#witchjolt

        her heart is doing somersaults, that can be the only answer to the fluttering beneath her breast. it’s a feeling that she should be used to be now  :  this warm, exciting thing that floods her whenever isabella so much as LOOKS her way. students rush past them on the commons, eager to get home, as they move at an easier pace, avoiding puddles and wet clumps of fallen leaves —  it had rained nearly all day but luckily cleared up before the school let out. poppy adjusts the strap of her bag against her shoulder, biting her lip before her mouth slowly curls, dimples flashing. she doesn't do horror : most of it's usual tropes touch a little TOO CLOSE to home, and yet...   ‘  only if they’re the really bad ones and we get to tear them apart.    ʼ