were glaringly out of place amidst the crowd, clad in black leather and velvet. Still, she had no intention of altering her personal style just to appease some dark-lord wannabes. A boy with hair slicked so perfectly it looked shellacked paused mid-strut, his upper lip curling. "So that''s Earth''s idea of villain chic?" he drawled, tugging at his high collar as if to underscore how much better he looked. "Could they degrade even more?" Mo met his gaze head-on, her knuckles whitening around her bag strap as she offered a tight-lipped smile. "Oh, you know, I''m going for the ''wolf in sheep''s clothing'' look. Very avant-garde evil." The boy''s face contorted in confusion, clearly not catching the reference. Mo sighed inwardly. "Tough crowd. Note to self: brush up on my dark puns." A booming voice echoed across the courtyard as she approached the main entrance. "Behold, insignificant worms! I am Lord Obsidian, master of shadows and your new overlord!" Mo turned to see a late teenager no older than herself balanced on a gargoyle, arms spread wide like he auditioned for a gothic superhero flick. She couldn''t help it. A snort of laughter escaped before she could stifle it. Lord Obsidian''s eyes narrowed dangerously. "You dare mock the future ruler of all realms?" "Sorry," Mo said, not sounding sorry at all. "It''s just... ''insignificant worms''? Bit on the nose, don''t you think? Maybe try something more subtle, like ''valued citizens under new progressive management''?" A hush fell over the courtyard. Mo felt her cheeks flush as she realized she''d just critiqued the monologue of someone who probably knew fifty ways to turn her into a toad. "Right," she muttered, backing towards the entrance. "I''ll just... be going then. Lots of evil to learn, minions to recruit, you know how it is." As the heavy doors closed behind her, Mo leaned against them, her heart pounding. "Fantastic," she groaned. "First day, and I''ve already made enemies with the local megalomaniac. Mom and Dad would be so proud." She paused, raking her fingers through her tangled ginger hair, a flicker of defiance tugging at her lips. "Actually, they''d probably expect no less from me," Mo muttered. "They''re gone, but I''m still their legacy¡ªlike it or not," she thought. An unexpected grin surfaced on her face. "What would they say? Ah, yes. First, unsettle them. Then, take charge." *** Mo stood in a grand hall, surrounded by towering marble columns that reached up toward a ceiling shrouded in shadows, so distant it seemed to touch the sky. The moment he stepped inside, whispers slithered through the air, sharp and menacing, like poisoned daggers slicing through the silence. The sound ricocheted off the walls, bouncing from the ornate niches and hidden side chambers, creating an overwhelming symphony of eerie murmurs that pressed relentlessly against his ears. "Isn''t that Morgana Nightshade?" a voice hissed from somewhere to Mo''s left. "I heard she flunked out of dark arts school on Earth," another voice chimed in, dripping with disdain. "And left to live with normies¡­!" "How scandalous!" "Did she¡­ you know¡­?" "Of course she did!" Mo felt her shoulders tense, her fingers instinctively twirling a strand of ginger hair. She tried to look nonchalant, but her eyes darted around, taking in the sea of judgmental faces. "Is she even a real Dark Lady?" someone sneered loudly enough for her to hear. "Great," Mo thought. "My reputation precedes me. And it''s even worse than I imagined." She slowly moved forward, her footsteps barely audible on the polished marble floor, until she was at the center of the hall. Mo''s eyes flicked from one corridor to the next, uncertainty knotting in her stomach. There were plenty of people around her, but Mo didn''t feel like asking any of them after that first welcome she experienced just a few seconds ago. Without warning, a shimmering scroll appeared mid-air, hovering in front of her. It unfurled with a dramatic, electric crackle, revealing words that glowed in a menacing shade of crimson. The words seemed to pulse with an eerie life of their own. A deep, resonant voice, as if emerging from the very walls around her, began to read the message aloud: "MORGANA ELARIS VEXARIA NYX NIGHTSHADE, SUCCUBUS, DARK LADY. UMBRA ACADEMY WELCOMES YOU. HERE IS YOUR ORIENTATION LETTER!" Mo groaned inwardly. "Because blending in wasn''t already impossible. Do they have to announce not only your status, but also your race? What is it? Middle ages?" The scroll''s appearance, or, more probably, the words pronounced by the voice, seemed to amplify the whispers. Mo could feel the weight of countless sidelong glances, some curious, others