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The Harrington Sisters
Last Updated:
2025-07-11 22:11:34
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The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake Art Room Ghosts
IsoldeI was in the art room, and around me, people painted, chattering, and laughing. But I wasn’t laughing, I never did. It wasn’t that I disliked people, it was just that I didn’t know how to fit inside all their noise. And so I took a seat near the windows, like always. I didn’t touch my canvas, my brush was hovering just above it, and the tip trembled.Mr. Helman passed behind me, his shoes clicked softly against the floor. “Still nothing, Miss Vale?” “Still thinking,” I said. He smiled, the kind of smile people give when they think you’ll outgrow your silence, “You always are.” He moved on. The assignment was simple enough, paint what memory feels like. Everyone else had started with safe things, family portraits, seaside sunsets, old photographs turned into oil. But when I tried to remember anything clear, there was only blur, forests I could not name, rooms too quiet, the smell of antiseptic and something like iron. And light. But it was not white, and neithe
The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake Redwood Doesn’t Forget
EliasThe rain had ended two nights ago, but the air still smelled of wet bark and old secrets. I sat alone in my office at the Lannister estate, the glow of my laptop screen painting the room in cold, artificial light. The rest of the house had long gone to sleep, Aria finally convincing Kol to rest. In school, the twins probably tucked into their dorm beds, Emory most likely awake in his room pretending not to dream about ghosts. But I wasn’t ready for sleep, not when the past had started whispering again. Redwood. The name had appeared too many times in my search for Isolde Vale. It was simply another pack district, rich, secretive, in the very depths of the northern woodland. But I had seen too much of the world to believe that the smoothest spots were always the worst. The cursor was impatiently flicking at the top of the screen as I scrolled up and down the access keys. The data servers of the Council were not as complicated as most people thought if you know what names to
The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake Electric current
AuthorRain had always been fond of storms. During her life she had said that thunder was a kind of a forgetfulness on the part of the sky. The storm had come back now, however, it was remembering her.The air over the academy was covered with dark storm clouds. Students ran into the courtyard, and pulled their hoods over, and laughed, half-nervous, as lightning flashed somewhere way out on the other side of the ridge.The fluorescent lights fluttered once in the west wing. Then again. A storm warning echoed through the intercom:“All students, please remain indoors until further notice. Maintenance will monitor electrical stability.”No one listened, not really. Teenagers were built to outlast warnings.But Emory felt it before the storm even touched the building, the low hum in his chest, like his heartbeat syncing with something outside him. The metallic taste on his tongue. The way every breath felt too heavy, too aware.He sat at the back of Literature class, pretending to read,
The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake The Counsellor’s Office
AuthorThe academy prided itself on progress. On healing. On rebuilding from what it used to be. But the thing is… progress has a peculiar shape, it often looks like pretending nothing ever happened.Six months after the “incident,” as the administration called it, the boarding school introduced a new initiative: Mandatory Mental Wellness Sessions for all returning students. The phrasing was clinical, wrapped in bright posters and soothing colours. But everyone knew it was about them, the survivors of that winter night when fire bloomed on the horizon and the world turned red for reasons no one could explain.To Emory Lannister it was but another lesson that healing was a term to people who had never lived to the end of things.The office of the counsellor was at the extreme end of the administration wing beyond bulletin boards with inspirational quotations. Breathe. You're safe here. What we bury still grows.Emory paused at the door. This was dimly reflected in the glass panel. His
The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake Sisters and Fault Lines
Author Mina and Gina lived on the third floor, east wing, Room 3A. Two beds. Two desks. One wide window that overlooked the courtyard. Their curtains were left partially open cause Gina liked sunlight, and Mina didn’t bother to move them either way.They had been here for a month now. Long enough to learn the class schedules, which hallways echoed, which teachers were strict, and which students gossiped about them the most. The Lannister twins, that was what the school called them, though only one of them carried the name.The war had not followed them here.But its absence took up just as much space.Gina was the one most people noticed first. She smiled with her whole face, even if the smile wasn’t always real. She signed up for everything she could, yearbook club, debate team, stage crew. When the student council asked for volunteers to help decorate for winter formal, she raised her hand first.“It’s better to stay busy,” she told anyone who asked.“It’s better to live,” she tol
The Alpha’s Pretty Mistake Distance is a Form of Protection
Emory POVI made a promise. And no… it was not the quiet kind that slips off your tongue because someone asks you to, not the kind you break because time makes things easier. This one was said staring into my mother’s eyes, her hands cold against my face, her voice only a breath away from breaking.“Stay away from her.”So I tried. I really did.Monday morning came with students flooding the hallway. The boarding school was always too boisterous at this early time of the day with children laughing their eyes out, sneakers bumping on the stone stones and someone already screaming on practice tryouts.I would walk head down and hood up with my backpack on one shoulder. This was a practiced form of invisibility. I’d learned how to make myself small after the war, after Rain. It was easier to be the version of myself that no one asked questions about.My schedule changed last semester when I came back. The staff said they wanted to “reduce stress.” Translation: give the recently traumatis
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