The forest around us is dense, ancient, laden with a freezing dampness. Black pines with gnarled trunks stand like funerary sentinels, their crowns meeting overhead to form a vault that swallows the light. A fog has slithered between the trunks, skimming the ground with the slowness of a serpent, muffling sounds and erasing contours. It feels as if the forest itself is holding its breath.

-You’ll like it there, he finally says, without taking his eyes off the road.

I don’t answer. My gaze is caught by the trees, tall, packed tightly together, oppressive. I understand what he means. He won’t come back. Not tomorrow, not in a month. Never. He’s not taking me toward a new beginning; he’s disposing of me. Like shedding a burden that has grown too cumbersome.

A dry branch snaps against the window with a sharp crack. I jump. He doesn’t. He remains frozen, focused on the road, his fingers clenched on the steering wheel as if every mile that brings us closer to the university gives him a bit more air.

He’s about to erase me.

Seeing him so relieved, one would think he’s abandoning me in a place meant for dying. As if this spot, cut off from the world, will swallow me without a sound. The ghosts are growing more numerous. They line the road like forgotten statues, frozen in postures of waiting or resignation. Some whisper, others simply stand there, their silence heavier than a thousand words.

Ahead of us, a small town emerges from the fog, frozen in another century. The gray stone houses with their pointed slate roofs seem clinging to time like forgotten relics. Narrow lanes wind between the buildings, paved with worn, uneven slabs, slippery with moisture. Cast-iron lampposts, twisted by the years, cast a sickly yellow light in the middle of the day, as if the sun itself hesitated to linger here. The air is saturated with the scent of moss, peat, and wet wood, a perfume of ancient earth, never truly dry.

In the heart of the town stands an immense old oak on a circular square. Its branches, bare this season, are decorated with white ribbons, little bells, and small lanterns hanging like suspended wishes. Around it, the townspeople have gathered to celebrate Imbolc. Children run laughing between adults’ legs, wearing crowns of straw and snowdrops. Women light small candles at the base of the trunk, murmuring prayers as the wax drips onto the stone. Musicians improvise an ancient, almost Celtic melody, reminiscent of a forgotten nursery rhyme, and laughter rises in a joyful cacophony.

The atmosphere has something strangely magical—a blend of play and ritual, light and shadow. It’s as if the entire village dances on the edge of an invisible world, one foot in winter, the other already reaching toward spring.

It’s grim, yes. Stifling, even. But, against all odds, I feel… in my place. As if this forgotten setting were built around me, for me.

We drove slowly through the town until a large wrought-iron gate loomed out of the shadows. The black letters, eaten away by rust, spelled out the university’s name. The gate’s dull creak as it opened sounded like a groan, and we entered the grounds along an avenue lined with gnarled trees. Their branches intertwined overhead, forming an almost supernatural vault, like a jaw ready to snap shut.

My father circled a large fountain, whose stagnant water reflected a gray sky, flat and endless, then stopped the car in front of the main entrance of the building.

Two people were waiting for us.

The man, clearly in his fifties, had a hard, chiseled face softened by a calm, almost paternal smile. He wore a long dark wool coat and carried a cane in a confident grip, more as a scepter than a walking aid.

Beside him, a woman of regal bearing inspected the car with a controlled attention. She seemed to have stepped out of another era: her hair was swept into a flawless chignon, her posture upright in a tailored jacket. Black gloves covered her slender hands, and her green eyes, piercing like shards of polished glass, let nothing pass. An aura of calm, almost icy authority emanated from her.

After my father turned off the engine, we got out of the car. Without a second’s hesitation, he rushed to retrieve my luggage from the trunk. I stood there, speechless, struck by the majesty of the building before me.

The university looked like a castle plucked straight from an old tale. Its gray stone towers rose proudly into the overcast sky, framed by a façade adorned with gargoyles, stained-glass windows, and climbing ivy. A light mist floated around the structure, giving it an unreal, almost sacred air. I could already picture the stunning photos I would take, and the very thought made my heart race with excitement.

The man and the woman approached us, smiling, and extended their hands.

-Hello, I am the university’s director, Mr. MacArthur, the man said in a deep but warm voice. And this is Mrs. Elgin, my secretary. She will accompany you from here on.

-My name is Niahm Mallory Larkin.

-Welcome to Cuillin Hills University.

I shook their hands one after the other, a bit nervous but curious. Then, as I turned, I expected to see my father approach… but to my great surprise, he was already back in the car. Without a word, without a glance.

The engine roared, and he sped off toward the university exit at full throttle.

I remained motionless.

I knew he was almost relieved to abandon me here, but I thought at least he would pretend otherwise. That he would wait a bit. That he would say goodbye to me.

Seeing the car fade into the distance, my heart clenched painfully. A dull sadness welled up inside me, heavy, almost shameful.

I turned back to them, searching for an excuse to justify my father’s hasty departure. 

-He probably had to be back before night… He must take care of my little brother. I whispered—more to convince myself than to explain anything to them.

The director nodded with a sympathetic smile. 

-Do not worry, miss. Your father has already taken care of all the administrative formalities. And as for your luggage, we have arranged for someone to bring it up to your room. You needn’t concern yourself with anything.

The secretary added gently, 

-If you wish, I can show you around the school. It will help you find your way before the other students arrive.

I nodded in agreement. My gaze wandered for a moment over the buildings standing before me.

The university had all the characteristics of an old boarding school. The main building housed the classrooms, but there was also a large dining hall with colored-glass windows, several common rooms with aged but cozy furniture, and corridors lined with dark wooden doors engraved with numbers. It looked like a blend of an old manor and an elite boarding school lost in the mist.

As we walked, the secretary gave me a few pointers:

-Meals are served at fixed times: 6 a.m. for breakfast, 12 p.m. for lunch, and 7 p.m. for dinner. Curfew is at 10 p.m., but it is forbidden to leave the dormitory after 8 p.m. Classes don’t begin for another week, so there are very few students here at the moment. You can take advantage of this to walk around the campus and get your bearings. But above all, never go into the forest at night. And even during the day, stay on the path. It’s very easy to get lost there.

I nodded, paying attention, but my gaze was drawn elsewhere.

Ghosts. They were everywhere, even here. But I had to admit they were far fewer than the ones haunting the small town we had just passed through. Some seemed rather.playful, even. An old man sat on an empty bench reading an invisible newspaper, and a woman knitted with needles that passed through the air.

I hesitated for a moment, then asked a question: “Will the fact that I wear gloves. be a problem?”

The secretary smiled at me softly.

-Your father has already informed us of your condition. As long as you wear the required uniform during class hours, you are free to wear more casual clothes outside. Gloves are therefore perfectly acceptable.

I lowered my eyes to my gloved hands and sighed. A medical condition, huh? I had never known if one could truly call it that. It felt more like a curse.

We were now heading toward another building, more secluded.

-Each department has its own dormitory,” she explained.”This one is dedicated to Arts and Architecture. This is where you will be housed.”

Inside was silent. A long corridor opened before us, lined with old portraits whose eyes seemed a bit too alive for my taste. The walls were painted in dark green hues, and the wooden stairs creaked under our feet as we slowly climbed the floors.

Reaching the fifth floor, we walked down a brighter corridor, illuminated by light filtering through small lancet windows. The secretary stopped in front of a massive wooden door, a deep brown. A metal number was engraved on it, accompanied by a small crest representing our department.

-Here is your room,”she said, handing me a key, its metal cold against my gloved fingers.”Take your time settling in. Dinner will be served at 7 p.m. If you need anything, you can come see me at reception.”

I took the key in my gloved hand, still a little shaken by everything I had just discovered.

I watched the secretary walk away. Once she vanished down the stairs, I turned toward my bedroom door. I pushed the key into the lock. In that brief moment, a wave of cold swept through me.

A bitter chill ran down my spine. The air seemed to grow heavier, as though something invisible were holding its breath. Shadows on the walls appeared to stretch, and a dull pressure throbbed in my temples. It was the kind of stifling silence that comes just before a manifestation… Evil spirits often revealed themselves that way: a sudden cold, a heaviness in the air, and an eerie absence of sound.

My heart pounding wildly, I whirled around. But there was nothing. Everything was calm. Too calm.

I shook my head, trying to banish the dread. It’s nothing. Just fatigue… and all the emotions of the day. I opened the door.

Inside, my luggage was placed at the foot of the bed, as promised. A large window, slightly ajar, looked out onto the forest bordering the school. The room was simple but pleasant: a single bed with white sheets, a wooden desk, a wardrobe, and an empty shelf ready to hold my things.

I closed the door behind me and walked over to the window. I opened it a bit wider and stuck my head outside. The air was cool, slightly damp, carrying the scent of moss, bark, and leaves. The smell of the forest comforted me in a strange way.

I closed my eyes for a few seconds, silently hoping that this new life would be better than the last.

I got moving again, slowly unpacking my things. As I put my clothes away in the wardrobe, a soft meow drew my attention.

I turned around, a smile on my lips.

-Luna… you took your time appearing.

On the edge of the bed, there she was.

Luna. My guardian angel… or rather, my guardian cat.

She looked like a black cat with dense, glossy fur—but two tiny deer-like horns sprouted from her forehead. Her eyes, a deep violet, seemed to hold fragments of stars.

And as far back as I could remember, she had always been by my side. She drove away the most dangerous spirits, watching over me without rest.

I was the only one who could see her in her true form. To everyone else, she appeared simply as an ordinary black cat… when she chose to reveal herself at all.

I sat on the bed, and Luna immediately curled up on my lap. I gently stroked her head.

I removed my glasses and my gloves.

I didn’t need glasses to see, but I had to wear them to mitigate my abilities… and above all to hide my eyes. My heterochromia drew too much attention. My left eye was golden, while the right was exactly the same shade of violet as Luna’s eyes. When people saw me without my glasses, they got frightened. Some would run away without even trying to understand.

Recalling all those frightened looks, those whispers, those hurried footsteps fading into the distance, tears welled up in my eyes.

“Meow.”

Luna looked up at me, her head tilted slightly, as if trying to comfort me.

-It’s okay, Luna… I’m fine,” I lied softly.” How about we go for a walk?”

I put my glasses back on, then carefully slipped my gloves back on. The cold leather molded around my fingers, a constant reminder of what I had to hide.

I left the room, Luna padding silently at my heels like a shadow. The corridor was deserted. Only our breathing broke the silence. The floorboards creaked lightly under my steps, and the portraits hanging on the walls seemed to watch me as I passed. There was a strange atmosphere in the building, somewhere between ancient majesty and something… frozen.

I descended the stairs and stepped through the dormitory doors. Outside, the golden light of evening bathed the courtyard. A few leaves, browned by autumn, drifted in the air, and a gentle breeze made the tree branches sway. Everything was calm. Almost too calm.

I headed toward the path the secretary had shown me earlier. It ran along the forest’s edge, marked by old stone lanterns covered in moss. Luna walked calmly at my side, her tail held high, her ears alert.

I knew I wasn’t allowed to venture into the forest, especially at night, but part of me burned with the desire to go closer. As if something out there was calling to me.

A rustle. A crack. I stopped dead. My gaze fixed between the trees.

Someone… or something, had just appeared briefly among the trunks.