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Sanside Academy is not a school for the faint of heart. Crumbling walls and ivy climbing upwards make the building seem derelict and cracked windows only enhance the effect. The inside of the building isn’t much better. Tattered carpets and stained rugs, torn wallpapers and splattered paint on walls that are so dirty you can’t see the original pattern. There are cobwebs in corners long forgotten and flickering lights in endless hallways. But Sanside Academy is nothing if not a master of double truths.
There are carefully maintained pathways, a pool that seems like it has never even heard of grime; even a library always immaculately organized that always has any book you could want, and flowers that frame the school’s gates that are the brightest and largest you’ve ever seen. Dorms that always smell of cookies and hot water that never runs out. Beautiful iron sculptures always within eyesight and classes that always start on time. The teachers are the most qualified in their field and the tuition is practically nonexistent, things that make the previous points obsolete.
But, no matter what you hear, what you see will be immensely different. Circles across campus, made out of anything, from chairs randomly in the courtyard to flower petals scattered in the halls. The smell of burning skin that permeates when you step a bit too close to the sculptures littered around the campus. The pool that sometimes doesn’t have a bottom, the library that when you leave only a second has passed, and the fog that rolls in with the sound of the sea carried on the wind. Dorms full of dust, despite being left alone for even less than a day, left undisturbed until the occupants return, and dorms that remain empty because sometimes they never do. Students that always smell of herbs and smoke, students always with a ring on each hand, students never telling their name and never making bets, students that know alcohol is a pleasure from the past because of loosened lips and lowered inhibitions.
Sanside Academy is not for the faint of heart. It is for those with sharp teeth and open ears. For those who have never, and never will need glasses because they see things that no one else ever will. For those with silver tongues and glowing eyes. For those who wish to hide. For those who wish to be found. It is an academy for few and yet all, but only if you follow the rules. Shared among the student populace, and never written down, only exchanged through hushed whispers and ghost stories from ages long past.
Welcome to Sanside Academy.
Roman Prince was not faint of heart. Hair the color of fallen Autumn leaves that looked softer than the clouds themselves and sharp eyes that resembled the sparks of a forest fire. An angelic face with a perpetual grin and a piercing set in the middle of his tongue, only seen when he licks his lips. Everything about him screamed handsome, in some cases literally, as his fan club follow him across the campus.
He’s active in the community, and a part of numerous clubs. A jock, a nerd, and a theater kid; he does it all. He helps pick up the litter from around campus and trim the roses and the trees. He spends his time cleaning the building. He smiles at everyone, whether he likes them or not, and it seems as though he’s never hated anyone. Friends with the student body and a student representative, knowing everyone’s likes and dislikes, and always the first selected in a group project. Kind, helpful, and seemingly perfect.
No one noticed how he hopped from guy to girl indiscriminately, dating them for days, maybe a week, and in one memorable case: a mere hour. No one noticed his peculiar habit of hand-feeding his partner of the day, regardless of how close they are in the relationship. No one noticed how his fan club grew in size with every date discarded. No one noticed his club's oldest members growing more and more exhausted every day. No one noticed the silver piercing flashing between his teeth with every word spoken. No one noticed his slightly too sharp teeth or a shimmering occasionally gracing his form. No one noticed. And no one would. His disguise was perfect.
Rule 1:
Always pay attention.
Logan Croft was respected across the campus for his intelligence, even if he was a bit callous. Literal to a fault and possessing a mind that never seems to calm, he had hair that reminded you of mud and eyes of the deepest darkest ocean. No matter the class each pencil stroke was precise and unhesitating, and if you asked for his eraser you would find it unused. He was never without a book in hand and his glasses on his face. If you ever wondered where he was, he was, without fault, in the library. His eyes wandered behind the shining lens of his glasses, curiosity shining through despite the glare. Questions racing in his mind without stop. A shame he couldn’t stop his mouth from asking them.
Logan had rings on each hand and bracelets on each wrist. He realized the truth of this academy much quicker than everyone else, but that intellectual mind of his wouldn’t stop without the answers it desired. He would walk among the pathways with side glances at the statues and inquisitive looks at the flowers among the campus. He followed Rule 1 to an inordinate degree, he noticed everything, even the things he really shouldn’t have. He noticed the flowers reaching out for those that wandered too close, and the occasional hisses of pain from the sculptures before the smell emerged. He noticed the time spent in the library didn’t quite line up with the time outside and the shimmers among the students that didn’t seem to have a cause.
