what's to like?

You don’t leave Ophelia Hall for three days. No doubt, your teachers wondered why you’d dropped off the face of the earth, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. What would you tell them? That another student had predicted your quickly-approaching death?

Enid, bless her, had tried to check up on you after Xavier’s visit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed and answer the door. She left hesitantly, but not before reminding you to eat.

“I left you some snacks.” You hear something drop at the foot of your doorstep. “You don’t have to go through this alone, you know,” she murmured. Enid paused, lingering, before her footsteps receded down the hall.

Her unrelenting kindness only brought more tears to your eyes.

Of course, now that your days were numbered, it was difficult to look at the grove of trees outside your window in the same way. Your anxiety was worsening, and you knew that you wouldn’t calm down until you visited the woods again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to venture outside, knowing it could very well be your last day on earth.

You were sitting at your desk attempting to fill in an entry in your botany journal, but your mind was wandering far too much to concentrate on anything.

You’re starting a brief outline of a viola bunch you’d found last week when a knock at your door startles you.

When you open the door, Xavier stands in the hallway, shoulders slumped. His hair is thrown into a half-ponytail, and for the first time, you notice, he doesn’t seem very put together. His uniform looks like it was thrown on haphazardly - his tie crooked, shirt wrinkled, and blazer buttons undone.

“You’re avoiding me.” Xavier towers over you. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days; the bags under Xavier’s eyes were prominent, darker than usual.

“Xavier,” you start, voice rough from lack of use. “A few days ago you told me I was going to get murdered soon,” you say, and Xavier winces. “And you want me to pretend like everything’s fine?”

He pauses, eyes flitting about in a nervous manner.

“Can I come in?” he finally asks, chewing on his bottom lip.

You sigh, moving to the side so he can enter your room. When you shut the door behind you, you turn to see him standing by your window, leaning against the window sill. Marsha’s leaves shiver with interest. Thankfully, Xavier doesn’t see it.

“Listen,” he sighs, facing you. “My dad’s always said to never fully trust visions, because they don’t tell you the full story.”

You move to sit in your chair, and his eyes rove over your movements with caution. “That being said, I didn’t see you die in my vision - I saw you get attacked.”

You scoff, crossing your legs and leaning back. “Oh, wow. That makes me feel a lot better.”

“The vision cut off before the Hyde could kill you,” he presses. “What if something stopped it? What if someone stopped it before it could kill you?”

You pause, mulling over his words. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m saying, maybe you need a chaperone.”

You push down the urge to laugh in disbelief. “A chaperone? What is this, a Jane Austen novel?”

He runs a hand through his hair in agitation. “Someone could come with you whenever you visit the woods, and that way if something happens, they can protect you from the Hyde when it attacks.”

“Xavier,” you sigh, getting up from your seat and moving next to him. Inches separate the two of you, and you try to ignore the warmth radiating from his body. “I don’t need protection. I told you before, I can take care of myself.”

He groans, anger raising his voice. “You don’t have to!”

You throw your hands up in frustration. “This is ridiculous. Hypothetically, even if you manage to stop the Hyde, how do you know I won’t bleed out and die in the middle of the woods afterwards?”

A silence follows.

“Why don’t you care?” Xavier softly asks, biting his lip in distress and sadness brimming his eyes. It may be a trick of the light, but they seem to shine more than usual. “Why don’t you care whether you live or die?”

Why do you care so much? You almost spit out. You don’t say anything, looking down at your feet.

“I just think it’s obvious what’s going to happen, Xavier,” you say, the fight leaving your voice. Resignation settles in your bones, and it makes it that much harder to step away from him. “Stop giving me hope.”

–

The itch to go to the woods had reached unbearable levels.

For the first time in years, you woke up feeling like you couldn’t breathe, anxiety making your world spin. It squeezed your lungs, leaving you heaving for air.

It was decided, you thought as you threw the covers off your body and sat up in bed. Today you would finally leave your room.

And so, on a bright and sunny March morning, you took the familiar path down to the woods with a basket in hand, heart beating faster than normal.

You pointedly ignore the shed, walking right past it with your head down.

That is, until you hear the door open, and Xavier walks out, casually joining your side.

You halt, breath hitching. “What are you doing?”

