Chapter 2
The day’s classes had finally come to an end, and the soft hum of departing students echoed through Blackwood’s grand hallways. Claudia slipped her phone into her bag, ignoring the few lingering stares as she made her way toward the Shadowlight Theater. Santiago’s casual invitation lingered in her mind, though she knew it was less an invitation and more of a test.
The Shadowlight Theater stood at the edge of campus, its gothic architecture imposing against the fading daylight. Intricate stone carvings framed the double doors, which were painted a deep raven black, polished to a sheen. As Claudia approached, the faint murmur of voices carried through the heavy wood, mingled with the occasional burst of laughter. She pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The theater was breathtaking. Velvet curtains, rich and crimson, draped from the stage to the ceiling, casting a warm glow against the dark wood paneling. Rows of plush seats filled the main space, but her attention was drawn to the stage, where a group of students were gathered. They moved with a mix of ease and precision, arranging props, adjusting lights, and flipping through scripts. The hum of activity suggested both preparation and camaraderie.
Santiago noticed her immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing before he waved her over. “Ah, Claudia. Welcome to our little domain,” he said, his voice smooth, a touch theatrical. His smile was calculated but polite. “Come, let me introduce you.”
Claudia followed Santiago to the group clustered at the edge of the stage. Gabrielle was perched on a stack of crates, her sharp, angular features softened by a faint smile as she flipped through a script. Armand stood beside her, his posture as commanding as ever, though his gaze flicked to Claudia with a glint of curiosity. A mix of students, some sitting and others moving props, filled the space, their chatter slowing as Santiago approached with Claudia in tow.
“Everyone, this is Claudia,” Santiago announced, his voice carrying effortlessly across the stage. “She’s interested in joining the Velvet Ravens, so let’s make her feel welcome... or at least pretend we’re friendly for five minutes.”
A ripple of laughter passed through the group as Santiago began pointing out members. “You’ve already met me, obviously. The highlight of this crowd. And I think you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Armand and Gabrielle.” He gestured to the two seniors, both of whom inclined their heads slightly, their expressions unreadable but attentive.
Santiago pointed to a tall girl with an easy smile, her auburn curls bouncing as she shifted to face Claudia. “That’s Celeste,” he said. “She’s our resident set designer and occasionally steps in for supporting roles when we’re desperate.”
“Desperate?” Celeste shot back, raising an eyebrow. “I practically saved the last production.”
“Sure you did,” Santiago quipped, before nodding toward a petite girl with striking blue eyes and a shy smile. “Next, we have Estelle. Costume genius. If you ever want to look like a Victorian noble or a Shakespearean ghost, she’s your girl.”
Estelle gave Claudia a small wave, her voice soft as she said, “Nice to meet you. I’ll be the one fixing your hems.”
“Moving on,” Santiago continued, motioning to a tall, wiry boy with unruly black hair and sharp features. “That’s Gustave. He’s usually too busy brooding in the corner to say much, but he’s one hell of an actor when he gets on stage.”
Gustave glanced up briefly, offering a slight nod before returning to whatever he was sketching in the notebook balanced on his knee.
“And over there,” Santiago said, gesturing to a laid-back, broad-shouldered boy adjusting the lights, “is Sam Barclay. He’s our lighting wizard and occasional sound guy.”
Sam gave a thumbs-up without looking away from his work. “If you can’t see or hear someone, it’s probably my fault.”
“Quang and Tuan Pham,” Santiago said, motioning to identical twins sitting cross-legged by a stack of props. “Don’t even try to tell them apart. They’ll switch places just to mess with you.”
“We’ll tell you eventually,” Quang said with a mischievous grin. “But only if you pass initiation.”
Tuan smirked, adding, “Don’t worry. It’s not that bad.”
Santiago’s hand shifted toward a tall girl lounging in one of the theater seats, her long legs draped over the armrest. Her jet-black hair was cut bluntly at her shoulders, and a single streak of violet framed her face. She had a languid confidence, her dark eyes tracking Claudia’s every move. “That’s Vivienne,” Santiago said. “She’s our stage manager, and trust me, you don’t want to cross her.”
Vivienne’s lips curled into a lazy smirk. “I’m nice until I’m not. Stick to your cues, and we’ll get along fine.”
“Behind Vivienne,” Santiago continued, nodding toward a boy perched on a stepladder adjusting a hanging lantern, “is Julian. He’s a junior like you. Does lights, builds sets, occasionally acts when he’s in the mood.”
Julian looked down, giving Claudia a two-finger salute. “Just don’t ask me to sing,” he said. “Unless you want the audience to run screaming.”
“And over there,” Santiago said, pointing toward a younger-looking girl sitting quietly near the back of the stage, “is Anya. She’s a sophomore and works backstage for now, but she’s got potential. Estelle’s been showing her the ropes on costumes.”
Anya glanced up briefly, offering a small wave before turning back to the sewing machine she was threading. “Hi,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the hum of activity.
Claudia’s eyes landed on a tall, wiry boy standing near the piano, absently running his fingers over the keys. He wore round glasses that kept sliding down his nose, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal ink stains on his hands. Santiago followed her gaze and grinned. “That’s Eli. Musical prodigy, if you believe him, and self-proclaimed poetry expert.”