He noticed things he shouldn’t have, yes, but that wasn’t his mistake. His mistake was assuming he knew anything about the phenomena he had seen. He began wearing less and less iron jewelry, began smelling less of the herb shampoo supplied by the school and more of his blueberry one, began smirking victoriously at the shimmering students and walking just the tiniest bit too close to plants. He left his dorm room one night, a bag on his shoulder full of tools and no protection whatsoever. He didn’t come back.
Rule 2:
Never assume you know more than Them.
Dante Scales reminds you of a snake at first glance. Everything from his yellow eyes to the scale-like burn covering one side of his face. Therefore, it’s only right he act like one as well. His bowler hat is always tipped over one eye, and he wears a facsimile of a suit with a cape that inflates his already large ego. His tongue flickers between his teeth and a lisp slurs his s’s. Slitted pupils dash back and forth between people, judging his best target. He selects his words with the grace of a lawyer and none of the morals.
Dante approaches with swagger, he can impersonate even the most bipolar of people, trick you into a friendly wager without raising even the littlest of alarms. Before you know it, you’re left with the clothes on your back and five dollars in your wallet with your actual friend walking up slowly to your meeting place. By the time you realize what he’s done, he’s slithered away to spend the ill-gotten gains and it happens again and again. The student population is terrorized, friendships ruined over false appearances, doubts running rampant. And in the middle of it all, Dante sits on his throne of lies, untouched by the madness.
Eventually, they wise up. It takes a year, nearing the end and Dante is annoyed, his source of income is gone, so he moves onto larger targets. Targets his ego has convinced him he’s ready for, even if he most definitely wasn’t. He walks to the woods, and talks to the trees. The leaves flutter down around him and his tongue flickers in excitement the longer the talks go on. He walked into the woods during one of the talks, and he never walked out. The student body celebrated, and there was no investigation. Dante was lost to the woods, in every sense of the meaning.
Rule 3:
Never make a deal you can’t understand.
Remy Noct seems a man out of time. Every time you see him he wears a different form of clothing; suits, crop tops, leather jackets, and reflective shirts just to name a few. The only constants are the sunglasses on his face and the coffee in his hand. Sometimes it’s in a mug, or sometimes it’s from Starbucks, sometimes it’s from a hole in the wall shop. His hair is always styled differently, slicked back, poofed, long, short, but always a brown nearing black in color. Eyes hidden behind the ever present sunglasses, always late or much too early, and laughter so loud it seems he’s making up for the silence covering the campus, or perhaps just the one in his heart.
He mashes slang from across different eras; tubular, rad, groovy, bee’s knees. And if you ask him what year it is, he’ll always give a joking response, “Well it’s the twentieth year of our great Queen Elizabeth, of course” and his sunglasses always seem the slightest bit darker at the laughter following. You see him everyday, and the seniors confess they have too, and so on and so on. You wonder if it’s a long running prank.
Sometimes, you see him at night through your dorm window. The light hits his bare face, much too late for his seemingly omnipresent sunglasses, showing dark eyes and highlighting his cheeks. You think you see something glittering on his face, but Remy Noct would never cry, right? He approaches a circle of bushes, stepping inside them and out of your view. He doesn’t come back. But you think you hear a whisper on the wind, “I’ll be back soon guys.”
Rule 4:
Beware of the Circles lest you be taken.
Patton Hart looked the way you would think a dad joke would if it was human. A polo and jeans, with a cardigan tied over his shoulders. Glasses showcasing turquoise blue eyes when his blond curly hair decided not to cover them. Bubbly and kind, and he’s adopted every student in his dorms and instituted a weekly movie night. It had been less than a month into the semester at that time. And that had proven the start of a trend for the rest of the school years he spent there. He would be one of the best alumni from Sanside Academy, kind and cautious and most of all, dangerous.