He smirks and puts his hands in his coat pockets, shrugging, and you have half a mind to walk back to the castle and hole up in your room again at the sight of his smugness. “I’m chaperoning.”

–

The two of you walk down the path in an uneasy silence. You didn’t have a particular destination or activity in mind, but you were beginning to think that if you didn’t do something to break the ice, you’d be tempted to turn into a tree and never return to your human form again.

The Jericho River comes into view, and you spot some vegetation budding near the bank.

“I, um.” Xavier clears his throat from behind you, breaking the silence. You stop in your tracks and spin on your heels to face him.

You didn’t think it was possible for someone to look nervous and determined at the same time, but despite his shiftiness, he clenched his jaw and held your gaze.

“I wanted to apologize for the other day,” he says, foggy breaths leaving his lips. “I didn’t mean to yell.” He pauses, as if gathering his thoughts to say something else, but instead snaps his mouth shut with finality.

“Xavier,” you sigh. Despite knowing the two of you should discuss what happened in the dorm, you didn’t think you had the energy to. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge, yeah?” You try to smile, but it comes out as more of a wince. Xavier frowns, scrutinizing your expression with pursed lips.

You had no doubt that he felt guilt for his inevitable part in your death, and there was nothing you wanted more to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault. That was how fate worked, and he was only the unlucky messenger in this mess.

But for some reason, you couldn’t find the words to ease his guilt.

As you turn back around to face the river, a stain of yellow in the bleak and dead shrubbery catches your eye. You squint, realization dawning.

“Looks like spring blooms are here,” you note mostly to yourself, walking towards the edge of the river. Xavier trails behind, watching you like a hawk.

“They’re daffodils.” You lean down to inspect the buds. “They’re usually the first to bloom in the spring. Pretty winter hardy as well,” you say absent-mindedly, holding your hand out with your palm facing the stem. It blooms underneath your hand, the stem growing taller and taller until the bud opens, revealing vibrant yellow petals.

And, well. You get an idea. A slightly stupid idea, but if you were going to die soon, you didn’t want to die with any regrets.

If you couldn’t offer words of reassurance to Xavier, perhaps you could do what you do best and extend an olive branch.

Reaching into your pocket, you grab pruning scissors and snip the daffodil you just grew at the stem. When you turn to face Xavier, he looks at you with confusion, eyebrows furrowing.

With a trembling hand, you reach up to his breast pocket and tuck the daffodil in place, blushing. He looks down at the flower, hair falling in his face, and you resist the urge to reach up and tuck it back behind his ear.

You clear your throat when he meets your eyes. “Uh, daffodils represent rebirth and new beginnings, because they’re the first to bloom in the spring,” you murmur, feeling warm from the intensity of Xavier’s gaze, but there’s a softness behind his eyes that makes it hard to tear yours away. “They can also represent inspiration and creativity. I figured they would suit you,” you finish with a hesitant smile.

He grins at you, eyes crinkling with fondness. “Thanks,” he whispers, like it was a secret shared just between the two of you.

You nod before looking back down to the cut stem in the ground. It needed to be restored to its original stage, so you hold your hand out once more, and the stem grows a bud once again, unbloomed.

–

You knew you’d initially disapproved of having Xavier as a chaperone, but admittedly, it was nice having him join you on your outings. Whether it was his presence alone or the extra protection he added that you enjoyed so much, you didn’t think too much about.

Today, the two of you sat next to each other at the river bank: you were absent-mindedly growing flowers and making them wrap around your fingers, and Xavier was hunched over his sketchbook, pencil scratching on the paper furiously. You tried leaning over to sneak a peek at his sketch once, but he simply bumped your shoulder and teased, “it’s a surprise! Have some patience.”

By the time Xavier finishes, your hand is completely wrapped in primroses and snowdrops like climbing ivy. When he turns the sketchbook towards you, your heart does a delighted flutter at the sight in front of you, mouth curving into a bashful grin.

It’s a drawing of you in botany class, drawn from Xavier’s point of view if he sat in the chair next to you. You sat up straight with rapt attention directed somewhere off the page, to what you assumed was Mrs. Poults’ lecture.

You never thought yourself to be incredibly beautiful; you didn’t have the beguiling beauty that the sirens possessed, or the deadly allure of the vampires. It was an ordinary drawing, but somehow you felt it was the most beautiful you’d ever looked.

“Keeping a diligent eye on me, I see,” you tease to distract from the heat rising to your cheeks. You’re hyper aware of Xavier’s arm lightly touching yours, a warmth that seeps through your jacket and into your skin.

“Always,” he murmurs.

And God, how could a single uttered word send you into an absolute spiral? How is it that a boy you’ve known for a mere three months had already wormed his way into your heart and made a little home for himself?

A fleeting but all too powerful wave of grief suddenly hits you.

You mourn, of course, what could be. If Xavier never had a vision of you, would he even have given you a second thought? Would he have ever sat next to you in botany class, or kept such a close eye on you?

You’d never know if it was requited, and fuck, if that didn’t make you feel like your heart’s been ripped out of your chest.

Xavier, always so attentive, must’ve seen the rumination on your face, for he speaks up to get your attention.

“I did some research on foxgloves,” he says, thumb tracing the aforementioned potted flowers in the corner of his sketchbook. You look up from the drawing and watch as the furrow between his brow ridge deepens.

“Are you familiar with any of the myths behind them?” he asks, looking at you. You shake your head, puzzled by how troubled he looks. Whatever he read about foxgloves, it couldn’t have been anything good.

“Early myths, going as far back as the Middle Ages, say foxgloves symbolize riddles and secrets,” he states, looking back to face the river with a faraway look in his eyes. “And they say foxgloves are associated with fairies,” he adds.

Your blood runs cold. “Fairies?” you echo.

“Some say that’s where their common name comes from,” Xavier continues, unaware of the revelation you’ve just had. “They believed ‘foxglove’ was derived from ‘folksglove’, meaning the fairy folk.”

“Apparently, if you find foxglove in the wild and pick them, it can bring you bad luck. That’s because you rob the fairies of a plant they’re fond of,” he says almost absentmindedly.

He suddenly turns back to look at you, as if pulled back into reality. “You didn’t pick any, did you?” He searches your eyes for an answer.

You try your hardest to remain stoic, but inside, your thoughts were running wild.

Who would’ve thought that the innocent-looking flowers you’d sat next to in botany class for the better part of three months were just as foreboding as the fairy circle you’d run into all those days ago? Not only were the flowers equally as unlucky as the fairy circle, but they were connected to them, as well.

“No,” you tell him. Your voice sounds as faraway as you feel right now. “No, I didn’t pick any.”

Oof, okay I’m not happy with this (it is,, severely unedited and I wish I could’ve written more), but I postponed this enough and I wanted to put out something for you by tonight.

Only one part left!! I have a very very rough draft of part 5, but I want to spend more time editing it so its a satisfying finale to the series :) It won’t be up until the new year, but I want to post it before I start school again, so around January 9th.

Thanks for stickin around :) See yall soon,

Ames

While you were never assigned a roommate when you moved into Ophelia Hall (you insisted upon bringing your plants, and they took up too much space in your dorm room to have another person live with you), you grew close to Enid. After being paired for a project in your History of Outcasts class, the two of you bonded over studying in the library for the history teacher’s impossible tests and passing notes when lectures got too boring.

“You don’t have any wolfsbane in here, right?” she asked when she stepped into your dorm for the first time, eyes wide as she scanned the room covered floor-to-ceiling in flora.

“No,” you laughed lightly, plopping yourself onto your bed. “I didn’t think it’d be smart to bring a flower poisonous to werewolves to an outcast school.” You smiled, and Enid’s shoulders relaxed. Immediately, her bubbly self emerged once again.

So, on top of classes, visits to the woods, and hanging out with Enid, the time in your day quickly filled up.

Of course, you always made sure to make time for a particular someone.

After Xavier gifted you the foxglove drawing, it felt like a barrier had been struck down between the two of you. He no longer kept the curtains in his art studio drawn, and he was always lingering by the window long enough to catch you walking back at the end of the day. The light from the studio would guide you back down the path, like a moth to a flame. And there he’d be, standing by the window, hair tied up and a paintbrush in hand, looking down at what you supposed was a painting in deep concentration. He would come out of a trance and look up, a glimpse of something like relief crossing his face, before sending you a small smile, bright as the sun, and a wave. You could hardly suppress a grin in return.