Eli glanced over, pushing his glasses up. “I don’t proclaim anything,” he said dryly, his tone suggesting he was very used to Santiago’s teasing. “I simply let my work speak for itself.”
“And, of course, Madeleine.” Santiago nodded toward a girl near the edge of the stage, adjusting a piece of fabric on a mannequin. Claudia’s gaze lingered on her, taking in the soft curls framing her face and the calm focus in her movements. Madeleine glanced up, her hazel eyes meeting Claudia’s briefly before offering a warm smile.
“It’s nice to finally meet you,” Madeleine said. “I’ve heard a lot about you today.”
“Mostly lies, I’m sure,” Claudia replied smoothly, her tone playful.
“Likely,” Madeleine teased back.
Santiago clapped his hands together. “Right, right,” he said, dismissing them all with a wave. “Anyway, Claudia, those are the key players. You’ll see a few others pop in and out—some legacy kids who think they can coast on their last names and a couple of sophomores trying to work their way up. But if you’re serious about joining, these are the people you’ll spend most of your time with.”
Gabrielle leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Are you serious, though? Joining the Velvet Ravens isn’t just showing up and learning lines. It’s time, commitment, and money.”
“Lots of money,” Celeste added, her tone deadpan.
“How much, exactly?” Claudia asked, her voice calm but curious.
“Basic membership costs range from $2,650 to $4,650 annually,” Gabrielle explained, her tone matter-of-fact. “That covers access to the theater, workshops, and most materials. But costumes, makeup kits, and event fees are extra. Big roles can cost more, depending on how elaborate the production is.”
Santiago grinned. “So, what she’s saying is, if you’re serious, you’re investing. But don’t worry—it’s worth it. Besides, having some ‘street credit’ helps. Have you been in any productions before?”
Claudia smiled faintly, her eyes scanning the group. “A few,” she said vaguely, letting the mystery hang in the air. “But I’d rather let my performance speak for itself.”
“That’s the spirit,” Gabrielle said, her voice smooth. “We’ll see soon enough if you can keep up.”
Claudia met her gaze steadily. “I have no intention of keeping up,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “I plan to stand out.”
The group murmured appreciatively, some with amusement, others with intrigue. Santiago chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, you’ve definitely got the attitude for it. Let’s see if you’ve got the talent.”
Santiago’s voice got serious. “Now, Claudia, I hate to break it to you, but joining the Velvet Ravens isn’t as simple as showing up and looking good.” He gave her a cheeky grin, though the challenge in his voice was clear. “We need to see what you’ve got. Everyone who wants in has to prove themselves. It’s tradition.”
Claudia arched an eyebrow, her expression calm. “And how do I do that?”
Gabrielle smirked, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the stage crates. “You perform. Right here, right now. Your choice—monologue, song, or dance. Something that tells us you’re not here to waste our time.”
The group shifted, a few murmurs of interest rippling through the crowd. Armand’s gaze sharpened, his arms folded as he regarded Claudia with a faint but unmistakable air of expectation. “You’ve already set a high bar in French Literature,” he said, his tone measured but firm. “Let’s see if you can meet it here.”
Santiago added with a smirk. “Spotlight’s yours.”
Claudia’s gaze swept across the group, catching their mingled anticipation and skepticism. Her lips curved into a faint smile, her calm demeanor unshaken. “All right,” she said smoothly, stepping onto the stage. “I’ll sing.”
The group exchanged murmurs, intrigued but cautious. Armand’s gaze narrowed slightly, his arms crossed. “Let’s hope it’s worth listening to,” he remarked, his tone clipped but carrying an undertone of curiosity.
Claudia ignored the comment, letting the stage light catch the sheen of her curls as she positioned herself at the center. She closed her eyes briefly, drawing in a steadying breath, and then began to sing—not in English or French, but in an ancient, lilting melody.
The room fell silent as her voice wove through the air, ethereal and haunting. The song was in an old Occitan dialect, a troubadour piece from the Middle Ages. Her voice was a blend of strength and fragility, carrying the weight of a story centuries old. The words, incomprehensible to most in the room, still conveyed a deep sense of longing and beauty, as though she were drawing the audience into another time entirely.
As her voice rose and fell, the group sat transfixed. The richness of her tone, the perfect pitch, and the sheer depth of emotion in the song transcended the need for understanding. It was raw and visceral, a performance that didn’t just impress—it commanded.
“Ab joi mou lo doç chans,
E cors benigna dins amor,
Que·l sol pot dar doussor.”( English Translation:
"With joy, I shape the sweet song,
And a heart made kind within love,
That alone can bring sweetness.")
By the time she finished, the theater was utterly still. Claudia opened her eyes slowly, letting the moment linger before stepping back into the present. Her expression betrayed nothing, though the faint curve of her lips suggested she knew exactly the impact she’d made.
Gabrielle was the first to break the silence. “What... was that?” she asked, her voice quiet, almost reverent.
“An old song,” Claudia replied simply. “I thought it fit the mood.”
“That wasn’t just a song,” Vivienne said, her dark eyes narrowing as she studied Claudia. “That was... something else.”
Santiago let out a low whistle, his grin widening. “Well, you’ve got my vote. That was insane.”
Even Armand seemed momentarily at a loss for words, though he quickly composed himself. “Impressive,” he said finally, his tone measured. “You’ve clearly had training.”
