Preview
Preview chapter to see how it goes.
The leaves crunched under Angelica’s boots as she crossed the campus courtyard, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag like it might anchor her in place.
First day of college. New town. Clean slate.
No trouble this time. Just grades, notebooks, and disappearing in the back row.
She exhaled through her nose, brushing a strand of dark hair from her cheek as she found the building—cracked stone, ivy curling up its sides like veins. Room 304. Philosophy 101: M. Roman.
She smiled faintly to herself.
“Sounds like a villain.”
Inside, the classroom felt older than the rest of campus. The air was cooler. Still.
High, narrow windows leaked pale morning light onto worn wooden desks. Dust swirled in lazy spirals, caught in the beams. A few students murmured to each other, but even their voices seemed quieter here—like the walls remembered things and preferred silence.
At the front, a woman stood with her back to the class, writing on the board in clean, deliberate strokes.
Every motion was exact. Purposeful. Like she didn’t waste energy on things that didn’t matter.
Morana Roman.
Angelica’s breath caught in her throat.
She wasn’t what she expected.
Black slacks. Deep navy blouse tucked in at the waist. Sleeves rolled to the elbow. Her hair was pinned back, but not carefully—just enough to keep it off her face. Stray wisps curled against her cheekbones, sharp and sculpted. She moved like water held in tension. Controlled. Quiet. Dangerous.
There were rumors. Angelica had heard them already. Whispers of Morana’s past. Stories that didn’t feel like stories.
She slipped into a seat near the window, willing herself not to stare.
She failed.
Morana turned. The room stilled.
Her eyes swept over the class with cool precision. Calculating. Intelligent. Not unkind, but unreadable. The kind of gaze that didn’t ask for respect—it assumed it. The kind you couldn’t look away from, even if it burned.
God. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Tyler.”
Angelica jolted. “Yes?”
Morana’s eyes landed on her.
Unblinking.
Direct.
“Angelica Tyler.”
“That’s me.”
A small pause.
She tilted her head—just slightly. “Good. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”
Then she turned back to the board like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn’t just sent a chill crawling down Angelica’s spine.
The lecture began.
A discussion on morality, ethics, perception. Words moved through the room like fog, but Angelica couldn’t catch them. Not when every sentence felt laced with meaning. Not when every step the professor took echoed in her chest.
And then—midway through—Morana passed behind her.
She didn’t stop. Didn’t pause.
Just leaned in. Voice low, near her ear. Meant only for her.
“Tell me, Angelica... if good and evil are constructs, what does that make desire?”
Angelica didn’t breathe. Her pen halted mid-word.
The syllables lingered in the air, tasting of smoke and secrets.
Desire.
The way she said it—like it already belonged to Angelica.
What did that make her, then?
Sitting there, throat dry, cheeks flushed—not from heat but from something darker. Something unspoken.
The rest of the lecture blurred around her. Morana never looked at her again, but her voice stayed—smooth, low, touched with a faint, hard-to-place accent. Eastern European, maybe. Or something older.
There was weight in the way she spoke. Like she’d lived a hundred lives. And buried half of them.
The class ended in a scrape of chairs and hushed chatter. Students fled toward the doors like a spell had broken. But Angelica remained seated, her limbs heavy. Like her soul had been turned inside out and laid bare under an invisible light.
Eventually, she rose, stepping into the aisle.
At the front, Morana stood behind the desk, flipping through a leather-bound notebook. Writing something. She didn’t glance up.
But her voice came anyway.
“You stayed.”
Angelica froze.
“I—what?”
Now she did look.
Not a smile, exactly. But something close.
A curve of the mouth. A suggestion. It wasn’t warm. And it wasn’t safe.
“I said,” she repeated, “you stayed. Most first-years run out the second the bell rings.”
Angelica’s voice was quieter than she meant it to be. “I guess I didn’t hear it.”
Morana stepped out from behind the desk.
The sound of her heels was soft. Deliberate.
She passed close—too close. Her hand brushed Angelica’s shoulder. A ghost of contact. Enough to feel it. Enough torememberit.
Then—right behind her—barely a breath between them:
“When I call on you next time...”
Her voice was silk-wrapped.
“Don’t make me get the answer out of you, Ms. Tyler.” Her words were laced with a double meaning, almost as if it wasn't a warning but more so a promise.
Angelica couldn’t move. Couldn’t turn. Her skin buzzed where Morana had touched her.
Morana opened the door for Angelica, "ill see you next class ms.Tyler"
The door clicked shut behind her, and only then did she exhale.
Her heart thundered in her chest.
No trouble this time. She’d promised herself that.
And yet—
Somewhere deep inside her, something already knew:
She was going to break that promise.
---
debating if i should do this book, it is a lot different then what i tend to write about, but if anyone wants more then just a preview of Morana and Angelica. I shall continue ;)