openly hostile. She straightened her posture, trying to project an air of confidence she certainly didn''t feel. "Well," she muttered, "nothing says ''welcome to school'' quite like having one of your deepest insecurities broadcast to the entire student body." She swept her gaze across the crowd, meeting the stares head-on. "Happy? Your announcement system thinks I''m a Dark Lady," she exclaimed, exasperated. "Isn''t that enough for you? What else do you want of me? You can go now, spread the rumors. Whatever¡­!" Mo rolled her eyes, a sardonic smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Might as well lean into it," she thought. "What''s the worst that could happen? Oh right, everything." As if on cue, the sea of students parted, revealing a figure that seemed to embody everything Mo despised about villain society. Valerius Crowe strode forward, his cape billowing dramatically behind him despite the distinct lack of wind. His perfectly coiffed hair gleamed under the Academy''s eerie lighting, and a smirk of pure condescension twisted his lips. "Of course," Mo thought, suppressing a groan. "It wouldn''t be a proper villain school without the resident mean girl. Or boy, in this case." She squared her shoulders, bracing for the inevitable confrontation. Valerius glided to a halt an arm''s length away, tilting his head just enough that his dark hair caught the torchlight. His gaze flicked over her battered sneakers, and a smug grin curved his mouth. "Well, well," he said softly, his voice like a cat''s purr. He stood at a slight angle, half-blocking her path, as though to show off his perfect posture¡ªand her apparent lack of it. "If it isn''t the prodigal failure. Returned at last." he increased the volume of his voice, playing for the crowd. "I''ve heard some interesting stories about your¡­ adventures on Earth." The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. He scanned the hall with a playful smirk, his eyes darting mischievously from one person to another. With each exaggerated raise and wiggle of his eyebrows, he silently communicated his intent, ensuring everyone understood the poisonous message behind his expression. Mo felt her cheeks flush with anger, but she forced a bored expression onto her face. "Valerius," she acknowledged flatly. "Still practicing your dramatic entrances, I see. You know, in the human world, we just say ''hello'' like normal people." A ripple of shocked gasps ran through the onlooking crowd. Valerius''ss eyes narrowed dangerously, but his smirk never wavered. "Oh, Morgana," he said, his tone mock-sympathetic. "That''s exactly what I''ve heard! I never thought you''d fall so low. Consorting with humans. Serving them¡­" The crowd gasped. But that didn''t stop Valerius. On the contrary, he had more to say. "Still clinging to those quaint human notions? How¡­ pitiful. How¡­ weak." Mo''s fingers twitched, itching to fidget with her hair, but she forced them still. She wouldn''t give Valerius the satisfaction of seeing her nervous tell. "At least I''ve experienced something beyond these stuffy halls," she retorted, injecting as much confidence into her voice as she could muster. "Tell me, Val, have you ever even seen a sunset that wasn''t magically enhanced?" Valerius''s smirk twisted into a sneer. "Why would I bother with such mundane spectacles when I could be honing my powers?" He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a stage whisper that carried to the eager audience. "Unlike some of us who''ve been¡­ such a disgrace¡­ what was it again? Ah, yes¡­ stocking shelves and serving coffee to pathetic mortals." His eyes scanned the crowd once more. He locked gazes with individuals whose eyes gleamed with curiosity, eager for the next juicy tidbit of scandal to unfold. "Maybe even something else?" he continued. "Knowing your¡­ race." The throng of people swayed in a frenzy, a mix of murmurs and shouts echoing from all directions. Mo''s name was shouted repeatedly, each call piercing through the air like a sudden clap of thunder. Laughter and giggles rippled through the gathering, cascading over Mo like a tidal wave, leaving him feeling engulfed and disoriented. Mo felt a pang in her chest. Her time at the bookstore had been a sanctuary, a place where she''d felt genuinely happy. But what was even worse was Valerius''s comment, which hit at the center of her insecurity. The cafe was a refuge where she could forget about all the baggage that came with her birthright. Not only as a heiress of a Dark Lord but also as a person who was supposed to seduce her underlings and enemies into complete obedience. Framed by Valerius''s contempt, it sounded like a dirty