Claudia met his gaze evenly. “A little,” she said, her voice smooth.
Gabrielle shook her head, still staring at her. “If that’s what you can pull off on the spot, I can’t imagine what you’ll do with preparation.”
Santiago clapped his hands again, breaking the tension. “All right, then. Welcome to the Velvet Ravens—provisionally. You’ll need to keep that up if you want to stick around.”
Claudia stepped down from the stage, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “I think I’ll manage,” she said lightly.
As the group began to disperse, whispers buzzed through the air, and Claudia caught fragments of their awe-struck conversations. She’d made her mark—unmistakably so—and the subtle undercurrent of intrigue surrounding her was only just beginning.
As the cool evening breeze brushed past, Claudia stepped into the parking lot, her steps light but purposeful. Pulling out her phone, she saw several missed calls from Louis and one text from Lestat:
“Call him before he bursts a blood vessel. But no rush. He’s pacing. It’s funny.”
Claudia chuckled softly, shaking her head. She tucked the phone into her bag. Her gaze shifted across the lot, landing on a familiar figure walking toward the main road—Madeleine, her curls bouncing as she adjusted her jacket.
“Madeleine,” Claudia called out, her voice cutting through the quiet.
Madeleine turned, her hazel eyes lighting up when she saw Claudia. “Oh, hey! Heading home?”
“Yeah,” Claudia said, gesturing toward her car. “Do you need a ride? It’s getting late.”
Madeleine hesitated for a moment, glancing down the road before nodding. “Are you sure? I live a bit out of the way.”
“It’s no trouble,” Claudia said smoothly, unlocking her sleek, aubergine mustang. “Hop in.”
Madeleine approached, her fingers brushing the car’s polished surface. “This is yours? It’s gorgeous.”
Claudia shrugged lightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “I like to take care of it.”
Sliding into the passenger seat, Madeleine glanced around at the pristine interior. “It’s like stepping into a time capsule. You’ve got great taste.”
Claudia slipped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with a low, rumbling purr. As they pulled out of the lot, Madeleine shifted slightly, turning toward Claudia. “Oh, and call me Maddy. Everyone does.”
Claudia glanced at her briefly, her smile softening. “Maddy it is.”
Maddy began giving her directions, occasionally pointing out landmarks as they drove through the winding streets of San Francisco. As they neared her neighborhood, the conversation turned more personal.
“So,” Maddy began, her voice light with curiosity, “how’d you end up at Blackwood? You don’t exactly seem like the type to transfer out of nowhere.”
Claudia smirked faintly. “My fathers wanted a change of pace. One of them is an artist, and the other plays in a semi-professional band. San Francisco has its charms for both of them.”
Maddy’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “That’s cool. What kind of art does your dad do?”
“Black-and-white photography,” Claudia said, her tone softening. “He’s into people—capturing their emotions, their vulnerabilities. His work’s raw, but there’s something beautiful about it. He uses old film cameras and develops everything himself.”
“Wow,” Maddy said, clearly impressed. “That sounds amazing. Do you ever help him?”
“Sometimes,” Claudia admitted with a small smile. “His darkroom is like stepping into another world—quiet, focused. It’s kind of therapeutic, in a way.”
“And the band?” Maddy pressed.
“Rock, mostly. They play at local venues when they’re not arguing over setlists,” Claudia replied, a small laugh escaping her. “It’s entertaining.”
Maddy smiled. “They sound fun. What’s it like, living with two artists?”
“Chaotic,” Claudia admitted with a grin. “But in a good way. It’s never boring, that’s for sure.”
Claudia glanced at Maddy as they hit a red light. “What about you? Do you live with both your parents?”
Maddy nodded. “Yeah. I’m an only child, so it’s just the three of us. I was adopted when I was a baby. My mom’s a chef, and my dad works in finance. They’re total opposites, but it works somehow.”
“A chef? That sounds amazing,” Claudia said, genuinely intrigued. “Does she cook for you all the time?”
“Too much,” Maddy replied with a laugh. “She’s always experimenting with recipes, so there’s never a dull meal. But I can’t complain—her cooking’s incredible.”
Claudia smiled. “That sounds like a lot of love. Being adopted must’ve brought something really special to your family dynamic.” Her tone was warm, free of any overanalysis. After a beat, she added lightly, “I know how that can be. My fathers took me in when I was young. They gave me everything I needed—and then some.”
Maddy’s expression softened, her curiosity flickering. “Really? That’s... nice to hear. Sometimes it feels like no one else really gets what it’s like.”
Claudia’s smile widened slightly. “Families come together in all kinds of ways, but that doesn’t make them any less real.”
“And your dad?” Claudia asked.
Maddy shrugged lightly. “He’s the practical one. Keeps us grounded. He doesn’t understand half the stuff I’m into, but he tries. It’s sweet.”
Claudia smiled, the ease of their conversation settling over her. “You seem close with them.”
“Yeah, I guess I got lucky,” Maddy said softly. After a beat, she added, “What about your dads? Are they super protective?”
Claudia chuckled, thinking of Louis’s constant texts and Lestat’s amused messages. “One is... extremely protective. The other pretends not to be but checks in just as much. They’re a good balance.”
Maddy laughed, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Sounds like they adore you.”
