Chapter 26
The AV room smelled like warm plastic and burnt coffee. A half-eaten muffin sat precariously on the control board, despite
someone having scribbled No Food or Drink on a piece of cardboard taped to a dead monitor.
Riya sat rigid in her chair, script balanced on her knees, trying to breathe like a normal person.
Quin slid into the chair beside Riya, not bothering to hide their grimace.
“Good God, you’re so tense. Do you perhaps have a metal pipe for a spine?”
“I have good posture,” said Riya flatly. She didn’t look up from her script.
“Hmm.” Quin’s usual smirk wavered. “You know, I’d probably have a metal pipe for a spine right now, if you hadn’t stopped Kian.”
Riya didn’t answer right away. It was bad enough that her khala’s voice still echoed in the back of her mind, clinical and
final—a reminder that the path forward had narrowed to a single impossible choice. And every day she hesitated, Kian slipped
farther away.
“The next time you tease Kian like that,” she said, “I can’t promise I’ll step in.”
“Fair enough. I’m too beautiful to die.”
Riya glanced at them sideways, eyes narrowed. “Why do you keep messing with him, anyway? Glutton for punishment?”
“Oh, it’s not him I’m messing with.” Quin’s smirk returned.
Riya didn’t reply. But her fingers curled slightly around the edge of her script.
“Anyway,” Quin said breezily, “are you sure you’re good for the announcement today?”
She bit back a sigh. “I’ll be fine.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Quin replied, leaning back in their chair. “Let’s just try to keep the energy up. It’s the big prom
theme reveal, after all.”
“We’re live in ten!” Mr. O’Leary’s voice rang out, bouncing off the cluttered AV room walls. Cables sprawled across the floor;
camera tripods stood like watchful sentinels. The student broadcast team scurried to finish last-minute adjustments.
Riya scanned the script again, tuning out the chaos. They’d finalized it all last week—she and Quin, sitting through a never-ending
council meeting, arguing over ideas for the theme reveal, down to font and lighting cues. They’d even collaborated with the
school’s Film Club, though Quin’s endless stream of ridiculous suggestions had slowed down the process.
“I still say we should’ve gone with my theme,” she muttered.
“The Hunger Games? For Prom?” Quin tugged at their collar, feigning horror. “Prom’s supposed to be an escape. Not a dystopian death match.”
“Sounds like an escape to me.”
“Five seconds!” O’Leary barked.
Quin elbowed her lightly. “Should we have done outer space instead, like your boyfriend suggested?”
“Ha ha,” she deadpanned.
“Speaking of which,” Quin went on, undeterred, “how is Kian?”
Riya bristled, ready to snap—she was still annoyed by how Quin seemed to revel in goading Kian lately—but then she hesitated.
Because Quin wasn’t smirking this time. They weren’t teasing in their usual, obvious way. The question landed lightly, almost
gently. As if they were genuinely curious.
It threw her.
She turned to look at them fully, but Quin was already spinning a pen between their fingers like they hadn’t said anything
strange at all.
Like they already knew the answer.
A prickle climbed the back of her neck.
The dodgeball game. The museum. The expectant glint in Quin’s eyes. What did they think they knew? And more important—
She swallowed. “Why do you care?”
Quin looked at her and smiled, genuinely. “Just making conversation with a friend. It’s what you do when you’re worried about
them, no?”
Riya’s breath caught. But before she could reply—
“And we’re live!”
Quin’s grin burst to life, impossibly bright, as they leaned toward the camera. “Good morning, Abbersett High! In case you
didn’t notice, we’re not your usual hosts, Eric and Amandi. But as your president and VP, and on behalf of the rest of Student
Council, we wanted to hop on here to make an exciting announcement.”
“Thank you for your patience while we’ve worked hard to land on a theme that everyone would be excited about,” Riya added.
Her voice was clear, practiced, but she barely felt it leave her mouth. “We think you’ll agree the wait was worth it.”
“So, without further ado, the 2026 theme for Abbersett High School’s Prom is . . .”
Riya braced herself, shoulders tightening.
“Fairy tales.”
The school’s reaction was immediate—a wave of shrieks and applause filtered faintly through the soundproofed AV room walls.
Quin lit up at the sound, soaking in the adoration like sunlight.
Riya felt nothing.
“With that in mind,” Quin continued, sliding back into their smooth showman’s voice, “we’ve put together a short video to
give you a better idea of what to expect.”
The screen cut to a slow pan through a forest, cast in an ethereal twilight glow.
Fireflies flickered like distant stars. The camera, a little shaky, moved through the trees before landing on a closeup of a pristine red apple, left forgotten atop a mossy tree stump.
