The sun hung lazily in the sky, casting a golden haze over the quiet town of Elmsworth, nestled between rolling hills and whispering forests. It was the kind of town where time seemed to slow, where secrets lay buried in the soil, and where nothing ever truly changed—until today.
Amara Riven stood at the iron gates of Moonveil High School, the morning breeze tugging at her thick braids. Her sharp eyes, dark as obsidian, scanned the old brick building ahead. The school had always seemed a little eerie to her. Its stone walls were laced with creeping ivy, and the tall, arched windows looked like eyes watching silently from above. Something about it had always felt… off. And today, that feeling was stronger than ever.
It wasn't just the cool chill in the spring air or the fact that the birds had stopped singing the moment she stepped through the gate. It was a pressure—like invisible fingers brushing against the back of her neck. Amara had learned to listen to that feeling. She was her mother's daughter, after all. And her mother was no ordinary woman.
"First day, huh?" a voice said beside her.
Amara turned to see a boy around her age. He had light brown hair, tousled by the wind, and wore a grin that looked like it had been stitched onto his face from birth.
"Yeah," she replied cautiously. "First day."
"I'm Micah," he said, extending a hand. "You new in town?"
Amara hesitated before shaking it. "Something like that. I'm Amara."
Micah's smile widened. "Cool name. You'll like it here—unless you hate weird things."
Amara raised a brow. "Weird things?"
Micah shrugged. "Let's just say Moonveil has its… quirks."
Before Amara could respond, the bell rang, long and low, echoing through the school grounds like a warning. The students started moving, and Micah nudged her gently with his elbow.
"Come on. Let's not be late. The new teacher is starting today, too. Should be interesting."
As they walked, Amara felt the pull again—the quiet nudge of something ancient stirring beneath her skin. The last time she'd felt this strongly, her mother had pulled her into the back room of their small cottage and told her something terrifying.
"You're not like the others," her mother had whispered. "You see what they cannot. You feel what they fear."
Amara hadn't believed her then.
She was starting to believe her now.
—
The classroom buzzed with energy as students chatted and settled into their seats. Amara sat near the back, eyes scanning the room, already noting the cliques and personalities forming. She wasn't here to make friends. She was here for something else—though she couldn't quite name it yet.
The door creaked open, and silence fell like a curtain.
She walked in.
The woman was stunning.
Tall, poised, with porcelain skin and long dark hair that flowed down her back like black silk. Her emerald eyes scanned the room, calm and commanding. She wore a modest black dress with a high collar, and yet she radiated an elegance that made her seem otherworldly.
"I am Miss Elara Voss," she said, her voice smooth and precise. "I will be your new literature teacher."
Amara narrowed her eyes. There was something… off about her. Not in her posture or her tone. It was something deeper, something under her skin. Her aura shimmered, like a ripple in a pond that shouldn't be there.
Miss Voss turned to write her name on the board, and Amara noticed something strange. For the briefest moment, her reflection in the glass of the window moved differently—delayed, like it didn't belong to her at all.
The class didn't notice.
But Amara did.
—
Lunch was served in the wide cafeteria, buzzing with chatter and the clatter of trays. Amara sat alone under the hanging lights, her food untouched. She wasn't hungry. She was trying to process what she had felt.
"I wouldn't sit alone too long," Micah said, plopping down beside her with a tray. "People will think you're cursed or something."
Amara looked at him. "Wouldn't be the worst rumor."
He chuckled but then noticed her serious face. "Something up?"
She hesitated. Should she say it? Would anyone believe her?
"Did you notice anything weird about Miss Voss?" she asked.
Micah leaned back, eyebrows raised. "Besides the fact that she looks like she walked out of a fantasy novel? No."
Amara looked down at her tray. "Her reflection moved on its own."
Micah blinked, then leaned closer. "You serious?"
She nodded slowly.
He hesitated, then looked around. "Okay, you didn't hear this from me… but people say the last teacher who worked here vanished. Like, actually vanished. No note, no warning. Just gone."
Amara felt a chill creep down her spine.
"And," Micah added, lowering his voice, "some students swear they've seen someone wandering the halls at night… pregnant."
Amara's head snapped toward him. "Pregnant?"
"Yeah. Swollen belly, glowing skin, the whole deal. But when they go back to check, nothing's there. Some say it's a ghost. Others say it's a curse. I think it's just a story."
Amara didn't think so.
She'd seen the shimmer in Miss Voss. And now a pregnant woman wandering the halls?
Something was wrong here.
Very wrong.
—
That night, Amara stayed up late, curled on her bed with her mother's old grimoire. She hadn't touched it in years—not since her mother passed. The leather cover was cracked, the pages worn, but the magic inside was still alive. She flipped through spells, symbols, rituals… until she found it.
"The Womb of the Moon"
An ancient curse. Said to infect a woman who has shared a bed with a dark spirit. Each night, she grows with child. Each morning, the curse resets, leaving no trace. Only those with the Sight can witness the truth.
Amara sat frozen.
Could it be?
Miss Voss. Pregnant every night. Normal every morning.
A woman cursed by a dark spirit… a witch?
And Amara could see it because she had the Sight—just like her mother.
Suddenly, she wasn't just the new girl anymore.
She was the only one who could see what was really happening.
And she wasn't about to stay quiet.
—
The next morning, Amara waited outside the school gate early. She watched the students filter in, her eyes locked on the horizon.
At 7:59 a.m., Miss Voss arrived.
She looked perfect.
Too perfect.
Her skin glowed faintly in the morning sun, and her step was light, as though she hadn't carried a swollen belly hours before.
Amara watched closely. And for just a split second, as Miss Voss passed by, the shimmer returned.
She knew.
She was hiding something.
And Amara was going to find out exactly what it was.
But what Amara didn't know was that Elara Voss had already seen her. Already sensed the power in her blood.
And in the shadows behind the school walls, the war had already begun.
A silent war.
One only they could see.