05/08/2026: Penmanship and Other Cruelties

The lecture hall smells of old parchment and the particular anxiety of students who have not slept enough. Morning light comes through the high windows at an angle that does nothing for anyone. The Hexmates are arranged, instead of their usual configuration, they are seated with their project partners.

Only Quentillius and Alister sit with distance between them. Quentillius leans across the aisle toward Alister, his voice low and pointed, “Hey, Alister, have you finished your half of the project?”

Alister considers this with the expression that might politely be described as stricken. He cannot imagine what Quentillius is talking about. “Quentillius,” he asks in what he hopes is a smooth manner, “Please demonstrate your grasp of the material by describing what the project was actually about.”

Quentillius tips his head back and chuckles. “Dude, you are funny. I’ve heard people say you have no sense of humor but you are indeed funny. Where is the other half of the project?” 

Before Alister can respond, Quentillius’s attention snaps to his phone. The glass rectangle in his hand is flashing. He straightens and gives his back to Alister.

His voice, when he answers the call, fills the room with the easy confidence of someone who has been waiting for this particular phone call for some time. Hospital, he confirms, can absolutely play the Strixhaven Prom. The original band has cancelled and the slot is theirs. He slips the phone into his back pocket and leans back in his chair with the satisfaction of a man whose problems have resolved themselves.

Across the room, Aurora and Debbie sit side by side. They both hear every word. The information settles over them like a change in air pressure — sudden, and with implications neither of them is ready to examine in public. Aurora’s chin lifts a fraction. Debbie goes very still.

The chair between Alister and Quentillius has appeared empty all morning. Now Squid materializes in it — simply becomes visible, swinging their short legs over the edge, as though they have been there the entire time, which they have. They inform Alister, in a tone of complete reasonableness, that their assistance with the project will cost a boon. A big one. Alister agrees without hesitation, which is either brave or foolish and possibly both.

⚔️

The door to the lecture hall opens with more force than is strictly necessary. Murgaxor’s robes follow him through the doorway a half-beat after the rest of him. He crosses to the podium and drops his leather case onto and offers a brief, entirely unapologetic explanation — a very important donor is expected on campus later today, and he has been asked to give the man and his new wife a tour of the grounds. 

He unclips the case and begins withdrawing scrolls. The plasma cohesion work this semester, he announces, has been variable. Some of them have surprised him. Others have confirmed his existing assessments. He does not elaborate on which category applies to whom. Not yet.

⚔️

Diro and Reyna present their findings from their readings beneath the Star Arch, taken earlier in the week. They report on the strange readings they took, the patterns that didn’t resolve. They can draw no conclusions, no postulation, in the absence of further information. 

Professor Murgaxor stares at Diro with with his glassy, bulbous eyes then agrees, yes, the data is genuinely unusual. He is also unable to explain what they found down there, and the presentation reflects that honesty. Murgaxor paces with his hands clasped behind his back.

Then he turnsh to speak to only to Diro. The theoretical framework, Muragaxor says, is genuinely inspired — the way they have mapped the plasma resonance against the Snarl frequencies shows an intuitive grasp of convergence dynamics that is rare for at third-year student. Murgaxor pauses, shakeing his head slightly, as though the thought has surprised him. Remarkable, really.

He sets down Diro’s scroll and picks up Reyna’s but does not unroll it. He sets it down and pronounces, “The penmanship is — tidy.”

Reyna blinks, unable to believe what she is hearing. She worked hard, doing half the work, at least. She tells him, quietly and with precision, that the convergence mapping was collaborative. Murgaxor looks at her with an expression that Reyna is unable to read. The penmanship, he repeats, is very tidy. 

The matter, as far as he is concerned, is closed. 

Silence follows. Reyna sits back down. Murgaxor moves on.

⚔️

Beckaylee and Melwythorne rise. On their way to the front of the room they move through the rows like people at a wedding, pressing small pale green envelopes into hands and onto desks — each one sealed with a pressed sprig of fern, each one containing a pre-prom dinner invitation. Their presentation is warm and competent and accompanied by the faint rustling of people opening envelopes they have been given no instruction not to open. 