Patton looked like a dad joke and his humor was full of them, a perpetual smile on his face and bright eyes that lit up even further when he coaxed a laugh from his unfortunate victim of the day. Smiles shot at everyone, even those who have never met him, though that would soon change based on the glint in his eyes at the passing. The movie nights were heavily enforced and encouraged attendance with the seemingly never ending stockpile of cookies. Laughter echoes in the hallways that he walked, and even Roman Prince and Logan Croft had given a happy smile in his direction when he passed.
His favorite joke was a simple one. A bit of special wording at first introduction, and many never realized it to be a joke. If they did, you doubt they would find it funny. A toothy grin and shining eyes and a happy, “Nice ta meetcha! Wanna give me the gift of your name?” As said, it’s simple, quite the opposite of what you’d expect from a character such as he; and yet, the second you giggle and give it shyly, you find it as though all your actions to be locked behind fog. And you try to force yourself to move and find yourself lacking. You look into his eyes and realize that the glittering eyes you had thought were charming, had just that smallest glint of malice, the grin just the littlest bit too wide, the eyebrows just slightly too tilted. And then, he offers you a cookie. You can’t say no as you take it and bring it to your mouth.
Rule 5:
Be careful of your words, and especially of your Name.
Remus Duke was, as unanimously decided by the student population, a rat. His hair swooped and curled, constantly looking like bed head except somehow worse, your eyes only drawn closer to it by the silver streak coloring it. His eyes a venomous green, making you fear for your life just by catching a glimpse. It didn’t particularly help that instead of a backpack he carried a mace and instead of phone he held throwing stars in his hands as he walked to and fro. Sickening smiles and yellowed teeth and breath that smelled of curdled milk only enhanced the image he seemed to be trying to make.
He seemed to hate some students, his green and black jacket fluttering around him as he attempted to bash their skulls in. Sometimes he succeeded, and those who saw never really cared after the fact. His most frequent victim was Roman Prince, every confrontation leading to a rip in his clothing and a vicious retaliation for being the cause of such a fashion faux pas. This, more often than not, lead to a gathering around the fountain where he had been dumped after the most recent fight.
Yes, Remus Duke was a person who hated others with a passion, but if you were one that he didn’t despise, you would find a despicable personality behind the despicable appearance. No filter over his mind or mouth, and a terrible diet to go with his terrible sleeping schedule. You wonder if deodorant is even edible. You look at the corpse on the grounds, broken wings sprouted from a grotesque back and a face worthy of an eldritch being. You wonder if you really care.
Rule 6:
Appearances aren’t the only thing that can be deceiving.
Emile Picani was the personification of pastel. Bubblegum pink hair and baby blue eyes, soft sweaters and cute shirts. He was the school counselor of Sanside Academy. His soft smiles and understanding gaze helped those who visited him and his office was filled with stuffed animals and plushes of all sorts. He would gush about TV shows and cartoons to anyone who would listen and would listen intently when people visited him seeking answers. Emile Picani’s smiles were easy to come by and a dime a dozen, but each time it graced your gaze, you melted over and over again.
His office was filled to the brim with merchandise from the shows he loved so much and sewing supplies shoved everywhere else. His omnipresent notebook holds notes from everyone that had ever graced his office, and observations of those that hadn’t. Every session of his that you left, you felt lighter and less burdened. After a few months, you would forget about the issue entirely, and yet you would continue going, the feeling of freedom afterwards your only motivation. A few months even further than that, you notice he has made a doll of you, you find it cute. You leave with a few less memories than when you arrived. You wonder where this place is.
Emile Picani had an office. He had a room too, but no one had been in there, a distinct contrast to his office with a never ending flow. It was quite similar however, with the slightly larger difference of the sewing supplies holding a more prevalent place on his shelves. His bedroom however, was covered in dolls, stuffed, ceramic, and anywhere in between. His smiles, a dime a dozen, grow sharp sharp sharp, and if you had seen them you would have run miles to never see it again. Emile Picani was the school counselor, he provided therapy and a friend to those without hope, and he only took your memories as payment.
Rule 7:
Everything has a price, even if it isn’t said.
