The Glyph
Boscha blinked - genuinely confused for the first time in a while.
Amity was standing over her; a spectre of some incoming reckoning, she was sure.
Sometimes… Boscha was almost afraid of Amity. Those days when her best friend instead seemed like some… harbinger of destruction. Those days when her magic seemed, not like some simple A+ grade or bit of homework, but instead a stirring gorenado of chaos and power. Those days when Amity’s eyes bubbled with so much strength that even Boscha was impressed.
Today, clearly, was one of those days.
Amity’s hands were folded primly behind her back. Her eyes glistened a special shade of yellow, that was like honey - the last taste of it before the incoming sting.
“Amity,” Boscha bit out, setting down the quill that she’d been taking notes with and focusing all her attention on the ice queen.
Amity’s lip curled. “Boscha. Would you follow me?”
“Of course,” Boscha said, standing and sticking her hands in her pockets.
She still remembered when Amity put her hands in her pockets, too. Until, one day, when Amity was fifteen, she’d just… stopped. And instead, started folding her hands behind her back.
It certainly made for a more impressive facade.
Amity simply jerked her head towards the door - and started walking off.
Boscha followed her, with a lot less tension in her posture - despite the fact that she was probably about ten times more tense than Amity.
“I need your help.”
Boscha blinked.
And then, grinned savagely. “With what?”
“I’m going to destroy the school,” Amity said, as if it were self-evident. “I need a power glyph from the Construction Coven, and, once you get that, your wand. And you’ll need to take the fall for the crime.”
Boscha didn’t even blink. “A power glyph? The Covention is a few months away. Hm.”
Amity nodded - and, gently, laid a hand on Boscha’s shoulder. “I’m trusting you to manage this somehow, Boscha. Don’t let me down.”
Boscha, for a moment, was uncharacteristically quiet. Her three eyes glittered, and stared up at Amity - clouded with some emotion hidden behind walls of steel.
And then, she grinned another feral grin. “I’ll get you that glyph.”
Amity, after a moment - offered her an oh-so-rare soft, approving smile. “Good.”
With that, she left again.
Boscha still - barely - remembered what it had been like, right after Amity beat Grometheus.
The way that floor had opened. Seeing Amity wield a blade like it was second nature. The way she had meshed sword fighting with magic. The way she had dodged and weaved between Grom’s attacks, managing to avoid letting the thing scan her brain - for most of the fight, anyway.
Her fear - which Boscha still didn’t really understand. Amity wasn’t afraid of mirrors, as far as Boscha knew, and the reflection hadn’t been that horrifying.
But, whatever it meant - it had clearly confused, and terrified, Amity.
She’d gotten past it, though, and muscled through the rest of the fight.
And, most of all - Boscha remembered what she had looked like when she climbed those stairs again, after winning the fight. Back onto the dance floor.
Her torn, burnt dress revealing patches of pale, smooth skin. The flames that crawled across the stone floor behind her. The black-stained sword held loosely in one hand, and eyes bubbling with danger.
That was when Boscha realized what Amity Blight was.
She wasn’t just a queen. She wasn’t just a bully. She wasn’t just a top student.
She was a goddess. A fledgling one, granted - but a goddess nonetheless. A spectre of ice and brimstone. A reaper of black and cyan.
She didn’t have power. She was power.
And that revelation was as scary as it was intoxicating.
That was when Boscha had stopped hating Amity, a little - and, instead, all that loathing and envy became admiration.
Her fist curled.
She didn’t know how quite yet - but she was getting that glyph.
“Cat. Skara.”
Cat jumped like Boscha had put a live wire to her. Skara just whipped around sharply, with a quiet gasp.
“Boscha!” Skara said, angling for a smile. Cat didn’t even try to fake happiness, and instead leveled a thinly-veiled glare at her.
Boscha gave them her usual feral grin. “Where’s Amelia?”
“She, uh, lagged behind,” Skara said, smile wavering dangerously.
“You two wouldn’t happen to know where Mattholomule is?”
“The psycho kid who runs the Human Appreciation Society?” Cat deadpanned. “Why, yes, I’ve been stalking him. He should be at his locker at the moment.”
It was clear, after a moment, that neither Boscha nor Skara knew if Cat was joking.
Cat rolled her eyes. “It’s a logical deduction to make, but no, I haven’t actually been stalking him. He’s locker number 202.
“...How do you know his locker number?”
“I know everyone’s locker numbers,” Cat said.
Once again, the resounding silence that followed this made it clear that they weren’t sure if Cat was joking.
“Oh, c’mon,” she muttered. “...He’s just a few down from me. I couldn’t help but notice.”
“Thanks,” Boscha said, with one last wide, unhinged grin.
Skara sighed as she left.
“Oh, be quiet,” Cat said, walking towards their next class with the clear expectation of Skara following her. “You need to get over that, Skara.”
“I caaaaan’t,” Skara whined, flopping over Cat’s shoulder dramatically. “She’s just so prettyyyyyyyy.”
“She’s really not all that good-looking,” Cat said. “Her smiles are creepy.”
“Why does she smile so much at you?” Skara demanded, giving Cat a faux glare.
“Because she knows it annoys me,” Cat said, scowling off into nothing. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to take her from you. Not interested. Plus, nobody would…”
“Would what?” Skara said.
The suddens shift in tone to something genuine contrasted heavily with the way that Skara was still draped over one of Cat’s shoulders.
“...Would be attracted to me,” Cat finished. Her voice wasn’t filled with self loathing, or malice - it was just… dead. Like it was a fact of life that nobody could be attracted to her.
“What?” Skara spit - and gave her a genuinely shocked look. “You’re attractive, Cat!”
“Oh?” Cat hummed - and turned to her. “Are you attracted to me?”
Skara flushed red. “W-well, uh-”
“That’s what I thought,” Cat said, turning away from her again. “I’m simply not attractive. It’s fine. I don’t need to be - it’s literally the least important thing in the Boiling Isles to me.”
“...You didn’t let me answer,” Skara said.
Cat blinked.
“You don’t think I said yes to your Grom invite just because you’re one of my best friends, did you?” Skara said - and gave Cat a soft smile. “I think you’re cute, Cat.”
“...Oh. Well. Thank you,” Cat said. “But I think you’re part of the very small minority. Point was, Boscha just enjoys… ‘pushing my buttons,’ for desperate want of a better phrase.”
“...What do you think she wanted Mattholomule for?”
Cat considered the question for a long moment.
“...I have no idea,” she said, eventually.
“I just hope she cleans up any mess she makes.”