Claudia glanced at her as they turned onto Maddy’s street. “I think they’d say the same about you if they met you.”
Maddy’s cheeks flushed slightly, though she played it off with a small laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Claudia slowed the car, pulling up to the curb in front of Maddy’s house. “Here we are,” she said.
Maddy turned to her, her smile warm. “Thanks for the ride, Claudia. I owe you one.”
“Don’t mention it,” Claudia replied, her tone light but sincere. “See you tomorrow?”
“Definitely,” Maddy said as she opened the door. She hesitated for a moment, then added, “You’re... different. In a good way. I’m glad you’re at Blackwood.”
Claudia’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I’m glad I’m here, too.”
Maddy stepped out, closing the door softly behind her. Claudia watched her walk up the driveway, a small smile lingering as she drove off.
The mustang purred softly as Claudia pulled into the driveway, the warm light spilling from the windows casting a welcoming glow against the twilight. She stepped out, the cool night air brushing past her as she headed for the front door. Before she could reach the handle, it swung open, revealing Louis, his expression a mixture of relief and quiet tension.
“You didn’t call,” he said, his voice calm but laced with worry.
“I was driving,” Claudia replied evenly, stepping past him and setting her bag down by the stairs. “And then I was busy.”
“You could have texted,” Louis countered, crossing his arms.
Claudia turned to him, her expression softening but firm. “Louis, I get it. You worry. I’m... glad you care. But I’m just as old as you are, and you need to calm down. I’m fine. It was just the first day.”
Lestat’s voice drifted in from the kitchen, smooth and amused. “She’s not wrong, mon cher. You’ve paced a trench into the floor.”
Louis shot him a glance but sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I just... I know how people can be. New places, new faces—it’s a lot.”
“And I can handle it,” Claudia said, her tone gentler now. “I promise, if anything goes wrong, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Second,” Lestat interjected, leaning casually against the doorway with a glass of wine in hand. “I like to think I’ve earned my place.”
Louis gave him a pointed look, but Lestat merely smiled, taking a sip. “Don’t be too hard on him, ma chère. He’s just trying to make up for all those centuries of bad parenting.”
“That’s not helping,” Louis muttered, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile.
Claudia shook her head, amused, and glanced toward the kitchen. “The band’s here already?”
Lestat nodded. “They’re in the dining room, pretending to know how to unpack boxes between bites of gumbo. You’re welcome to join, but I suspect you have your own plans.”
“I do,” Claudia replied, grabbing her bag. “Have fun with your chaos.”
“Always,” Lestat said with a wink as she headed upstairs.
Claudia closed the door to her room, exhaling softly as she set her things on the desk. The space was a mix of old and new—a cozy bed draped with rich fabrics, bookshelves lined with everything from classic novels to modern essays, and her laptop glowing faintly in the corner.
Claudia settled into her chair and opened her blog, the blank page waiting for her thoughts. Fingers poised over the keyboard, she began to type, choosing her words carefully and relying on the absence of names to keep her identity hidden.
Day One at "The Academy of Quiet Overachievers" (A.Q.O.):
Cher, let me tell you, this first day was a gumbo of drama, chaos, and unexpected amusements. A little spicy, a little messy, and plenty entertaining. But before I dive into the details, let’s set the record straight—I’m no stranger to theatrics. Growing up in New Orleans, you learn that life is one big performance, whether you’re on a stage, a street corner, or a balcony in the Quarter tossing beads. This high school gig? Just another act.
The Mission
Now, don’t get it twisted—I’m not here for the academics, mon cher. I’ve lived through enough history to write the textbooks. This adventure is about a girl. A young thing with an aura that caught me off guard. Saw her from my window, like a wisp of mist drifting down a New Orleans street. It stirred something in me I haven’t felt in years. Turns out, she’s a theater kid.
So, guess who’s joining the theater program? That’s right, the girl who could probably teach Shakespeare a thing or two about tragedy. Lord help me if they make me sing, though. The last time I tried, it was during a jazz number in the 1920s, and let’s just say the audience wasn’t ready for my... unique voice.
The Cast of Characters
High schools might not have gas lamps or jazz bands, but honey, they’ve got personalities that rival the French Quarter during Mardi Gras.
- The Royals – Imagine a krewe of socialites parading down Canal Street, except instead of floats, they’re rolling through the halls on pure entitlement. They’re dripping in designer labels and confidence. It’s almost admirable, in a ridiculous sort of way. I could see myself playing nice with them. Maybe even leading the parade, if it suits me.
- The Gossip – Let’s call her “Snoop.” She’s got the curiosity of a French Quarter fortune teller, always digging for secrets and spinning stories. She’s already got her eye on me, convinced there’s more to my polite smiles and Southern charm. And she’s not wrong. But little does she know, befriending her might just be my ticket to keeping tabs on the school.
- The Staff – Cher, let me tell you, they’re as mixed a bunch as the musicians on Bourbon Street. Some are playing the long game, strict and rule-obsessed. Others are just tired, trying to keep their heads above water. And then there’s the headmistress—a woman who’s clearly not used to anyone questioning her authority. Bless her heart.