Murgaxor declares that their work is competent and enthusiastic, then glances at the envelopes now distributed throughout his classroom and addresses the subject of prom.

”While you students view prom as a celebration, it is more something to be endured for your instructors. Faculty attendance is apparently expected. Therefore, I will be there. But I will not be dancing. And anyone considering an elaborate magical display for the occasion is encouraged to remember that the university’s insurance situation has become more complicated than it used to be.”

 A ripple of mumbling moves through the room. 

Meanwhile, from somewhere near Alister’s elbow, a small hand deposits a torn page from what appears to be an academic publication, The Journal of Arcane Energetics — dense with information, exactly what Alister needs. Squid reappears just long enough to look pleased with themselves before becoming invisible again. Alister adds the page to his notes without comment.

⚔️

Murgaxor picks up the last pair of scrolls. He does not open them immediately. He does not look at Hester. He tells the room that the project reflects one very capable mind and one, less so. Murgaxor waxes eloquent about the plasma sequencing, the structural logic, the theoretical citations all bearing the marks of someone who knows what they are doing, and that the rest of the paper does not. He leaves it there, in the air, without finishing the thought, as though Hester is not sitting in front of him.

Then Murgaxor sets the scrolls down and looks at her properly for the first time. He tells her he doesn’t doubt she is working hard. He is questioning whether she understands the difference between effort and contribution. Her partner, KFC, carries considerable academic momentum this year, and it is very easy, in those circumstances, to mistake proximity for participation. Isn’t that what her father, Corvin, demands of her?

Hester does not flinch. 

What happens next is KFC.

She leaps from her seat with furious energy, and she does not hold back. The words come in a sustained and specific torrent — on behalf of her friend, on behalf of the work, on behalf of the grade that has been handed down by a professor who did not look at either of them properly. 

Murgaxor stands unflinching in the face of this assault. He waits until KFC is finished. Then he asks, very quietly, if she is done. His mouth compresses into something that is not quite a smile. He notes that if she were not the valedictorian, things might be different. Then he turns to Hester — slowly, deliberately — and observes that she must recognize how fortunate she is to have a friend so thoroughly bewitched by her charms.

He gathers the scrolls into his briefcase without looking at anyone. The words that follow are barely audible, aimed at no one in particular. Class dismissed. The robes sweep out. The door closes. For a moment no one says anything.

⚔️

Aurora all but sprints to Quentillius. “How could you accept that job? You were supposed to take me to the prom! You promised! You bought us tickets!”

Stuffing things into his backpack, Quentillius mumbles, “That’s the life of a musician, babe. I’m married to my music.” He will not meet her eyes.

Aurora flees, in tears. 

⚔️

The room exhales. Bags are shouldered, notes gathered. Beckaylee appears at Hester’s elbow, already bouncing slightly, gesturing to the envelope in Hester’s things. “You’re coming, right?” She commences to describe the curtains at her place, picked by Melwythorne. Her enthusiasm fills all available space. 

“Oh,” Beckaylee pauses, as if she is just now remembering something important. Which she is. “Um, your dad was waiting in the Common Room back at the Hex. He came in just after Hester left. And he had a young girl with him, a flamingo aarakocra, so maybe a sister?”

”We are owlin,” Hester grumbles.

”Well, she seemed like she was about our age.” Beckaylee loops her arm around Melwythorne’s waist and the depart.

Hester does the math in the space of a breath. Her father, on campus, today, after this morning, after the grade, after everything. The answer is no. No, she will not talk to this version of her father, one she doesn’t know.

She needs height and cold air and time. Hester goes out the window. Her wings catch the morning, and she flies to the top of the Star Arch.

⚔️

At the front door of the Hex, a compact and precise small owlin in a well-cut tweed suit catches Reyna by the elbow as she comes in. “Do you know a Hester Slightfeather?”