Another shot revealed a circle of mushrooms, as dull and gray as stones in the dim light.
The camera tilted slightly, catching a fleeting glimpse of someone’s golden hair disappearing behind a veil of leaves.
Gold text flashed across the screen: Once upon a time . . .
Finally, the screen cut again to a prince on an ornate throne—or, at least, a hurriedly painted throne of cardboard and spare
wood from Woodshop—who stared at the camera with beaming blue eyes, thanks to the Film Club’s attempt at special effects.
It would be corny, borderline cringey if it weren’t for the fact that the prince, Quin, remained one hundred percent dedicated
to their role, holding their plastic-bright crown with the seriousness of a royal.
Text appeared once more:
Find your happily ever after:
Abbersett Prom 2026
The screen went dark, and for a moment, the AV room was filled with silence, broken only by the faint hum of equipment.
Riya sat back, her hands folded neatly in her lap. The image of composure.
But inside, something ached.
The forest. The crown. The glitter. It was all so seamless, so beautiful—so easy. The kind of magic people wanted to believe in. Not the kind that rewrote your mind. Not the kind that devoured you from the inside out.
She had helped plan this. She’d worked overtime making it happen. And now, watching it play out, she felt like she was underwater—adrift
inside someone else’s dream.
Because this was the version of magic everyone cheered for. The kind wrapped in tulle and fairy lights. The kind that promised
happy endings.
And none of them had any idea that the real thing—the wild, chaotic, blood-price kind—was already here. Pressing in on her
from every side.
“And that’s it!” Quin’s voice broke through, back on the screen. They beamed, their enthusiasm infectious. “I’m sure you get
the idea: Think traditional fairy tales and fantasy, enchanted forests, princesses and knights and monsters, and of course, magic.”
“If you have any questions or concerns,” Riya added, her tone crisp, “please don’t hesitate to reach out to a member of Student
Council—or use the newly installed suggestion box in the library.”
“Annnnd, done!” O’Leary called, the camera light clicking off. “Great job, you two.”
Quin turned to Riya. “Back to reality, huh?” They pushed the hair from their face with a practiced elegance and winked.
Like a fairy-tale prince.
Riya let out a dry, bitter laugh.
“I can’t believe you kept yet another secret from me!” Mel complained at lunch, excitement radiating off her like a sticky pink cloud. “Fairy tales, RiRi? That’s practically baiting me.”
“It was a surprise,” said Riya, taking a sip of her iced tea.
“Was it your idea? I mean, come on, fairy tales?”
“It was not.”
Mel gave a breathy little laugh, then glanced around the lunch table before adding, more carefully, “You do see the irony,
right? My best friend, a literal peri, helping run a fairy tale–themed prom? That’s not symbolism—it’s, it’s cosmic satire.”
Riya let out a faint hum, distracted.
Mel noticed. Her smile faded. “Hey. I know there’s a lot going on. I wasn’t trying to—” She broke off, then leaned closer,
her voice softening. “Have you figured anything out? About . . . what your khala said?”
As usual, she hadn’t planned to tell anyone—at least, not right away. But this time, the moment she hung up with her khala,
she’d called Mel.
Riya smiled weakly. “Sort of. I . . . haven’t made a decision yet.”
Mel nodded but didn’t speak right away. She toyed with her yogurt spoon, then set it down, her fingers splayed on the table
like she needed to steady herself.
“I’ve been thinking a lot,” she said quietly. “About the whole . . . sacrifice thing.”
Riya said nothing. The cafeteria buzzed around them like a distant ocean.
Mel reached for her drink, then changed her mind. “I think I always assumed magic was easy, like in movies. That as long as
you willed it, magic could fix lives with a flick of the wrist.”
She took a breath.
“To be honest, I envied you. And I didn’t understand why you didn’t use it more. But now I finally get it. How everything,
even magic, has a cost.” She gave a small laugh. “If I were you, I’d be hiding in the supply closet right now with Mr. Ben
and Mr. Jerry.”
Riya’s throat tightened. She looked down at her untouched apple, too glossy, too perfect.
She pushed it aside.
“But,” Mel added gently, “whatever you decide—just don’t think that hurting yourself is the only way to deal with this guilt.
What you want still matters, too. It should always still matter.”
The weight of it all pressed against Riya’s chest. Sirah khala’s warning hadn’t left her since the call. The math didn’t work.
No matter how she rearranged the variables—Kian, the stars, her future—something had to be lost.
But now Mel had added a new variable.
What do you want?
“I’m glad you’re happy about the theme,” Riya said.
“I am,” Mel said, then paused. “I’m also happy about something else.”
Her face lit up again. “Andrew and I have been texting. Like, a lot.”
“Oh?”