Parental Paranoia
Now, here’s the kicker. My folks—Daddy-o and Mama—are all up in arms about me being here. You’d think after 150 years, they’d realize I’m not exactly reckless. But no, every few hours it’s, “How’s it going, darlin’? You behaving? No funny business?” I mean, cher, I’m not the one people should worry about. Unless someone brings out a neck adorned with too much perfume, but I digress.
They’re just scared I’ll “expose us,” as they say. Like I haven’t survived through pandemics, wars, and prohibition without anyone catching on. Let me have my fun, y’all.
The Plan
Tomorrow, the curtain rises on my new role as a theater kid. Warm-ups, monologues, awkward small talk—it’s all part of the plan. Who knows? Maybe I’ll bring a little New Orleans flair to this otherwise bland stage. Toss in some drama, stir the pot, and see what bubbles to the surface.
But more importantly, it gets me closer to the girl. There’s something about her, something magnetic. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she had a little magic of her own.
Final Thoughts
High school, with all its ridiculousness, might just be the best show I’ve seen in decades. These kids have no idea who they’re dealing with, but bless their hearts, I think I’ll fit right in. Between the Royals, the gossip, and my theater debut, this could turn out to be the most fun I’ve had since I last strolled through the Quarter in a ball gown.
Until next time, keep your secrets close, and your sweet tea closer. 😉
Xoxo,
Your friendly neighborhood immortal teenager
P.S. If you see me rolling my eyes in the hall, just know I’m thinking about jazz, not calculus. Some things never change, cher.
Claudia leaned back, rereading the entry with a small, satisfied smile. It wasn’t just a reflection of her day; it was a map of the subtle moves she’d made and the threads she’d begun to pull. She saved the draft and closed the laptop, her thoughts already turning to tomorrow.
A few weeks at Blackwood, Claudia had perfected the dutiful new girl act . Her days were meticulously crafted to blend in while remaining just enigmatic enough to intrigue her peers. She arrived early to class, sitting near the front but never quite in the center. She volunteered just enough to impress her teachers but avoided dominating the conversation. Lunchtimes were a delicate balancing act, spent flitting between different groups—enough time with Madeleine to deepen their connection, enough moments with Danny to maintain her air of casual camaraderie, and just enough smiles and polite exchanges with others to keep the rumors alive.
Whispers about her continued to grow, fueled by her uncanny ability to stay poised and polished through every interaction. The fact that she seemed untouchable only added to her allure.
From downstairs, the band’s laughter mingled with the sound of a guitar being tuned, the scent of gumbo wafting through the house. She stood, glancing toward the window, where the night stretched out like a blank canvas. A new stage, new players, and infinite possibilities.
The sound of light jazz played softly in the background as Claudia lounged on the couch, her legs draped over the armrest while she scrolled through her phone. Lestat was pacing in the open living room, glass of wine in hand, while Louis sat across from her, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. The house was unusually quiet tonight, the hum of their conversations filling the cozy space.
“So,” Louis began, his tone carefully neutral, “how’s school been? Are you enjoying it?”
Claudia glanced up briefly, her expression unreadable. “It’s fine,” she said dismissively, returning her attention to her phone.
Louis sighed, exchanging a glance with Lestat, who raised a perfectly arched brow and leaned against the piano. “Fine?” Lestat repeated, his tone dripping with skepticism. “That’s all we get after weeks of sending you to this... institution? Weeks of paying for this institution?”
Claudia’s fingers paused over her screen as she glanced at him. “What do you want me to say?”
Lestat’s lips curved into a smirk, his voice taking on a dramatic flair. “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps a thrilling tale of how our exorbitant tuition fees are being put to good use? A glimpse into the dazzling world of the Velvet Ravens, or whatever your little clique is called? Something to justify the small fortune we’ve invested?”
Claudia rolled her eyes, swinging her legs off the couch to sit up. “You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I?” Lestat countered, his eyes narrowing playfully. “You refuse to share, and yet you expect us not to wonder? Not to worry about the social survival of our dear, precious Claudia?”
“Social survival?” Claudia deadpanned. “I’m not you, Lestat. I don’t need to make an entrance every time I walk into a room.”
Lestat placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. “Mon dieu, the cruelty of this child.”
Louis sighed again, setting his mug down on the coffee table. “Claudia, we’re not asking for much. We just want to know if you’re happy.”
Claudia’s expression softened slightly, though her tone remained measured. “It’s fine. Really. The Velvet Ravens are... interesting. Dramatic. A little ridiculous, but talented. I’ve made... connections.” She hesitated briefly before adding, “There’s one girl. She’s nice.”
Lestat’s brow lifted, his smirk returning. “Nice? Well, that’s an improvement. I was half-expecting you to say she was as insufferable as the rest of them.”
Claudia shot him a look. “She’s different. Genuine, I think. But it’s not like we’re best friends or anything.”
“Yet,” Lestat interjected, swirling his wine with a knowing look. “You have that effect on people. Even the most aloof can’t help but find you intriguing.”
Claudia ignored him, turning back to Louis. “It’s not bad, really. The classes are challenging, but I like them. The theater group... they’re fun to watch, at least.”
Louis smiled faintly, a mix of relief and curiosity flickering in his eyes. “That’s all we needed to know. Thank you.”
Claudia leaned back against the couch, crossing her arms. “Next time, just ask like normal people.”