Virgil Lock was a quiet boy, hair dyed purple and eyes a deep amethyst seemingly his only noticeable features. He wore a hoodie and jeans, normal and unnoticeable. He stuck to the paths, and never wandered near their edges. If you were within five feet of him you would smell the waft of herbs and plants even from that distance. He kept his head down, eyes glancing erratically across campus, looking a touch too long at the shadows that stretch ominously, and eyes showing disgust when looking a touch too long at the sculptures that smell of burning flesh. Virgil Lock was invisible to the general student population, and that was exactly how he wanted it.
Virgil stared down areas of empty air, and narrowed his eyes at the sky when an unpredicted rain falls down on the campus. He talked to no one, refusing to make contact with Roman, a simple smile to Patton’s extended hand of friendship, and a plastic grin and docile nature when Dante approaches. He jumped at invisible enemies and woke from nightmares in the night of creatures not meant to be seen by human eyes. Every day that passed was a new crack in the facade he sported like a coat, staring longer at innocuous students and stopping to listen to melodies mute to all but him and The Others.
Virgil Lock was someone that everyone wanted to know even if they didn’t know why. And those that knew always talked without lies, knowing he would see right through them without effort. Virgil had never known a life without sharpened grins and double meanings and it shows in his eyes when he spins tales truthfully and yet deceit lacing his words, going unnoticed except for a select few, whose eyes glimmer a shade too bright when they hear them. Virgil Lock was a human, he introduces himself that way, a wry smile on his lips and laughter in his words. Virgil Lock was anything but, he says to himself when he looks in his mirror that night, purple eyes shining and tears sparkling.
Rule 8:
If you can see Them, it’s only a matter of time until you become one of Them.
Thomas Sanders was the headmaster of Sandside Academy, the name being so similar is a coincidence he assures you while laughing. Soft brown hair bouncing along with his shoulders as his laughter shakes his body and hazel eyes glittering with amusement at your question. His laughter is infectious and you give a small laugh as well. Smiles covering your faces for the rest of the conversation.
When all is said and done, he gives you your schedule. He patiently explains each class, gives his own opinions on them, and talks about the teachers. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says, whispering even though you are the only two in the room, “but my favorites are Joan and Talyn,” his eyes twinkle at the admission, and you are suddenly reminded of a headmaster from a magic series wise beyond his years. You laugh instead of entertaining that thought. It’s ridiculous after all.
When you leave, it’s happily with a bounce in your step and a wave behind you. You exit without a glance back and you don’t see his face. A previously happy smile turns weary and exhausted, a twisted facsimile of his face previously. A hand supporting his head as he leans forward onto his desk, a wistful look in his eyes as he looks at the door you exited. “I wonder how long this one will last.”
Rule 10:
Not all of Them are out to get you.
You exit the administration office happily after your talk with the headmaster. This is such a great school! The tuition is practically nonexistent, and the professors are all at the top of their field, you wonder why the campus seems so empty for such a fine school. But you brush it off quickly, the characters you had seen seemed perfect for filling up the school, you can only hope that they would be kind to you despite your transfer mid-year.
You hike your backpack up higher and roll your suitcase behind you as you walk across the campus. You look in baffled wonder at the man dressed like a prince who hugged a boy and made bedroom eyes as he fed him his food, as a group watched in jealousy. You glance curiously at the pair of glasses on the grass, picking them up and distantly noting to drop by lost and found. You gaze in amazement at the giant yellow flowers at the edge of the woods, and in apprehension at the snake laying at its’ base. You look longingly at the man who carried a Starbucks coffee in one hand and wore a victorian suit, you wish you had the confidence to wear that casually.
You joke around with the bland who had walked up and introduced himself, “Well I’ll give you mine if you give me yours” is said jokingly, and you wonder if you said something wrong as his eyes widen before he laughs joyously. You avoid looking at the person passed out in the fountain, a mace in one hand and what seems to be a piece of fabric in the other. You walk past a man with pink hair and notice the stuffed doll he held, you almost stopped and asked where he got it from, it was so adorable! Your eyes pass over the person sitting in the middle of the campus in concern, seeing him staring into space and humming softly, wondering if you should help him.
When you arrive at your dorm, you set your backpack down and wheel your suitcase in behind you. You flop down on your bed and grab your pillow close to your chest in excitement. You can tell this is going to be a great school year.
...
Rule 11:
None of the rules matter if you notice none of it.