Emily woke up to a feeling of emptiness filling her chest. The erotic and scary images of her dreams had melted away, like snow on the black ground, leaving behind a strange weight—like something invisible had settled on her shoulders. She had no strength to think about yesterday's trial. It wasn't as if anything particularly traumatic had happened, yet it felt as though her soul had been twisted and turned inside out.
She slowly sat up on her mattress and looked around.
All three of her roommates had returned. Not a single bed was empty.
But the atmosphere in the room was oppressive. The Breton girl, Ines, was getting dressed, Charlotte was slowly lacing up her boots, and Odette lay motionless on her bed—the only real one in the room—staring at the ceiling. No one spoke. The silence felt almost artificial, as if they had all agreed to keep quiet.
Emily glanced at Charlotte. Looking her in the eye was a little awkward after what the mirror had shown—such intimate scenes with this nearly unfamiliar, slender blonde girl. But she also remembered the feeling of union, that sensation of warm and loyal friendship that had lingered as if it had stepped out of the mirror itself, making her feel warm toward Charlotte.
"How are you?" Emily asked quietly.
Charlotte silently lifted her gaze to Emily, then gave a brief nod.
"As expected. Strange feeling… like I've come back, but something stayed there."
Emily pressed her lips together. She felt it too.
"Do you remember it well… what happened?" she asked carefully.
Charlotte held her breath for a moment, then exhaled with a strained smile.
"I wish I didn't. Mirrors don't lie about the desires we don't like to admit to ourselves, you know?"
What had she seen?
A sudden movement to the side made them both turn. Odette cursed under her breath as she yanked at her bootlaces so hard the fabric creaked.
"This… this is all just whining. It was a test, not a celebration of your greatness and brilliance. Some of us might not even have any power, and yet here you are, dramatically dissecting the first challenge as if it was some tragedy," she muttered, standing up.
"We're all tired," Emily replied evenly.
"Oh, of course," Odette sneered. "Poor girl. Looked into the mirror, saw how her mother could have loved her more or how a guy—maybe a girl, or a werewolf, or a dirty lower shifter—could have fucked her sweeter, and now she's had a tragedy. You're all delicate little things who won't survive magic, even if you happen to have it."
Emily wanted to say something, but Charlotte gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. Not now.
The conversation died, but the tension remained, even as Odette left the room. Today, she was aggressive, just like yesterday, but she also looked upset and frustrated.
Eventually, without much enthusiasm, the three of them made their way to the dining hall.
As they entered, they were met with the subdued light from the tall windows and the restrained elegance of the interior. The high walls were adorned with Art Deco paintings—Emily thought this world was a strange blend of styles and eras, both in clothing and décor! Along one wall stretched a wooden shelf lined with artifacts—antique books, scrolls in silver cases, ceramic bowls with some symbols...
Emily estimated that about a third of the candidates were missing today. Everyone at lunch now wore cloaks like hers—the ones they had taken from the Room last night. Like... Assemble your uniform yourself? Win it in the fight?
The food was French—creamy soup with thin slices of mushrooms, warm bread with a crispy crust, delicate pâté. Emily remembered that the last thing she had eaten was the biscuits from yesterday's gathering, the only thing she had eaten all day. Yet she had no appetite. It was as if her body was in shock from touching that magic, totally new to whole her nature. Or maybe not so much?
Still, she forced herself to eat.
A rustle of fabric—and the Deputy Headmistress appeared on the raised platform. She didn't hurry to speak, giving the students time to notice her. Then, in a loud voice, she said:
"Congratulations."
A whisper rippled through the hall, as if everyone had exhaled at once.
"Those gathered here have passed the first trial. Some barely managed, actually, but you are here."
A pause. Managed? What did that mean? They had said it was about making the right choice.
"Yesterday, you faced yourselves without embellishment, only your honest desires. But we lied to you about one thing. We don't care about your choices of passion, but we want to know them. If you were able to suppress your own desires, to turn your back on them and walk away, then your willpower might stand a chance against Reality Bending that we teach here. Those who could not are not even worth testing further," the deputy headmistress added, her voice quieter now, and the words fell into the space like a stone into dark water.
Emily swallowed a lump in her throat. She had suspected as much, but she was not used to being... so disposable.
"The next trial will take place tonight," the woman continued. "You've probably heard various rumors about it. Let me be clear: don't trust the rumors. The truth is always worse. It's time to see how you handle new, unfamiliar temptations."
Her eyes gleamed with shifting colors, and she turned abruptly, but before she left, her gaze lingered on two figures at one of the tables. Emily and Charlotte felt it settle on them—piercing, cold, evaluating.
The moment she disappeared, the hall buzzed with murmurs.
"Confession," someone whispered nearby.
"They say booths are already set up in the North Wing…"
"And… some mentioned body-swapping. Like… you can become someone else."
"What does that have to do with magic proficiency?"
"My mother studied here, but she always avoided talking about the second trial. She'd blush and look away."
Emily noticed that the students had already split into groups. The boy who had mentioned his witch mother sat next to Odette—probably, the caste of those with magical parents was something like the cool crowd here.
The time until the second trial was slipping away.
She knew this trial would be even more interesting. And now, it wasn't just fear and the desire to go home driving her, but excitement—she, a girl from Sydney who had never seen people with tails or real magic, had passed the first trial at Wicked Delights Academy!
What if she had a talent for magic? She had always felt like there was something inside her that made her dissatisfied with her ordinary, albeit wealthy, life. Maybe she could be just as powerful as the deputy headmistress, or even greater. Maybe she had something stronger than their magic. They had been training here for years, but she had simply touched a painting and ended up here—opened a portal.
At that thought, she suddenly remembered the "False Hunter" in the mirror yesterday, his touch, his whisper about power, strength, intoxicating dominance. It was an unpleasant memory, but it brought Emily back down to earth.
She had to remember—Plan A was to figure out how she had gotten here and find a way home, not to conquer this twisted, strange place.
Somewhere, a bell tolled, and everyone moved toward the trial. A young male professor in a robe—whom Emily couldn't quite make out from behind—led the line of candidates into the North Wing. They climbed the stairs for what felt like ages until they reached a grand hall, lavishly decorated in baroque style (what kind of era mash-up was this?), with high ceilings and, lined up in perfect rows at its center… wooden confessionals.