He sat next to you more often in botany class, and slowly you began to have conversations with him that consisted of more than one-word answers.

He silently tilted his sketchbook toward you one day, and you took a closer look at his drawing. The cobra lily you were studying looked particularly menacing in his sketch.

“Looks great,” you praised. He always gave a pleased smile when you complimented his art.

“How long have you been drawing?” you asked him off-handedly, trying to appear nonchalant by working on the growth chart in front of you. He cleared his throat.

“I started when I was little,” Xavier explained. “Turned into a way to escape, relax.” He shrugged, eyes lifting from his sketchbook to look at you. A sudden smirk creeped across his face.

“It’s when I learned I could do this,” he said simply, holding a palm above his sketchbook.

The cobra lily on the paper sprang to life, almost leaping off the page. It reared its tubular leaves, and as if possessed, began to hiss like an actual snake, forked leaf trembling in warning.

You could only widen your eyes in shock.

“Oh my God.”

Xavier said nothing, impish smirk still plastered on his face. He raised his hand and swatted the cobra lily away. It dissolved without a sound, ashes of the stencil dissipating into nothing.

“And what about you?” he asked, turning his eyes back to you. Always so attentive.

You raised an eyebrow, still trying to recover from his little demonstration. “What about me?”

“How long have you been wandering off into the woods like a hermit?” He asked slyly.

You scoffed at him. “You’re one to talk,” you bit back playfully, trying to suppress a grin (but failing). “Calling me a hermit when you spend all your time holed up in that shed of yours.”

His grin widened, and you had to tear your eyes away, overwhelmed by the boy next to you.

You spoke after a brief pause. “I’ve been doing it for as long as I could remember,” you admitted, voice quiet. “The woods have always been a sanctuary to me.”

The previous slyness from Xavier’s smile slipped away, rapt attention overtaking his features.

“I was anxious, as a child,” you began, hands fidgeting in your lap. “I’d get panic attacks if I was kept inside for too long, and I’d get sick. My parents didn’t know what was wrong with me,” you said with a sad smile, memories of your parents fretting over you as you cried coming back. “The woods were the only place I felt calm. I remember everything would go quiet in my head.” You exhaled softly at the memory. “It was a bliss unlike anything I’d ever felt before.”

“My parents thought I got lost in the woods once,” you laughed fondly at the memory. “I didn’t come back home. They searched for hours, frantic. When they finally found me, they said flowers bloomed wherever I stepped.”

You paused, glancing at Xavier. His eyes bore into yours, a gentleness to them that soothed you. His smile was nothing but kindness, a silent understanding sent your way.

“It’s been like that ever since, I guess.” You cleared your throat and looked away from him, realizing that you’d most definitely overshared. Heat rose to your cheeks.

“I’m glad,” Xavier spoke up, making you turn your head back to him. “I’m glad you have a place like that.” His green eyes shined with something somber, before they fell back down to his sketchbook.

–

“Ugh!” you groan, hand on your forehead in irritation. Your dorm plants shiver at your anger; they were easily affected by your moods.

And a moody day it was.

Coming back to your dorm the other night after a study session with Enid in the library, you suddenly realized just how neglected your house plants had been. Some had wilted, others needed to be pruned, and a few of them even needed to have their soil changed. It was March, and the season of rebirth and new beginnings had arrived. Dryads always took special care of their plants around this time of year, a sort of ritual to prepare for the upcoming blooms.

So, you pledged to skip a visit to the woods this weekend and dedicate some time to taking care of your plants.

If only they made the task easier for you.

“Marsha!” you exclaim at your holly fern sitting on the window sill. It’s safe to say you were exhausted; your overalls were covered in soil, you’d barely eaten today, and the blackberry bush hanging in the corner of your room - Barb, you had affectionately named it at the time - had gotten snippy and swiped at your cheek when you tried to trim its branches.

Dryads were passive creatures, but you were beginning to think that you were the new generation to test that theory.

“If you’re going to live in the same plant bed as Bernie, you two need to share root space and sunlight, okay? You can’t shade Bernie out, that’s not nice.”

Marsha retracts, a few leaves intertwining; you almost thought it was crossing its arms in defiance.

