Her Curse, Their Claim

Fire smelled like the end of everything. Seren Blake stood in the middle of what used to be her living room, surrounded by ash and melted photo frames. Her bare feet pressed against scorched tile. The house was gone - the only thing left was smoke, ruin, and a silence too loud to bear. Her mother was dead. The fire had taken her five days ago. Now, there was nothing left but this... and the strange, burning symbol glowing on her forearm. She hadn't seen it until this morning. It had appeared when she woke, seared into her skin just below the elbow - pulsing with light like it was alive.

At first, she'd thought it was a dream. But the sigil was still there after she splashed cold water on her face. Still there when she wrapped it in a bandage. Still there now, burning beneath the gauze. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A single message lit the cracked screen: "Transportation arranged. Ashmoor awaits." No number. No sender. Just those three words. A chill slid down her spine. "What the hell is Ashmoor?" she muttered aloud. As if summoned by the question, a long black car rolled to a stop in front of the burnt remains of her house. The engine purred like a beast, too smooth to be comforting. The driver's door opened. A man in a charcoal suit stepped out. Tall, pale, and emotionless, with silver rings on every finger. He held a manila folder. "Seren Blake?" he asked. She hesitated. "Yeah?" He handed her the folder. Stamped on the front: ASHMOOR ACADEMY – Immediate Transfer. "I didn't apply to any school," she said, hugging herself tightly. "You didn't have to." His voice was clipped and cold. "You've been chosen." "I'm not going anywhere with some stranger in a creepy car." "You'd rather stay here?" He gestured to the wreckage behind her. "With nothing? With no one?" Seren clenched her jaw. That wasn't fair. But it was true. She opened the folder. Inside was a sleek black brochure. "Ashmoor Academy: Where the Forgotten Become the Chosen." On the last page, written in ornate script: "All Marked must return before the next moon. Or be claimed by the curse." Her hand trembled. "Is this a joke?" she asked. "No. It's a warning." The man opened the car door. "Now get in." Seren looked back one last time. The ruins of her past smoldered behind her. Nothing left. No mom. No answers. Only questions. Only the mark. She got in. The door shut with a soft click that sounded far too final. Inside, the car smelled like leather, old books, and something faintly floral - like lavender and ash. The man didn't speak again. He simply drove, long fingers tapping the wheel to a rhythm only he could hear. Seren clutched the folder to her chest and watched the world blur by. The city thinned. Then disappeared. Asphalt gave way to cracked gravel, then dense trees. Forest swallowed everything - light, sound, sense of direction. Her signal vanished two hours ago. Not even a bar. "I should've brought pepper spray," she muttered under her breath. The driver cracked the smallest smile. "It wouldn't work here." She blinked. "What?" But he said nothing more. Three hours later, just past dusk, the trees broke open - and there it was. Ashmoor Academy. A towering, ancient castle-like structure carved into a cliff, wreathed in ivy and fog. It looked less like a school and more like a haunted cathedral - the kind built to keep things in as much as to keep people out. Turrets jutted like jagged teeth. Windows glowed golden behind wrought-iron bars. Thunder cracked in the distance, but the sky above the school remained moonless and still. Seren stepped out of the car and stared. "This can't be real." "Oh, it's real," the driver said. "And it's waiting for you." A bell tolled from somewhere deep inside the stone. She swallowed. "Waiting for what, exactly?" "You'll find out soon enough." He handed her a suitcase she didn't pack. "Everything you need is inside." "I didn't bring anything." "You did. You just don't remember packing it." Before she could ask what the hell that meant, the car was gone - just like that. No headlights. No sound. No tracks in the gravel. She turned to the massive gate now creaking open all on its own. Her boots crunched against dead leaves as she walked through. Inside, the air was warm and heavy, scented with wax and smoke. Candles hovered midair in tall stone halls. Paintings shifted when she wasn't looking directly at them. A staircase moved just as she approached, rearranging itself. And then she saw it. A mirror. Or maybe the mirror. It was tall, cracked, silver-framed - and when she passed by, her reflection didn't move. Seren froze. Her mirrored self stared back - expression blank, eyes glowing faint gold. A sudden sharp sting flared on her arm. The mark burned beneath the bandage. She tore it off. The sigil blazed against her skin, brighter than ever - shifting, warping, like it was alive. "Miss Blake," a voice said sharply. She spun around. A woman in a long black gown stood at the top of the stairs. Her eyes were too pale. Her skin too smooth. There was something ancient in her face despite her youthful appearance. "I am Headmistress Yvaine. You are late." "I didn't know I was coming." "Of course you didn't. The Mark chooses when it reveals itself. You are now under the academy's protection." She eyed Seren's arm. "For now." Seren frowned. "Protection from what?" Yvaine descended the stairs slowly, like a queen, and stopped in front of her. "From what's hunting you. From what's waking inside you. And from them." "Them?" Yvaine didn't answer. Instead, she reached into her robe and handed Seren a key - black iron, cold to the touch. On the handle was engraved a name she didn't recognize. Not hers. Not anyone she knew. "Valeblood." Her assigned dorm. Her cursed legacy. "Welcome to Ashmoor, Miss Blake," the headmistress said. "Try not to die before breakfast."