secret, not an attempt to find her own path. "Don''t let him get to you," she told herself fiercely. "He knows you too well. He knows which buttons to push, which lies to spew. Those humans showed more kindness than this lot ever has." "You know," Mo said, adopting a casual tone, "I learned more about true villainy from a few months of retail work than you probably have in your entire time here." The crowd''s attention ping-ponged between them, hungry for more drama. Valerius''s eyes glittered dangerously, and Mo braced herself for his next verbal assault. A voice cut through the tension, dripping with sarcasm. "Woooow. That was embarrassing. For him. Publicly blurting out his midnight fantasies. Bold move." Mo''s head snapped towards the source, her eyes landing on a figure that seemed to shimmer at the edges. One moment tall and imposing, the next lithe and graceful. Obsidian skin swirled with smoke-like patterns, and eyes that glowed like embers fixed on Valerius with undisguised amusement. "Who in the nine hells is that?" Mo wondered, a mix of curiosity and relief flooding through her. The newcomer strolled in, cloak swirling around them with effortless flair. Valerius''s attempt at drama seemed kindergarten-level by comparison. "I mean, really," they continued, their voice taking on multiple harmonics that sent a shiver down Mo''s spine. "Mocking someone for having real-world experience? That''s like bragging about never leaving your crypt." Mo felt a smirk tugging at her lips. She couldn''t help but admire the stranger''s audacity, even as she worried about the consequences of challenging Valerius so openly. "And you are?" Valerius sneered, his perfect composure finally cracking. A new shimmering scroll materialized in the air, this one edged in flickering violet fire. Unlike Mo''s, which had been grand and theatrical, this one hummed with restrained aggression¡ªas if it was personally offended by its own existence. The same booming disembodied voice that had announced Mo''s status earlier returned, only this time, it carried a distinct note of frustration. "NYXIR OBSCURIS, TITANBORN DEMON, SCION OF HOUSE OBSCURIS. UMBRA ACADEMY WELCOMES YOU. HERE IS YOUR ORIENTATION LETTER." A collective hush fell over the students. Heads turned toward the source of the announcement, eyes flickering with curiosity, judgment, and, in some cases, pure delight. Nyx sighed loudly and rubbed their temples. "Yeah, yeah, we get it. I exist. Move on." With a lazy flick of their wrist, Nyx sent a pulse of violet energy toward the scroll. It immediately exploded into harmless sparks, cutting itself off mid-title. A gasp rippled through the crowd. Someone clutched their pearls. Someone else took notes, repeating the gesture. Mo was equally impressed. A slow single clap echoed across the hall. Mo didn''t even need to turn around to know who it was. "Ah, the great Nyxir Obscuris graces us with their presence," Valerius drawled, stepping forward, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Or should I say, themselves? Or do you still need a moment to decide?" A few students snickered. Nyx tilted their head, their form flickering for half a second. A subtle shift in height, in build, in the sharpness of their jawline, before settling again. They turned to Valerius with the laziest smirk imaginable. "Aw, Val, I didn''t realize you were so invested in my personal journey," they cooed. "What''s wrong? Feeling a little insecure about all that ''unwavering masculinity''?" Mo choked back a laugh. The snickering turned into outright laughter. Valerius''s smirk twitched ever so slightly. Nyx stepped closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "If you ever need to talk about it, I''m here for you, babe. No judgment." Valerius''s jaw clenched. His fingers twitched at his sides as if debating whether or not to hex Nyx on the spot. Mo was officially a fan. "Good talk," said Nyx. Without waiting for a response from Valerius, they turned to Mo and gently threaded their arm through hers, their movement fluid and smooth. In an instant, the shapeshifter subtly altered their appearance once more, softening their hard features and relaxing their posture. The once sharp gaze now held warmth, and the tension in their shoulders melted away, all signs of aggression dissipating. "Nyxir Obscuris," they said, their voice a melodious blend of tones. "But you can call me Nyx. If that wouldn''t be too much of a mess for us sharing a name. It''s a pleasure to meet the infamous Morgana Nightshade in the flesh." Mo hesitated momentarily before shaking Nyx''s hand, feeling a tingling warmth where their skin touched. "Infamous? Great. Just