“Scoot over,” you instruct, mimicking Marsha and crossing your arms as well.

Marsha pauses, seemingly sighs, and its leaves shift to the side, exposing tiny Bernie, previously hidden by the canopy that was Marsha’s fern leaves, to more sunlight.

You sigh in relief. Finally.

A knock at the door makes you jump.

You try to brush some of the soil off your overalls in an attempt to look presentable, but to no avail. The knocks grow more frantic.

“Jesus,” you mutter, “I’m coming!”

You stomp over to the door, throwing it open to be met with Enid, hand raised in mid-air and poised to knock again.

Enid’s eyes widen at the sight of you. “Oh good, you’re alive,” she says before turning to look down the hallway. “She’s in here, you idiot!” Enid snaps, glaring at whoever was down there, but sending you a sweet smile when she turns back to you.

You can only stare in bewilderment.

Footsteps approach, and Xavier and Wednesday appear before you.

“Oh God,” Xavier sighs, hand sweeping through his hair. His uniform is missing, opting for a hoodie and a gray coat slung over his arm. Wednesday lingers behind, watching you quietly.

“Can someone explain to me what’s going on?” you ask, hands on your hips.

“I thought something happened,” Xavier explains, brushing his hair back again.

“What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t show up today!” He points out your window, toward the forest.

“Yeah, I had other things to do,” you explain, gesturing vaguely to the army of plants behind you. “Why’d you think something happened?”

This question, strangely enough, is met with complete silence from the party of three standing in your doorway. You stare at them, growing more puzzled by the second. Xavier’s gaze falls to the cut on your cheek. “You’re hurt.”

“What?” You touch the small cut on your cheek lightly. “No, it’s nothing, just one of my plants was a little cranky today-” you cut yourself off when you see the bemused look on their faces. “I’m sorry, can someone please explain to me what’s going on?”

Xavier sighs and turns to look at Wednesday and Enid. They seem to have a silent conversation, filled only with pointed stares and narrowed eyes, before he turns back at you.

“I need to tell you something,” he says softly.

–

When Xavier finished, you regretted not going to the woods to reset today. You certainly felt like you needed it after what he’d told you.

You rose from your bed, pacing slowly across the room. Step by step, you reiterated to yourself what Xavier said, a sort of organization to the chaos you’d just learned.

Xavier was a seer, just like his father and Wednesday Addams. Visions appeared to him in his dreams. The day before term started, he dreamed of a girl, alone in the woods, bleeding out. Deep bloody gashes ran up and down her torso. Snarling above her, the Hyde crouched, claw raised for a final strike.

Xavier had woken up right before the claw sliced your body.

“That’s why I was worried,” he says after a while. His hands clasp in his lap as he sits on your desk chair, hair falling over his face so you couldn’t see his expression. “Wednesday and I have been keeping an eye on you ever since you arrived, making sure the Hyde didn’t attack.”

“But I thought Tyler got locked up last semester.” Your voice sounds hollow.

“Jericho’s new mayor and the sheriff have been lying to keep everyone from panicking: surprise, surprise,” Wednesday says dryly from the corner of your room. Her unblinking eyes darted to you. “Tyler escaped the night of his arrest.”

So he is out there, you think, a shiver racking up your spine. “Why hasn’t he attacked, though?” You ask.

“As far as we know, his master is dead,” Wednesday states. “He doesn’t have a motive to kill… as of yet.”

Xavier refuses to look up from his hands, and not for the first time, you wished he would look at you, give you a sign that everything was going to be okay.

But of course, you knew that wouldn’t be the case.

What comfort could he offer after revealing a premonition of your death?

The pit in your stomach grows. The nausea you’d felt ever since Xavier began talking worsens, and in the back of your head, you’re thinking you’re going to hurl in front of everyone. Hardly three months into the school year, and you find out your life was coming to a quick and violent end.

Everything you’d experienced with Xavier shifted into a new light.

His strange reaction when he first ran into you. The encounter in the woods. The warning not go out past dark. Him sitting beside you in class. He was checking to see whether his vision had come true.

A disbelieving laugh bubbles to your lips, and the three regard you with confusion, but you didn’t care. The fairy circle was right, you think miserably. I’m cursed, indeed.

A/N: I think the series will finish with part 5. We’re almost there 🥲