All Hallows' Eve, 2025.
Tara Hartley sat alone at one of the many round tables in the dining hall. She'd let half her roast veggies go cold and the gravy had become an unappetising gleam of congealed fat while the seat beside her remained conspicuously empty.
It wasn't like Iris to be late to anything, least of all to a party. So what is keeping her? Tara wondered.
The third-year Floranti stood up a little in her seat and from her table on the mezzanine scanned the lower hall for any sign of her best friend. Below her, the hall was decked with decorations and many students were feasting and eating and drinking and joking, but there was no sign of familiar dark curls, no sign of the most popular girl in Floranti, no sign of Iris Perkin.
The Dining Hall had been transformed for Halloween. Black garland roses hung like ivy from the stone columns that held up the arched ceiling. Someone had let loose a flock of bats that flew endless figures-of-eight and occasionally screeched and swooped down to steal food from an unsuspecting students.
Not even the bats care I'm here, she thought grimly. She wouldn't have minded if they cleaned her plate, but instead they ignored her like most people did. She should have just stayed in her dormitory to read something and stay out of sight, it would've been better that way.
Sighing, Tara sunk back down in her seat and stared at her half-emptied plate. When they'd left the Floranti dorms together, Iris had only said she'd needed a moment. "Just needa breath of air!" That had been over half an hour ago.
Tara's hands twisted the napkin in her lap. Maybe Iris was angry with her. Maybe this was revenge for something. Yet no matter how hard she tried to think of a reason, she couldn't conceive of one. Iris had always treated her nicely, she wasn't one for petty games not even now that she spent most of her time hanging around with that donkey Marvin.
Bloody Marvin. Out of all the boys that practically threw themselves at her feet, Iris had picked Marvin. He was loud, obnoxious, smelly, and confidently wrong about just about everything he said.
A few more minutes passed contemplating Marvin and yet the seat beside Tara remained empty, like the rest of the table. Tara reached for her satchel, which she'd put on the seat to save the spot like always, but now she moved it back to her lap because her hands needed to hold something. By now she was beginning to feel like the cold bit of chicken on her plate, a leftover which didn't count for very much.
Around her, the feast continued as if nothing was wrong. A group of boisterous fourth-years doubled over with laughter when their pumpkin pasties attempted to scuttle off their plates. Further down the rows of tables, an enchanted skeleton was tap-dancing enthusiastically to a jig it played on its badly tuned violin.
Tara looked over the edge again, her jaw tightening while she stared at the oak door which hadn't opened or closed even once since the feast had started.
Just what on earth was keeping Iris Perkin?
UP TO THREE Penwick Students and/or Professors can notice Tara's unease and approach her at her table up on the mezzanine in the dining hall. She is sitting alone at her table, but the other tables around her are fully occupied, and so are the tables at the ground floor level.
This is 1 out of 3 entry points into the same narrative. These entry points will later converge into a single thread. Consider this the starting area. The other entry points are:
This is 1 out of 3 entry points into the same narrative. These entry points will later converge into a single thread. Consider this the starting area. The other entry points are:
