Mistress of the Clock

The school halls smelled faintly of chalk dust and overworked air filters, but Diana—my mistress, my posh tormentor, my absolute favorite human—walked through them as though they were a fog-draped cathedral. Black blazer unbuttoned with my black dress shirt, leather skirt clicking with each heel strike and of course my natural routine of usual dark makeup, dangling spider earrings swaying like pendulums of judgment. Students dared to glance at her too long, and she returned their attention with a look so sharp it could split stone.

I, of course, did not accompany her. That would be chaos incarnate. My surgical mask and gloves render me invisible in the outside world anyway, and the very thought of stepping into the teeming sea of germs and idle chatter made my hypertension spike just reading the schedule for the day. But over Discord, distance was irrelevant.

“Off the clock, Beckett,” she typed, accompanied by a puff of smoke emoji for emphasis. “The teacher isn’t here. Just me.”

I leaned back in my chair, feet resting on the cluttered table strewn with dark chocolate wrappers and half-drunk iced herbal tea. My laptop pinged. The twins, Peresphone and Hades, had already joined the call. Their little gothic avatars blinked stoically at the screen. Peresphone in her black lolita dress, arms crossed, Hades in casual goth with a tiny chain dangling from his digital belt, both eyeing me as if I were failing some invisible test.

Diana: Just “confiscated” the twins’ homework. Hades drew literal bats on every page.
Beckett: You encourage this.
Diana: Encourage? No, I merely facilitate… chaos in a controlled environment.

Her staff lounge came alive through our chat. I imagined the delicate curl of smoke from her cigarette as she leaned back in her chair, tapping at her laptop with one perfectly manicured hand while the other held the filtered cigarette at a jaunty angle. The way she moved, even in imagination, made me think of a queen surveying her realm—unruffled, commanding, entirely in control.

Diana: Malcolm wants to know if he can finish Eternal Nightfall before bedtime. Should I allow this?
Beckett: Only if you’re prepared to answer questions for the next three hours.
Diana: Perfect. That’s what I like. I love being your pain in the ass.

She laughed, a quiet, elegant thing that always made me relax despite myself. The sound mixed with the faint hiss of her cigarette, the click of her heels in my imagination, and I could almost see her curl a strand of hair around a finger in her favorite way. She had been my caretaker, my friend, my mistress, for as long as I could remember. Even now, she had this uncanny ability to make the chaos of life seem perfectly orchestrated.

Diana: How are you, Tall Dark Handsome Prince? Did the twins eat all the chocolate?

Of course, they had. Peresphone and Hades had nibbled on the stash I’d meant to ration for the week, all under Diana’s amused supervision. My wife’s eyes softened as she typed, and I felt a warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with caffeine.

Beckett: They’ve already learned that no chocolate is safe in this house.
Diana: And still they’re adorable.

Her fingers hovered over the laptop for a moment, then she opened a folder labeled Secret Hobbies. Gothic sketches, creepy doll designs, and a partially written visual novel about vampires in Victorian London stared back at her. I could imagine her meticulously shading the sketches, smoke curling upward in perfect little spirals, occasionally muttering archaic words under her breath.

Diana: Also bribed Mira to help me with the twins’ fashion sketches. She’s secretly enjoying herself.

Even in her haughty, posh teacher mode, Diana found ways to involve the family. It was one of her little gifts: making everyone part of her world without ever being overbearing.

Beckett: I approve. But don’t let the twins know. They’d start demanding monthly critiques.
Diana: Then they’ll have to settle for mine.

She blew a final ring of smoke and closed her laptop, standing like a queen reclaiming her throne. I could picture her perfectly: glasses perched on her nose, blazer sleeves rolled back just slightly, dark red lipstick perfectly applied against pale skin, eyes glowing with mischief and satisfaction.

Diana: Off the clock now, Prince. Come meet me at the manor, or the twins get detention.
Beckett: I’ll be there. And I’ll bring dark chocolate.

I logged off Discord and stretched, the small smile hidden behind my surgical mask as I prepared to leave. Another day survived in the human world, another day perfected in our gothic paradise. And somehow, as always, the rest of the world didn’t even notice our perfection.