Lestat chuckled, raising his glass. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Claudia leaned against a stone pillar outside the library, the sun cutting through the clouds in thin, golden streaks. Danny plopped down on the bench beside her, his leather messenger bag slung across his chest and an ever-present coffee cup in hand.
“You’re unusually quiet,” Claudia remarked, glancing at him.
Danny let out a dramatic groan, running a hand through his hair. “Ugh. It’s this article. The paper goes to print Friday, and I’m stuck. It’s supposed to be this hard-hitting exposé on school spending or something equally riveting.” He took a sip of his coffee before gesturing helplessly. “Turns out, snooping through budget reports isn’t as fun as it sounds.”
Claudia smirked. “You? Struggling with snooping? I thought that was your specialty.”
“It usually is,” he admitted, slumping against the bench. “But this one’s dry as hell. I swear, it’s like they buried the juicy stuff under endless funding for new chemistry labs and equestrian gear.”
Claudia raised an eyebrow. “Equestrian? You mean the fencing team isn’t hogging all the money anymore?”
Danny chuckled. “Exactly. Scandalous, right? Hardly Pulitzer-worthy.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But enough about me. What about you? How’s the social climb? You seem to have the Velvet Ravens wrapped around your finger already.”
Claudia shrugged, her tone casual. “It’s fine. Maddy and I are... getting closer, I guess. But honestly, I think I’m stuck in the friend zone.”
Danny’s eyebrows lifted. “Maddy, huh? Interesting. You sure she swings that way?”
Claudia hesitated for a moment. Internally, she already knew the truth—Maddy’s thoughts never drifted beyond the platonic when it came to her. No hints, no flickers of something deeper. It was frustrating, to say the least. “Not really,” she admitted. “But she’s... nice to be around. Genuine.”
Danny nodded knowingly. “That counts for something. Sometimes it’s better to have the connection, even if it’s not what you were hoping for.”
Claudia tilted her head slightly, studying him. “Speaking from experience?”
He laughed, but it lacked his usual bite. “You could say that. Armand and I... It’s complicated. Half the time, I’m not sure what we’re doing. After school, we hang out, talk theater, sometimes we—” He stopped himself, glancing at Claudia with a wry smile. “Let’s just say it’s not all script readings and Shakespeare.”
Claudia grinned faintly. “You don’t say.”
Danny smirked, but his gaze softened. “He’s... something else. High maintenance, full of himself, but when he’s good? It’s like he sees straight through me. It’s intense.” He shook his head, breaking the moment. “Anyway, enough about my love life. What’s your school workload looking like? Please tell me it’s as insane as I think it is.”
Claudia rattled off her schedule, from Advanced World History to Calculus and French Literature. Danny whistled low. “Okay, that’s actually impressive. Velvet Ravens, a monster schedule, and you’re still alive. Respect.”
Claudia smirked. “Barely. But I manage.”
The warm, golden hues of the midmorning sun filtered through the tall windows of the French classroom. The teacher, seated at the front, adjusted her glasses and glanced down at her notes before looking up sharply. “Mademoiselle de Pointe du Lac, s’il vous plaît. Partagez vos réflexions sur notre dernier livre.”
Miss de Pointe du Lac, please. Share your thoughts on our most recent book.
Claudia rose smoothly, her expression poised but neutral. The book in question was an intense and intricate novel from the early 20th century, one that most of the class had found overwhelming. For Claudia, however, it was personal—she’d met the author in Paris in the 1920s.
“Le livre, Les Enfants Perdus , explore la perte et l’identité à travers les yeux d’une génération brisée par la guerre,” she began, her French flawless and melodic. “Ce qui le rend unique, c’est la façon dont l’auteur juxtapose l’innocence des enfants avec les horreurs de la guerre, créant une tension déchirante.”
The book, "The Lost Children," explores loss and identity through the eyes of a generation broken by war. What makes it unique is how the author juxtaposes the innocence of children with the horrors of war, creating a heart-wrenching tension.
“The author, whom I deeply respect for his sensitivity, uses powerful metaphors to capture the human spirit. For example, the uprooted tree in the book symbolizes the loss of family stability. It’s a striking image.”
The room fell silent as she continued, weaving her analysis with natural authority. Even in English, the weight of her observations resonated.
The teacher raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed, and responded in French to maintain the flow of the class. “Et que pensez-vous du rôle de la musique dans le livre?”
And what do you think of the role of music in the book?
Claudia smiled faintly, switching back to French for her reply. “La musique agit comme un refuge, un espace où les personnages peuvent retrouver un sens d’humanité.”
Music acts as a refuge, a space where the characters can rediscover a sense of humanity.
Returning to English for her final thought, she added, “This is especially evident in the scene where Claire plays the piano as bombs fall around her. It’s a metaphor for resilience amidst destruction.”
The teacher nodded approvingly. “Excellent travail, Mademoiselle de Pointe du Lac. Vous avez une compréhension très profonde des thèmes du livre.”
Excellent work, Miss de Pointe du Lac. You have a very deep understanding of the book’s themes.
Claudia returned to her seat, her expression composed as always, but as she sat down, Danny leaned toward her, shaking his head with a mix of a goofy grin and mock annoyance.
“Do you have to be good every time?” he whispered. “I’m going to fail this class just by comparison.”
Claudia tilted her head, her lips curving into a small, amused smile. “It’s not my fault you don’t study.”
