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by
J.L. Vampa
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September 29 - October 10, 2025
They all wore the same plague doctor masks at Achilles House, a clear sign they belonged to one of the secret societies at Trinity,
She was one of those peculiar students who felt the thrill of academia every year, all year long. The last six years without hallowed academic halls and papers to write and books to study, she’d felt adrift. That didn’t mean she hadn’t still written papers, and conducted her own research, and read countless books, but it was different to be surrounded by a place, by a people group dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, especially in a time such as theirs.
Ariatne Morrow.
“Dr Frankenstein?”
Outside, the campus was bustling with students, a hint of the approaching autumn on the wind, stirring the leaves that would soon lose their chlorophyll and show the world how beautiful it is to die.
“Are we bonding?” Gibbs asked stupidly when he finally got the sequence down.
Emmy rolled her eyes and sat up on the bed. “I didn’t say slutty or that you have to fuck him. It has very little to do with who the man is, anyway. It’s about her, the woman in the scenario.
When a
woman feels sexy, she feels confident and in control. It puts a spell on men. It has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with power. It’s...
This highlight has been truncated due to consecutive passage length restrictions.
Emmy howled. “Exactly that! And I don’t mean your tits. Your fucking aura, Ariatne Morrow. It’s a good one.”
he declares to all his students that his patients are dead, so don’t call him Dr Murdoch.”
“If you pass it, you can make my copies.”
God help him, she snorted. “If I pass it, I get a chance to prove to you I know what the hell I’m doing.”
Something in the air changed. It felt charged with that distinct dopamine hit unique to academics at the height of study.
Professor Sonder Murdoch was the cliff-jump that terrified, the majestic wolf that captivated, the risk you knew might kill you, yet you couldn’t pass it up.
She was around halfway through her process when a voice broke into her void of focus. “Tell me about the class you’re missing to do this.”
He shrugged, one corner of his mouth almost twitching. “I’m only trying to help.” “Or are you trying to see if I can avoid distraction?” He failed to stop the twitch that time, and a spark shot up her chest at the sight. “You’re clever, I’ll give you that.” His tongue ran over his lips to moisten them and Atta looked back at the ribcage splayed before her. “Let’s say it’s both,” he said. “So tell me what it is you were learning.”
He smirked, and she hated it. Loved it.
“Not when you make postmortem diagnoses and forensic deductions like you do and yet choose Botany for your postgraduate studies.”
“I won’t apologise for the debate. I rather enjoyed it, to be frank. But I insulted you and it was cruel. I’m sorry.”
As far as apologies went, it wasn’t half bad. “I’m sorry I challenged you in front of your class.”
“I’m vintage, darling.”
Halfway to Briseis House, she turned to look over her shoulder to find him in the trees,
watching her. He made a small keep going gesture, and it wasn’t until she made it up to Third that it occurred to her he’d been watching to make sure she made it inside safely.
He donned the mask and ducked out the window, hand latching onto the large tree outside it before leaning back in. “Make sure she locks her fucking window, too. This was too easy.” “Most people don’t climb in other people’s windows like creeps,” Gibbs shot back.
Sonder snorted. “I like this no-holds-barred version of you, Gibbs.”
The moment he saw her, he shifted toward her. His brows furrowed and he took a step forward. “Are you all right? Do you have a headache?”
“Sometimes fear cleanses the soul, Atta. It reminds us to look at the important things we took for granted while at peace.”
Like you always do when you read. One hand in your pocket until it’s time to flip the page.” She laughed with a fondness she didn’t know she held, and he froze in place again.
“Please, call me Sonder. I’m not really your professor and I’ve asked you here to help me with something as a peer.”
“All right?” Atta squealed. That low, thunderous rumble of a laugh of his sounded in his chest and Atta’s cheeks heated.
He chuckled. “Secret societies like to dabble in the arcane and ominous.”
Sometimes things have to be reformed slowly from the inside.”
But she didn’t answer. Instead, she gently touched the mushroom cap. This time, she almost expected the migraine. Was almost ready for it. Ivy, thick and wild, crawled up marble pillars. It looked like ancient Greece but draped in a golden haze—like an old Jean Harlow movie. At the end of the row of pillars sat a throne of twisted branches, dotted in unidentifiable flora. Colours her eyes had never seen. There was a glimmer, like gossamer wings. Then there were fangs in her face, dripping with blood. Atta gasped as the creature lunged for her, hissing. Everything went black, then she was back.
...more
Fucking hell she was beautiful when she was angry. But not as beautiful as when she laughed.
He looked up when she entered, his face breaking into surprise before a smile crawled across his lips.
“Aw, he’s flustered,” she teased.
“Not by her,” he muttered,
“Jesus, you’re terrible at segues. How do you even know about Achilles House, hm?” Atta’s face heated at her misstep, but his eyes were glittering as he watched her like a wolf tracks a trapped hare.
his tall, lithe body ensconced in darkness feeling familiar. “Where did you get the samples you had taped in your research?” A little moth took flight in her abdomen, an aftershock of a migraine sprouting in her skull. “A friend gave them to me.” Sonder chuckled. Low. Deep. Velvety. Atta froze. Oh fuck. She knew with absolute certainty where she’d heard that toe-curling laugh before.
If Sonder Murdoch was the dark lord, her soul was begging to be burned to ash.
But Sonder only smiled. “Kelleher is an arse of the highest order. Next round is on me. I’ll tell them at the bar top.” Cheers went up around the table, all except for Gibbs, who found his Guinness particularly interesting, and Atta, who couldn’t stop staring at Sonder’s lips. Judging by the smirk tilting them, he fucking knew it, too.
“Gibbs.” Sonder dipped his head to the lad, then turned those piercing hazel eyes on her again. “Atta.” Holy hell. To her tipsy ears, her name sounded like forbidden honey on his tongue. “Jesus,” she murmured without realising it, looking down at the table, and she heard him chuckle and say, “Have a good night,” before walking away.
For the rest of their time at the pub, Sonder sat across the way at a table with Marguerite Vasilios and a few other professors Atta didn’t really know. But every so often, he would glance her way and smirk. Once, he even lowered his hand to his side and motioned for her to turn around. Had she been staring? Of course she had. He looked so devastating, and the alcohol had burned off all her sensibilities.
you so much as look at her the wrong way, I’m the one who will make you wish you were dead. That’s who the fuck I am.”
“If we need plausible deniability, we’re already fucked, a stór.”*
a stór (uh stohr)—Irish Gaelic; meaning my darling, or my treasure
“Dark roast, dash of cream, with brown sugar.”
“Ah. I’ll have to learn your winter order as well then, won’t I?” “It’s just black coffee the rest of the year. Dark as it’ll come.” “Much easier.”
“Superstitions and fairytales all originate from somewhere. Did you know that most supposed fairytales can be found in ancient civilisations that had no contact with one another and the tales have only minor variations?” She shrugged. “Same with religious stories.”