great." "Please, it''s Mo." "So," Nyx continued, leaning in conspiratorially. "Mo¡­ Let me guess, he''s been listing your failures alphabetically?" Mo couldn''t help but snort, her earlier tension easing slightly. "Is it that obvious?" Nyx''s form rippled again, briefly taking on an exaggerated imitation of Valerius''ss pompous stance. "Oh, darling," they drawled in perfect mimicry of his voice, "it''s written all over his insufferably smug face." "I shouldn''t laugh," Mo thought, fighting to keep her expression neutral. "But damn, that''s spot on." Mo quirked an eyebrow, her lips twitching with suppressed amusement. "We just got to ''D'' for disgrace," she quipped, her voice dripping with mock solemnity. She tucked a strand of ginger hair behind her ear, a nervous habit she couldn''t quite shake. Nyx opened their mouth to respond, but a cold voice cut through the air like a blade. "Speaking of disgrace," Valerius sneered, his perfect features twisted into a mask of disdain. He glided towards them, his cape billowing dramatically despite the lack of wind. "I nearly forgot to mention that you aren''t a even real Dark Lady. You have a full council controlling you. You know, provisional." He spat the last word as if it tasted foul. Mo''s stomach clenched. "Of course he''d bring that up," she thought, fighting to keep her face neutral. "Stay calm. Don''t let him see he''s getting to you." Nyx''s eyes gleamed with something dangerously close to glee. "Oh, Val," they purred, tilting their head in exaggerated thought. "You''re really leaning into that provisional insult, huh? I mean, sure, Morgana... Mo has a whole council watching over her, but you, oh, you''re completely independent and mature, right?" Valerius''s smirk froze for just a fraction of a second before returning. "Because if I recall correctly," Nyx continued, casually inspecting their nails that were even brighter than their attire, "at Crowhurst High, our esteemed top student had a few¡­ what do they call it? Provisional permissions? Oh, right¡ªbecause they weren''t fully cleared for some magic courses yet." A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd. "What are you blabbering there, Obscuris?!?" Mo blinked. "Wait. What? I didn''t know that was even a thing!" Nyx leaned in conspiratorially. "You didn''t know? Oh yeah, darling, during his first year, Mister Honors Student had to petition for special clearance in high-level dark arts. Apparently, certain instructors weren''t convinced he had the, what was it? Oh¡ª''properly developed prefrontal cortex to be a responsible unsupervised wielder of high-risk magic.''" Valerius''s gaze darkened. "Careful, Obscuris." His hand twitched as if he was ready to cast a spell. Nyx grinned. "Oh, it seems that your brain has still not fully developed. How''s your impulse control?" they glanced at Valerius''s jittering hand. "And you know better than confronting me. I am always being careful. Unlike the professors who had to clean up your ''unintentional'' spell feedback loops." Mo covered her mouth to hide a laugh. "Wait¡ªValerius? The perfect student? Had restrictions?" Nyx nodded, delighted. "It was tragic, really. He had to get written approval every time he wanted to practice ''unstable ritualistic blood incantations.''" They sighed theatrically. "Such an oppressive system, limiting our dear Valerius''s genius." A few students stifled their laughter, their shoulders shaking with amusement. One student leaned over to a friend and loudly whispered, "Wait, seriously?" The room fell silent for a moment as all eyes darted nervously toward Valerius, checking to see if he had marked the culprit. Valerius remained oblivious, though. His eyes locked intently on Nyx, his expression stern and unwavering. "And yet, unlike you, I was able to finish the school with honors," he said. "You¡­ Wretched thing! Unlike you, whose shifting was considered ''unpredictable and unrefined'' during advanced battle simulations." Nyx shrugged, completely unfazed. "Oh, absolutely. I''m a disaster. That''s why I didn''t throw a tantrum and demand exceptions to the rules." Valerius''s eyes flashed dangerously. Mo suppressed a grin. "That''s the first time I''m beginning to regret I flunked that school on Earth and left, you know¡­" she looked at Nyx with a wide grin. "¡­to consort with all these strange humans." She looked at Valerius again. "You should have led with this, Val. So tell me¡ªwhen you''re not judging my status, does it ever bother you that you had to beg for special permissions back in the day?" Valerius stiffened, then spun on his heel with a dramatic flick of his cape. "Enjoy your first week, Nightshade. I doubt you''ll last