Danny snorted softly. “Please. I study. My brain just... stops processing halfway through these ridiculously long books. Plus, the French is like, 20% harder when you already feel dumb.”
Claudia raised an eyebrow. “You’re not dumb, Danny. Just unfocused.”
He made a face at her, but the teasing glint in his eyes softened when she leaned closer. “I can tutor you if you want,” she offered lightly. “This weekend, maybe.”
Danny blinked, caught off guard for a moment, before recovering with a lopsided grin. “You’d actually do that?”
Claudia smirked. “You’re calling me a genius every time you turn in an assignment, though.”
“Deal,” Danny said immediately, his grin widening. “You tutor me, I sing your praises to every teacher. Fair trade.”
Claudia chuckled quietly, shaking her head as the teacher moved on to the next student’s analysis. For the rest of the class, Danny occasionally glanced at her with exaggerated disbelief, as if her brilliance in French Literature were some kind of personal affront. It was, in its own way, the beginning of a grudging but solid partnership.
The Velvet Ravens gathered in the theater’s lounge after rehearsal, their energy buzzing as they dissected the success of last week’s The Spotlight Series. The space felt alive, a blend of creative chaos and camaraderie. Santiago slouched in an armchair, absently flipping a pen between his fingers, while Gabrielle sat cross-legged on the couch, jotting furiously in her well-worn notebook. Around them, the room hummed with laughter and snippets of conversation as students lounged in dramatic poses, a few reenacting their favorite moments from the night.
Claudia sat toward the back, her arms draped casually over the edges of her chair. She felt more like an observer than a participant, quietly taking in the larger-than-life personalities around her. They were so at ease in their eccentricity, each playing their role in this unspoken theater, while she kept her presence quieter, more measured.
“We need to figure this out soon,” Gabrielle said, not bothering to look up from her notes. “We’ve all hosted by now. Last week was my final one, and I am not doing it again.”
“It’s not like we’re hosting a gala,” Santiago quipped, twirling his pen in a lazy arc. “It’s just us. Why does it have to be a production?”
“Because we’re theater people,” Gabrielle shot back, her tone biting but good-natured. “Everything’s a production.”
Armand leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over the group like a director assessing a scene. “We host theatrical events every month to grow as performers and, more importantly, to stand out. It’s not the game that matters—it’s the practice. And we all need the practice.” He gestured toward Santiago. “So, go ahead, pick our next victim.”
The room quieted as Santiago rose from his chair, stretching his arms overhead in an exaggerated gesture of importance. “Alright, darlings,” he began, his voice dripping with mock gravitas, “let’s talk about The Spotlight Series.” He paused for dramatic effect, letting their attention settle fully on him. “And who hasn’t hosted yet? Dare I say, we do have our victim.”
A ripple of whispers swept through the room like the rustling of stage curtains. Heads turned toward Claudia, and a brief silence fell.
Suddenly, they all gasped as if on cue.
Gustave, perched on the arm of a nearby couch like a sinister gargoyle, grinned at Claudia with unsettling delight. “Wait a minute. She hasn’t hosted, has she?”
“That’s, like, against the bylaws of our sacred coven!” Vivienne exclaimed, clutching her chest as though truly scandalized.
The group erupted into playful jabs and theatrics.
“She’s been here long enough to witness our genius. It’s only fair she contributes!”
“Oh no, darling,” someone added with mock horror, “there’s no hiding behind your newbie status. Everyone must take the stage!”
“Think of it as your initiation,” Sam chimed in, grinning mischievously. “A rite of passage, really.”
Maddy giggled from her spot on the floor. “Don’t worry, we’ll help... but mostly we’ll judge.”
The lounge buzzed with overlapping voices, each piling on more exaggerated commentary. Claudia leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable, though a flicker of a smile tugged at her lips. Despite the teasing, there was a warmth in their chaos. It was their way of welcoming her deeper into their fold.
Initially, she felt a pang of nervousness. The memory of last week’s Spotlight Series—their Improvised Shakespeare Night—was still fresh, and the idea of living up to that level of creativity and energy felt daunting.
That night, they had taken over a local park, dressed in mismatched Elizabethan-inspired costumes, and recreated scenes from Shakespeare with absurd twists. Claudia, unsure of what to expect, had stuck to the fringes, awkward in a borrowed cloak that didn’t quite fit. Despite her hesitation, the group swept her into their antics without hesitation.
She’d been paired with Gabrielle for a scene from Romeo and Juliet , where Juliet had a Brooklyn accent and Romeo suffered from “allergies to love.” Later, a chaotic duel broke out involving pool noodles instead of swords. Someone had handed her a noodle mid-battle and shouted, “Fight for your honor, fair maiden!”
By the finale, she’d been roped into delivering a dramatic monologue about “the tragic demise of Sir Spaghetti,” a character created on the spot. Though it had been overwhelming, she left the event exhilarated, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.
And now, it was her turn to host something equally chaotic.
Santiago clapped his hands, commanding the room’s attention once more. They gave Claudia a sly smile and leaned closer, their voice rich with mock menace. “Three weeks, sweetheart. You’ve got three weeks to blow our minds. Don’t disappoint us.”
