The School For The Good And Evil

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

this year, best friends darla and christina are about to discover where all the lost children go: the fabled school for good and evil, where ordinary boys and girls are trained to be fairy-tale
heroes and villains. as the most beautiful girl in gavaldon, amelia had dreamed to be kidnapped into an enchanted world her whole life. with her pink dresses, glass slippers, and devotion to good
deeds, she knows she'll earn top marks at the school for good and gratuate a storybook princess. meanwhile, christina, with her shapeless black frocks, wicked pet cat, and dislike of nearly
everyone, seems a natural fit for the school for evil.

but when the two girls are swept into the endless woods, they find their fortunes reversed~~~and they'll quickly find that the only way out of a fairy tale..... is to live through it.

Submitted: July 08, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 08, 2017



-Chapter 1- 

The Princess & The Witch 

Amelia waited all her life to be kidnapped, 

But tonight, all the other children of Gavaldon writhed in their bed. If the School Master took them, they'd never return. Never lead a full life. Never see their family again. Tonight these children dreamt of a red-eyed thief with the body of a beast, come to rip them from their sheets and stifle their screams. 

Amelia dreamt of princes instead. She arrived at a castle ball thrown in her honor, only to find the hall filled with a hundred suitors and no other girls in sight. Here for the first time were boys who deserved her, she thought as she walked in line. Hair shiny and thick muscles taut through shirts, skin smooth and tan, beautiful and attentive like a prince should be. But just as she came to one who seemed better than the rest, with brilliant blue eyes and ghostly white hair, the one who felt like Happily Ever After . . . a hammer broke through the walls of the room and smashed the prince to shards. 

Amelia's eyes opened to morning. The hammer was real.  

The prince were not. 

"Father, if I don’t sleep my nine hours, my eyes looks swollen". 

"Everyone's prattling on that you're going to be taken this year," 

Her father said, while nailing a misshapen bar over her bedroom window, now completely obscured with locks, spikes, and screws. 

 "They tell me to shear your hear, muddy up your face, as if I believe all this Fairy-Tail hogwash. But no one's getting in here tonight. That’s for sure." He pounded a deafening crack as exclamation. 

Amelia rubbed her ears and frowned at her once lovely window, 

now something you'd see in a witches den. "Locks. Why didn’t anyone think of that before ?" 

"I don’t know why they all think its you?" He said, silver hair slicked back with sweat. "If its goodness that School Master follows what he want. He'll take Gunild's daughter." 

Amelia tensed. "belle"? 

 "Perfect child that one is," he said. "Brings her father home-cooked lunches at the mill. Gives the leftovers to the poor hag in the square." 

Amelia heard the edge of her father's voice. She had never once cooked a full meal for him, even after her mother died. Naturally she had good reasons ( the oil and the smoke clog her pores) but she knew it was a sore point. This didn’t mean her father had gone hungry. Instead, she offered him her own favorite foods: mashed beets, broccoli stew, boiled asparagus, steamed spinach. He hadn't ballooned up like Belle's father, precisely because she hadn’t brought him home-cooked lamb frucassees and cheese souffles at the mill. As for the poor hag in the square, that old cone, despite claiming hunger day after day, very fat. And if belle had anything to do with it, then she wasn't good at all, but the worst kind of evil. 

Amelia smiled back at her father. "Like you said, it's all hogwash." Amelia swept out of her bed and slammed the bathroom door. 

She studied her face in the mirror. The rude awakening had taken its toll. Her waist long hair, the color spun gold, didn’t have its usual sheen. Her jade-green eyes looked faded and her luscious red lips touched dry. Even the glow of her creamy peach skin had dulled. But still a princess, she thought. Her father couldn't see she was special, but her mother did. " you are too beautiful for this world, Amelia,": she said with her last breaths. 

Her mother had gone somewhere better and now so would she. 

Tonight she would be taken into the woods. Tonight she would began her new life. Tonight she would live out her fairy tale. 

And now she needed to look the part. 

To begin, she rubbed fish eggs into her skin. Which smelled of dirty feet but warded off spots. Then she massaged in pumpkin puree, rinsed with goat's milk, and soaked her face in a mask of melon and turtle egg yolk. As she waited for the mask to dry, Amelia flipped through a storybook and sipped on cucumber juice to keep her skin dewy soft. She skipped to her favorite part of the story, where the wicked old hag is rolled down a hill in a nail-spiked barrel, until all that remains is her bracelet made of little boys' bones. Gazing at the gruesome bracelet, Amelia felt her thoughts drift to cucumbers. Suppose there are no cucumbers in the woods? Suppose other princess had depleted there supplies? No cucumbers! She'd shrivel, she'd wither, she'd- 

Dried melon flakes fell to the page, she turned to the mirror and saw her brow creased in worry. Frist ruined sleep and now wrinkles. At this rate she'd be a hag by afternoon. She relaxed her face and banished thoughts of vegetables. 

As for rest of Amelia's beauty routine, it could fill a dozen storybooks (suffice it to say it include goose feathers, pickled potatoes, horse hooves, cream of cashews, and a vial of cow's blood). Two hours of rigorous grooming later, she stepped from the house in a breezy pink dress, sparkling glass heels, and hair in a impeccable braid. She had one last day before The School Master's arrival and planned to use each and every minute to remind him why she, and not belle or Tabitha or Sabrina or any other Imposter, should be kidnapped. 


Amelia best friend lived in a cemetery. Given her loathing of things grim, gray, poorly lit, one would expect Amelia to host visits at her cottage or find a new best friend. But instead, she had climbed to the house atop Graves Hill every day this week,

© Copyright 2019 Christina Ayala. All rights reserved.

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