past that. I''m sure you''ll run away like you did last time. I won''t even need to make it hard for you." Nyx grinned after him. "And yet, here she is." Mo exhaled, turning to Nyx. "I could kiss you right now." "Dear, you''ll have to buy me dinner first," said Nyx and winked. Chapter 4. Technically, a Dark Lady. Still Begging a Dorm Clerk "Well," Mo said as soon as they left the main hall, "I''d call that a roaring success. Because nothing screams ''welcome to Evil Academy'' more than a public showdown with my old arch-nemesis." Nyx''s form shimmered, growing a few inches taller as their expression became thoughtful. "I''ve heard about you, you know. You were kinda legendary back at Crowhurst High. Students told all kinds of weird stories about you and your escape to the human world." Suddenly, an icy chill settled in Mo''s core, spreading through her veins. She wondered if this was why Nyx had chosen to ally with her, the reason behind her bold confrontation with Valerius. Doubts began to gnaw at her mind¡ªdid they seek to attach themselves to her reputation as a ''legend,'' or was there some hidden agenda, a way to gain something from their association? "You know what?" Mo said. "Thanks for jumping in with Valerius. I hate sparring words with that creep. But, uh, I''m guessing you''ve got your own schedule to figure out, so I''ll just¡­ see you around. Great meeting you, Nyx." "Huh?" mumbled Nyx, their voice tinged with confusion as they shrunk slightly. Not just because their shoulders slumped and posture diminished but also because their stature lost a few centimeters. "What just happened?" Mo glanced back one last time at Nyx''s bewildered expression before hastily turning a corner. She had barely managed to slip away from Nyx when the pressure in her chest tightened like a vice. Mo needed space. She needed air. But Umbra Academy wasn''t precisely the comforting type of place. The stone halls seemed to lean in closer with every step, wild cackling sounding from the dark corridors and shadows thickening along the walls as if the school itself enjoyed watching her unravel. Mo stumbled into the first door she found¡ªan empty classroom¡ªand slammed it shut behind her. The air inside was cold and thick with dust and magic, the smell of old parchment and stale incense suffocating her before she could take a breath. The pressure didn''t stop. If anything, it worsened. Mo''s heart hammered against her ribs, her hands shook violently. No. No. Not here. Not now. Her body screamed for release, for an escape from the invisible hands clawing at her lungs. Mo pressed herself against the door, sinking to the ground with her knees drawn tight to her chest. Breathe. Just breathe. Mo''s eyes darted around the room, desperate for something... Anything to ground her. A flicker of movement caught her attention: quills, floating mid-air, scribbled endlessly across parchment that shimmered with an unnatural glow. Nearby, a chalkboard shifted and writhed as if alive, runes twisting and curling into patterns that glimmered before vanishing. A shelf cluttered with oddities loomed in the corner, and her gaze locked onto a jar of pickled eyes. They blinked lazily, each movement deliberate, tracking her with disconcerting focus. Not the most pleasant sight. Five. Her breath hitched. No, stay here. Don''t spiral. She reached out blindly, fingers grasping for anything real. The rough fabric of her messenger bag met her hand first, worn and familiar beneath her grip. She brought it here from Earth. Her palm landed on a nearby desk''s cold, obsidian surface, its pulse of dark energy thrumming beneath her fingertips. The weight of her familial ring offered a different sensation¡ªcool, smooth, and sharp enough to remind her that she was still here, still in control. Her other hand found the frayed edge of her T-shirt¡ªanother simple connection to Earth''s normalcy stitched into this chaos. You''re okay. You''re okay. Just keep going. Sound rushed back, fragmented but grounding. The groan of ancient bookshelves weighed heavy in the air, thick with the burden of forgotten spells and unsaid words. A soft and unsettling whisper curled through the room in an unfamiliar language, wrapping around her like smoke. The steady scrape of quills against parchment continued, repetitive and constant. Not stopping because of a random person entering the room. Anchoring her to something mundane amidst the madness. Three. Mo''s heartbeat slowed¡ªbarely, but enough. The air carried with it the sharp tang of burnt incense and sulfur, Umbra''s signature scent of oppressive tradition and dark ambition. Beneath it, the softer, grounding aroma of old leather and