Claudia’s initial nerves gave way to something more determined. Her lips curled into a sly grin as the possibilities began to unfold in her mind. She thought of Mardi Gras, something grand and over the top, something that could truly shine—but that felt too easy. She wanted a challenge. Something different. Something memorable.
She caught herself smiling at the implications of it all. Hosting a theatrical event with a group of dramatic 16- and 17-year-olds was so... mundane compared to her long existence. She’d lived through wars, revolutions, and even real executions, yet here she was, faced with a chance to let loose and indulge her creativity in a way she hadn’t before. Maybe, she thought, this wasn’t just about The Spotlight Series. Maybe this was a chance to heal a part of herself she rarely let surface.
The Velvet Ravens continued to buzz around her, tossing out ridiculous suggestions for her event. Claudia sat back, her eyes scanning the room. The thought of turning this into something extraordinary was already taking root. She might not have grown up with anything like this, but she was here now, and she was ready.
Claudia folded her arms, tilting her head in mock contemplation. “Three weeks, huh? That’s generous. I’ve staged wars in less time.”
The group erupted into laughter, their exaggerated reactions filling the theater lounge with a crackling energy. Santiago held a hand to his chest as if he’d been struck by Cupid’s arrow. “Oh, I knew you’d rise to the occasion, darling.”
“Challenge accepted,” she murmured under her breath, the corners of her lips curving into a knowing smile.
Day Seventeen at "The Academy of Quiet Overachievers" (A.Q.O.)
I should probably start this post with a disclaimer: for security purposes (and because I don’t need any nosy classmates stumbling across this), I’ve decided to change the name of the group I’ve been spending all my time with. Let’s call them The Theater Flock. It’s not their real name, but trust me, the vibe is just as dramatic as the one they’ve chosen for themselves. Imagine a gaggle of overly enthusiastic thespians with a flair for the ridiculous, and you’ve got it.
Tonight, we gathered in the theater lounge, where chaos is less a state of being and more a lifestyle. Half the group was still buzzing from last week’s event, reenacting their favorite scenes with enough gusto to make a seasoned playwright cringe. The other half was locked in a loud, colorful debate about who should host next month’s event.
Spoiler: it’s me.
I’ve been skulking in the background just long enough for them to decide it’s time to drag me into the spotlight. Their reasoning? “It’s only fair, darling.” Fair. Right. Because clearly, the new kid should live up to the outrageous standards of Improvised Shakespeare Night, which featured Elizabethan costumes, pool noodle duels, and a eulogy for a fictional knight named Sir Spaghetti. (Yes, I delivered the eulogy. Yes, I nailed it. Yes, I’m still wondering how I got roped into this madness.)
Now, I’ve got three weeks to plan an event that’s equally chaotic, equally theatrical, and (ideally) doesn’t end with someone accidentally whacking a passerby with a noodle-sword. The pressure? Nonexistent. After all, I’ve hosted centuries worth of masquerades, dinner parties, and even the occasional revolution.
But if I’m being honest—really honest—this feels different. More personal. More... important.
Here’s the thing: I never had this. Not really. I never got the late nights spent laughing over bad ideas with friends. Never had the chance to stumble awkwardly through rehearsals or feel the buzz of creative chaos. My childhood ended before it could even begin, and I’ve spent the last century and a half watching the world move on without me, never stopping long enough to wonder what I missed.
Until now.
There’s something about The Theater Flock—their unfiltered enthusiasm, their sheer willingness to throw themselves headfirst into the ridiculous—that makes me feel... something. They’re messy and over-the-top, but they’re also genuine in a way I haven’t been around in decades. Watching them is like seeing a shadow of a life I might’ve had if things had been different.
So, challenge accepted. Not just to plan an unforgettable event, but to let myself live a little—vicariously, through them. Maybe I’ll even learn something along the way.
When my night comes, I promise you this: they’ll be talking about it for weeks. Maybe even longer.
Until then, I’ll be here, plotting and planning, and maybe even wondering what it would’ve been like to be one of them for real.
Xoxo,
Your dramatic neighborhood immortal
Claudia finished typing her blog, her fingers hovering over the “Post” button for a moment longer than usual. The hum of the theater lounge buzzed in the background—a blend of laughter, overlapping voices, and the occasional thud of someone collapsing into a chair for dramatic effect. The energy was contagious, but it wasn’t why she was smiling.
She’d written the blog in one steady stream, letting the thoughts pour out as they came, raw and unfiltered. Normally, she preferred a little distance, a chance to refine and polish her words before sending them into the void. But tonight felt different. Maybe it was the chaos of The Theater Flock around her, or maybe it was the quiet realization she’d let slip into her post—the truth about what this experience meant to her.
She wasn’t sure why it mattered so much that she post it now, but something about the moment felt significant. Genuine.
Claudia glanced around the room. Santiago was perched dramatically on the arm of a couch, pretending to swoon from Gabrielle’s playful jabs. Someone was digging through the prop box in the corner, pulling out a feathered mask and declaring it their new “stage persona.” The sound of a poorly-tuned piano filled the air as someone tried (and failed) to play a recognizable melody. It was a mess. A beautiful, chaotic mess.
And she was part of it.
Without giving herself another moment to overthink, she hit “Post.” The words were out there now, a little piece of herself shared with the world—or at least the quiet corner of it that read her blog. She leaned back in her chair, letting the warmth of the theater lounge wash over her.