 He asks this with the assurance of a man that knows he will be answered. Behind him, arranged on one of the Common Room sofas with the ease of someone who has decided the furniture will simply have to do, sits an aarakocra of unmistakable flamingo stock. Her dress is the color of expensive things. At her throat, a large choker catches the light — old setting, old stones. Reyna registers the size before she registers the stone. A massive emerald.

The aarakocra on the sofa files her nails without looking up.

Reyna answers, “Hester is my hexmate, but she isn’t here right now. I’m not sure where she’s gone, and couldn’t say when she’d be back.”

Corvin produces a card and places it in the sorcerer's hand. Then Reyna, moved by loyalty to her friend, volunteers to Corvin that Hester did well, really well, in fact, on the project that was due today. 

Something crosses Corvin’s face — genuine surprise. He reaches up and pats the breast pocket of his jacket, where a fat envelope sits. “Good to know. Thanks for telling me, Reyna, was it? I may not need this, after all.”

From the sofa, without looking up, the flamingo woman, mutters, “I don’t know why you put up with all the stuff your kid puts you through.”

Corvin does not acknowledge this. He indicates the sofa and introduces Reyna, “My dear, this is my wife, Belinda Featherstone Slightfeather.”

From the sofa, a hand is extended wrist-up. “Call me Pinky.”

⚔️

Aurora finds Reyna before she has made it ten feet from the hex door. She must have been sitting on the steps. The dhampir’s eyes are red at the edges. She pulls Reyna aside with urgency. “Have you seen Debbie?” she demands. When Reyna tells her no, Aurora’s composure comes apart.

She cries with the particular misery of someone who is also annoyed at themselves for crying, and confesses that she made a mistake. An enormous mistake. Quentillius was just so — she doesn’t finish the sentence. Reyna nods. She completely knows without Aurora having to finish the thought. 

The whole thing spools out of her: Dumping Debbie for Quentillius. Excitement about going to the prom with him. Quentillius accepting the job to play the prom. “Who will I sit with? Who will I dance with?” she demands. Reyna has no answers. 

“Do know if Debbie is angry with me?” Aurora asks this with desperation. “I mean for breaking up with her. It’s just that Quentillius…well, Quentillius…” Aurora trails off. 

Reyna responds, “If you want to know if Debbie is angry with you, you should ask Debbie.”

The miserable dhampir nods to herself and whispers, “Promise not to share anything I told you — not with Debbie, not with Quentillius.” 

Reyna nods. “Your secrets are your own.” Aurora, somewhat comforted, departs.

⚔️

Hours later, Hester comes back to the Hex — but through the window, which is cleaner and quieter than the Common Room. And it requires explaining nothing to anyone. Her room is dim and still. She lands, folds her wings, and stands for a moment in the silence.

On her bed sits an envelope that is addressed to her in her father’s handwriting. Resting on top of it is a choker — an emerald in an old setting. Her mother’s. 

She opens the note. Corvin writes, “H- Pinky and I wanted to check in to see how you are. I am pleased to find you seem to be pulling yourself together. Keep it up the good work. Thanks this as the first of many rewards. Pinky wants you to have it-C”.

Hester holds the choker in her hands for a long moment. The large stone is cold.

⚔️

It is after eleven when the decision is made. The campus is dark and quiet. The Hexmates slip out and cross the grounds, moving between pools of lamplight, toward the Witherbloom tower. The cellar door is set into the base of the stone like it has always been there and always been locked. No one has thought to bring anything to pick it with. Squid accepts a paperclip from the nearest from Debbie with the patience of someone who has been waiting for the adults to realize they needed them, and has the door open in seconds.

Inside, the air is damp and cold and smells of earth and something musty, moldy. Stone steps lead down into the dark. They go in.

From somewhere unseen, something growls.

It is a deep and low growl, as if from a very large creature or a very wide throat.

Hester flies upward. Leaving her wings open, she finds purchase on one of the high beams — and from there she can see it: a shape moves toward them through the black, vast and slow and wrong. 

A shambling mound. 

But not like the ones in the textbooks. This one sounds different. This one looks different. The darkness around it moves with it, as though the shadow is part of the creature rather than cast by it.

Whatever Murgaxor is keeping down here, it is not standard issue.