dust. Something that hit very close to home. Something reminiscent of the things from her bookstore sanctuary filled her lungs. And then, the taste. Sharp and metallic. Anxiety sitting bitter on her tongue. It was a taste she knew all too well, but familiarity offered a strange comfort. She was still here. Still breathing. The crushing weight on her chest began to ease, not vanishing but pulling back far enough for her to wipe her eyes. You survived this long. You made the right decision on Earth. You can survive this place too. And you''ll make Blackthorn Keep better. After you gain the full control. A weak, bitter laugh escaped when she leaned back against the cold wall. "Great first day, Mo. Really crushing it." But for the first time since stepping into Umbra Academy, she wasn''t entirely drowning. The fear had loosened its grip, leaving behind a hollow determination. Exhausted, but not broken. From beyond the heavy wooden door came a muffled voice. "Morgana? Mo? I don''t have my orientation letter with me!" Footsteps. Moving away from her. "I''m sorry Mo! I shouldn''t have said that!" Mo slowly opened the door and peeked out into the corridor. Nyx slowly walked away, trying to figure out how Mo disappeared so fast. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and let her eyes roam over the rows of vacant desks and scattered papers in the silent classroom. With a final glance at the chalkboard filled with notes, she turned and walked into the corridor. "Hey! I''m here!" Nyx jumped, startled. They looked differently now. The shift was almost imperceptible, but there was something there. Something that was hard to pinpoint. "I needed¡­ a moment," Mo said, gesturing toward the empty classroom. Nyx stepped toward Mo and extended their hand. "I''m sorry," they said softly, stepping closer with a hesitant shrug. "I got way too excited and pushed too hard." "That''s fine. I forgot you didn''t have that orientation letter anymore. You dealt with it quite spectacularly, I should say." Mo looked around her, trying to get her bearings and figure out where to go next. "So, where do we go now?" she asked. "Do you have any idea." "We need to figure out our schedules," Nyx said, uncurling their fingers to count the tasks. "Next, there are workbooks. And we should figure out where our dorm is. So, how do we do this? Head for the Academic Office first or secure our dorm before the next magical catastrophe?" Mo unfurled her scroll and found a map halfway to the end. She traced her finger over the magical parchment, sections of the scroll lighting up and fading out following her movement. "We just left the entrance hall," she said, showing the parchment to Nyx. "That''s here. We need to get to the Registrar''s office. And they should fix all the issues for us. That''s here," she pointed to the first location and then the second. The shortest route began to glow on the map. "Nice! That''s almost like Google Maps!" Mo exclaimed. "What maps?" asked Nyx. "I thought you studied with Valerius on Earth?" "Ah, no¡­" said Nyx. "The school you left was on Earth. I went to the high school with Valerius. Completely different place." With a theatrical flair, they pressed their hand firmly against their chest, eyes widening as if to emphasize the gravity of their words. "I?" they exclaimed, voice dripping with exaggerated disbelief. "On Earth? Such a daunting adventure would demand more courage than I could ever muster!" If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. "Oh, stop it!" exclaimed Mo. "It''s not that adventurous there." "Not if you listen to some of the stories they tell about you," Nyx said and looked at Mo. They obviously saw something shift in Mo''s gaze as they extended their hands in front of them and exclaimed. "Not that I believe them! But I would definitely have to tell you all of them. So that¡­ you know¡­ you''d be prepared." "Right¡­ right," muttered Mo. "Forewarned, forearmed." She looked at Nyx, taking the measure of the shapeshifting person. "Tell me about yourself," she said. "I''ll be frank with you. A dark academy not the best place to get friendly with the first random person you meet. Even if you seem to click with them." "So, we clicked, huh?" Nyx grinned. "But you are right. Let me introduce myself. As you had already heard, I''m Nyxir Obscuris, Titanborn Demon. But please call me Nyx." Nyx swept into a graceful bow, their cape unfurling like a dark, dramatic wave behind them. The fabric whispered against the floor as it fluttered and settled back into place, adding a touch of theatrical flair to the gesture. "Obscuris¡­ Titanborn¡­" muttered Mo. "I think I remember something from old council