Chapter 7:

I'm Tired, Let's Get This Over With

Haunted, Hexed, and Probably Expelled


The morning began with dramatic mist and the kind of atmospheric tension that made even the gargoyles sigh.

Nocturne Academy was unusually still, if you ignored the banshee choir rehearsing behind the library and Kevin the ooze serenading the courtyard with jazz from a trumpet he definitely stole. Birds were conspicuously absent, presumably eaten by the fog or emotionally overwhelmed. The sky loomed overhead, the color of unresolved confessions, with a 100% chance of repressed feelings by noon.

Ira stalked across campus like a woman on a mission. Her boots struck the ground like a warning. Her coat billowed with spite. Her hair was pulled back so tightly it looked like it was ready to snap at any moment. She wore black, always did, but today, it felt like mourning. Or preparation. Or both.

She found Nilo already waiting beneath the third-most-haunted tree on campus. He was clutching his bag like it could ward off fate. His ghostly edges flickered in the breeze, a faint, nervous shimmer like someone buffering during a breakup.

"Hey," he said weakly.

"Where is it?" Ira asked.

He blinked. "Uh. What is 'it'?"

"The doll, Nilo."

Nilo froze like a cursed popsicle. Slowly, very carefully, he opened his bag and produced the doll with all the reverence of someone revealing dark secrets to the principal. The doll stared smugly back with its button eyes and stitched grin. It radiated the chaotic confidence of an ex who knows they're still in your dreams.

"It wasn’t on purpose," Nilo blurted. "I didn’t mean to keep it. It just... lingered. Like mold. Or complicated feelings."

Ira’s jaw tightened. Her eyes flicked between Nilo and the doll. Her hand twitched again, and this time it was clearly emotional resonance, not rage. Probably.

"It’s mine."

"Technically, yes. But also, maybe it’s... emotionally cursed. Not dangerous-cursed. Just... you know, inconvenient."

"You’re cursed," she snapped.

"I know," he said, looking slightly embarrassed. "And I think that’s why it works. Because I like you. And the doll knows. And now you know. And I’ve said too much, haven’t I?"

There it was, the confession. Raw. Unedited. Launched into the world like a very cursed homing spell.

Ira blinked. Once. Then twice.

"I was trying not to like you," she muttered.

"Because I’m- "

"- a ghost, yes. And also someone who phases through furniture. That’s not a solid foundation for anything."

"Love is immaterial," Nilo shrugged. "So am I. See? Compatibility."

She almost smiled. Almost. But then looked at the doll, which somehow managed to radiate more smugness than a stitched object should.

She stepped forward. The scent of lavender and mild stress wafted off the doll like perfume. Close now, they were just two people standing in a fog-drenched courtyard, surrounded by suppressed feelings and one very invested ooze.

"Fine," she said. "I like you too. Just- don’t poke me again."

"No promises."

From behind a hydrangea bush, Vess gasped dramatically.

"They’re so doomed," she whispered.

Kiki sniffled into her skeletal sleeve. "This is the most romance we’ve had all semester."

Rommer barked with joy. "Finally. I was this close to poking the doll myself just to speed things up."

Ellian raised his quill and recited:

"Thou cursed pair, so doomed and fond, In love entangled, stitched and bond."

The doll gave a final wriggle in Nilo’s hand, like it had done its job. Ira snatched it and yeeted it into the mist.

"No more magical shenanigans."

It landed in Kevin with a moist plop. The ooze slurped it up like a romantic finale.

The fog shifted. The banshees harmonized on cue. Blanche the sentient candle blinked twice and muttered, "About time."

The weight hanging over Nocturne Academy seemed to lift. A few birds returned. The cursed vending machine glowed contentedly. The spell of subplot tension cracked and crumbled like stale cookies.

And in the weird, cursed stillness of the courtyard, Ira and Nilo stood awkwardly together. He flickered faintly. She scowled less than usual. Hope, against all odds, bloomed.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was real.

Epilogue-ish

That night, under three ghost-lit moons, Kevin belched.

Out came the doll.

It blinked.

Blanche whispered from a nearby windowsill, "Round two?"

The doll smirked.

Somewhere in the distance, Vess cackled like a woman with too much free time and too many schemes.

End. I'm tired.

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