𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲

𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐈𝐈

At twilight, the castle-like academy's dorm rooms lit up with the warmest, softest of yellow glows peeking out of its tall windows.

Saturday sits at his desk in his crisp school uniform, flipping through the book with the prophecy.

There were so many threads to my investigation,

He stops flipping the pages as he lands on the other half of the prophecy, the school and beyond ablaze with flames, with a what seemed to be pilgrim silhouette in the foreground. He slides a long, pale finger down the spine in the middle of the pages.

I could weave a burial shroud.

He reaches into his inner blazer pocket and pulls out the other half of the prophecy: himself, standing in a sea of flames.

I still have no idea how Rowan mysteriously rose from the dead.

He unfolds the page, gazing at it intently.

Or why that monster is prowling the woods.

He alines the torn page back into the book, creating the full prophecy.

But right now, nothing intrigues me more than this book.

His eyes glare at the full drawing.

If I'm going to be responsible for Nevermore's demise, 

Thing crawls silently towards the book, and his Master.

the question is,

The boy furrows his sleek, black eyebrows ever so slightly.

why am I sharing this apocalypse with a pilgrim?

The agonising question hangs in the air without an answer.

☟☟☟

The next day was perfect, in Saturday's opinion, the skies were grey and the weak sun was almost completely hidden by the large, grey clouds.

Saturday stands with the rest of his grade out in the quad or 'pentagon', though he was alone. Ethan and Misaki were talking, the young werewolf holding a sky blue slate and his petite maid had a white bag with a pale pink cherry blossom design in her small hands picked out for her by Master Mortician.

The tall, pale, black haired, obsidian eyed boy's expression was filled with disdain. He was wearing his black and grey custom Nevermore uniform, with the silver Nevermore crest. He had his eyelids lowered, then abruptly lifts them and turns around to Principal Weem's voice.

The tall, lean and muscular white-blonde Principal steps out of the corridors onto the little stone platform and claps two gloved hands together.

"All students will report for their volunteer jobs at 10:00 a.m. sharp, followed by a community lunch at 1:00." announces Principal Weems, his deep, honeyed voice having no trouble being heard by the large crowd of students.

Saturday puts his black notebook into his slate.

The stone open archways surrounding the crowd of students had beautifully crafted columns supporting it and delicate, traditional designs carved into the arches.

The group stood around the water fountain with a dead tree in the centre, listening intently.

In Principal Weem's perspective, Ajax and Xaviera stood at the front left. Saturday stood on one of the two narrow stone paths leading away from the water fountain, standing out- or should one say, fading away into the shadows in his unique black and grey uniform, black slate in pale hand.