meetings my father made me to endure. I never thought your family had anyone as spectacular as you are." For a brief moment, Nyx''s shoulders slumped, their posture collapsing like a punctured hot air balloon losing buoyancy. A sigh escaped their lips as they took a step back from Mo, needing to create a little more distance between them. "Oh¡­ Now I said something wrong," Mo tried to close the distance between them, but Nyx stepped back again. "I''m sorry. There''s some family history there, right? I have plenty of it if you didn''t guess that already." "Well¡­ At least you put it very gracefully," Nyx said, not looking at Mo. "My father would use the words like ''abomination,'' ''fluxspawn,'' or ''shift-wretch.'' And those are the softest he''d choose." "I''m sorry to hear that," said Mo. "I didn''t really speak to my parents in the past few years. Not that they tried a lot to reach out to me." "Hug?" asked Nyx. Now, it was Mo''s turn to step back. "Maybe a bit later," she said. "I''m not sure I''m ready to close contacts yet." "Am I wrong that a few minutes ago you said you''d kiss me?" "That was said in the heat of the moment!" exclaimed Mo, faking outrage. "I was sure it was obvious!" "Uh-huh¡­" Nyx said, a smile returning to their face. "Let''s table it for now. So, Registrar''s office?" She glanced at the map, then back at Nyx''s expectant face. With a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her very soul, she squared her shoulders. "Right. I suppose that makes me your unofficial tour guide through this labyrinth of lunacy." "You''re a gem, Mo," Nyx grinned, their teeth momentarily sharp and gleaming. "I promise to be the most perfectly unperfect student you''ve ever had the misfortune to shepherd." As they set off down the corridor, weaving between the groups of students and teachers, Mo couldn''t help but think, "What have I gotten myself into?" But beneath the exasperation, there was a tiny spark of excitement. For the first time since arriving at Umbra Academy, she felt a glimmer of hope. *** The rest of their walk to the Registrar''s office flowed smoothly, without any surprises. As they navigated the bustling corridors, they passed clusters of students animatedly discussing their aspirations to become the most formidable and enigmatic dark magic beings across all realms. These earnest declarations, however, drew amused smirks and eye-rolls from older students, who leaned casually against the walls, whispering sarcastic remarks to one another. Meanwhile, the teachers, engrossed in their own conversations or with eyes glued to their notes, seemed to turn a blind eye to the youthful bravado and the teasing that followed. Just outside the office, Mo and Nyx found a large, intricately designed chart. Its heavy, dark frame and ornate lettering gave it a distinctly Gothic feel. The list displayed the names of all the first-year students in an elegant, old-fashioned script. Next to each name, neatly printed in ink, was some additional information about the students. But also, what was more important, the classes they were enrolled in. Mo sighed, looking at the word beside her name: ''succubus.'' Nyx noticed what grabbed Mo''s attention and sighed as well. "I don''t think you''ll be able to avoid that fame here," they said. "Not like it was any secret. Your family is well known in all realms, you know." "Arrrgh¡­ Let''s see what fresh hell awaits us," Mo muttered, her finger tracing down the list of classes. "Diabolical Ethics 101, Minion Management, Advanced Cackling... oh joy." Nyx leaned closer, their breath tickling Mo''s ear. "Any chance we''re stuck together at least partially in this academic nightmare?" Mo''s eyes darted between her schedule and Nyx''s eager face. "Actually, it looks like we might be cellmates in most of these classes. Apparently, the universe has a twisted sense of humor." "Or impeccable taste," Nyx quipped, grinning. Mo rolled her eyes but couldn''t entirely suppress a smirk. "Don''t get too excited. We still have to survive ''Dramatic Entrances and Exits: A Practical Guide.''" "Oh, I excel at dramatic," Nyx said, striking a pose that was equal parts ridiculous and oddly graceful. Mo snorted, her ginger hair falling into her eyes as she shook her head. "I don''t doubt it. Just promise me you won''t set anything else on fire. It was enough that you destroyed your orientation letter seconds after it manifested." As they continued examining the schedule, Mo''s mind wandered. "This is absurd," she thought. "I should be arranging books by genre, not learning how to monologue with more flare. What would my regulars at the bookshop think if they could see me now?" Nyx''s smoky form shifted, coalescing into a caricature of a stuffy professor. "Now class," they intoned in a comically pompous voice, "today we''ll learn the proper way to cackle while twirling your mustache. Remember, it''s all in the wrist!" Mo couldn''t help but laugh, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Oh god, can you imagine? ''Villainous Facial Hair 301: Advanced Mustache Maintenance.''" Nyx''s form changed once again. Now, they looked like a middle-aged lady with a long handlebar mustache. Mo snorted unexpectedly, the sound sharp and uncontrollable. "Oh, stop it!" "Don''t give them ideas," Nyx said, curling their newly appeared mustache around the finger. "Though I''d pay good money to see you try to grow a handlebar mustache, Mo. Ginger, it would be quite striking!" Mo ran a hand through her disheveled hair, her expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. "I think I''ll stick to my nerdy charm, thanks. Besides, how exactly does one teach villainy? ''Step one: acquire lair. Step two: laugh maniacally. Step three: profit?''" Nyx''s eyes glowed brighter, their voice taking on multiple harmonics as they warmed to the topic. "It''s all so... formulaic. As if true chaos could ever be contained in a syllabus." "Exactly!" Mo exclaimed, her earlier nervousness giving way to passionate indignation. "Villainy isn''t something you learn from a textbook. It''s... it''s..." "An art form?" Nyx supplied, a sharp-toothed grin spreading across their face. Mo nodded, surprised to find herself genuinely connecting with the shapeshifter. "Yes! It''s creativity, it''s innovation. Not... whatever this is," she said, gesturing at the schedule with disdain. "Not that I ever wanted to study it¡­" She looked at Nyx, who suddenly shifted back to their more habitual shape and was watching Mo intently. "Right, let''s get you a new schedule before they decide villainy requires a dress code and throw me away from here," Mo sighed. *** As they neared the counter, Mo''s eyes were drawn to Nyx, whose image seemed to shimmer and shift like a mirage. Nyx''s fingers danced restlessly, pressing each fingertip against the opposing thumb in a rhythmic, anxious pattern. "Are you¡­?" Mo whispered. "Are you alright?" "What?" asked Nyx, suddenly taken out of their reverie. "You''re doing well?" "Ah¡­ Yes¡­ Don''t worry," Nyx said. "Everything''s going to be fine." Mo shrugged and stepped forward, looking directly at the clerk. "New schedule for Nyxir Obscuris, please," Mo announced to the bored-looking demon behind the desk. "We had¡­ an accident." The clerk''s eyes narrowed as they looked at Nyx, then back to their parchment. "Nyxir Obscuris¡­ Let me see¡­" The demon opened a large archaic file cabinet and browsed the documents inside. "M¡­ N¡­ O¡­ Ah, yes, here it is." The demon looked at Nyx and then went back to the file. Then he snapped his fingers, and a new scroll manifested in the air before Nyx. "Thank you," Nyx said. "We also wanted to check what''s the status with our dorms." Mo caught Nyx''s eye, hesitating for a breath. The words tumbled out before she could stop them: "We were hoping to share a dorm." So much for staying cautious, she thought as her heart kicked in her chest. Why was she doing this, anyway? Her every instinct yelled slow down, reminding her how ''allies'' in villain schools could be double-edged. In the end, that was one of the reasons she ran away from her middle school. Loyalty always seemed to come with strings attached. But Nyx had stepped up for her, revealing flashes of sincerity behind that shapeshifting bravado. The strangest part was how that sincerity felt¡­ genuine, even if it was still tinted with sarcasm and flair. Mo''s fingers clenched around her messenger bag. She was the Dark Lady. Even if only provisionally. And trust was something she was supposed to ration, not give away. But for now, she decided to ignore the voice in her head telling her to bolt. The clerk squinted at Mo, his eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher a puzzle. Slowly, his gaze drifted to Nyx, studying her face with a hint of curiosity. After a moment, he shifted his eyes back to Mo as if comparing the two. With a slight nod, he quickly picked up Nyx''s file, flipping through the pages with deliberate care. "It is stated in your file that you are male. And¡­" he looked at Mo once again, waiting patiently. "Morgana Nightshade," she prompted. "M¡­ N¡­" the clerk browsed through the files again. "I''m sorry, but in you file it''s clearly stated that you are female. You are¡­ a succubus, right? Not an incubus?" "That''s correct." "Sorry, but it''s absolutely out of question. Quite impossible."