Arrival at Wisteria Hollow

Elara Moon pressed her forehead against the train window, watching the world flick past in a blur of gold fields and gray sky. Rain traced lazy patterns down the glass. She tried to engrave every sight into her memory—her old world, dissolving behind her. The ticket in her hand seemed to hum, warm as a heartbeat: WISTERIA HOLLOW—ADMIT ONE.

At the edge of the platform, her family lingered in awkward silence. The locomotive—a gleaming silver snake—billowed lilac mist, sweet with something unmistakably magical. Elara clutched her battered suitcase, feeling the weight of her mother’s gaze. “Remember to write, darling,” Mum said softly, smoothing Elara’s untamed hair. “And… be yourself.” Mum’s eyes shone with unshed tears she pretended not to have.

Her father looked away, pretending interest in the clouds. Elara’s little brother, Jamie, pawed her hand. “Come home for my birthday. With stories.”

“I will,” she whispered, blinking rapidly. The conductor’s bell clanged; the mystic veil shimmered on the track. Elara stole one last look at their faces and stepped into the carriage.

The journey felt dreamlike, scented with lavender and anticipation. A flock of spectral birds kept pace outside, feathers the color of moonlight. All too soon, the train screeched to a stop. The conductor—whose mustache curled in impossible spirals—tipped his hat. “End of the line, Miss Moon. Welcome to Wisteria Hollow.”

Elara stepped onto the platform, heart tripping. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight. Behind ivy-smothered gates sprawled the Academy—an intricate labyrinth of towers and bridges, carved stone shimmering with runes. The air sparkled with floating motes. Waterfalls cascaded from windows, returning, impossibly, to their source. Lanterns hung on the wind, lighting the path to the entrance.

A group of girls swept past in deep navy cloaks, laughing as their shoes hovered a hair’s breadth above the ground. Elara could see broomsticks slung over their shoulders, spellbooks fluttering like restless birds in their hands. She tightened her grip on her suitcase and tried to blend in.

At the grand oak doors, a tall woman stood in crisp charcoal robes. A silver streak dashed through her dark hair, her eyes sharp as obsidian. Professor Amaryllis Blackwood.

“You must be Elara Moon,” she said, voice both stern and gentle. “Our newest arrival.”

Elara faltered. “Yes, Headmistress.”

“Come.” Professor Blackwood's footsteps swept up marble steps. “The Hall of Beginnings awaits.”

Inside, the corridors twisted and morphed, portraits bowing as Elara passed—a parade of witches and wizards from centuries gone. Candles hovered overhead, dripping wax into the open jaws of stone frogs.

Professor Blackwood paused by a velvet-draped lectern and held out a parchment. “Here are your dormitory and class assignments. You’re with Rowan Thistle and Lina Ashgrove. Best be on your way, Miss Moon—supper’s at moonrise.”

Elara managed a nod, clumsily accepting the scroll. The headmistress studied her for a heartbeat longer, features softening. “You belong here, Elara. Remember that.”

Those words followed her down the ever-shifting corridor, echoing in the patterned light.

Her new dorm, Obsidian Hall Third North, waited behind a door etched with tangled wisteria vines. Inside, the room was alive with mismatched magic. Rowan Thistle lounged on a bed as if it were a throne, hat askew, surrounded by bubbling vials and half-braided strings. She grinned at Elara. “Oi! New blood!”

A quiet girl with coppery curls looked up from her desk, where a mossy terrarium glimmered. “Hello, I’m Lina,” she said, voice gentle as rain.

“I’m Elara,” Elara managed, heat rising to her cheeks.

Rowan leapt to her feet, bowing theatrically. “Rowan Thistle, at your service. Don’t mind the mess, that’s just—”

Something rattled inside Elara’s suitcase. She tried to slide it under her bed, but the latch popped open and out exploded her belongings—clothes, socks, a jar of starlight, and a moth-eaten notebook. To her horror, the notebook soared into the air, spinning as if enchanted (which she hadn’t remembered doing). Socks began crawling up the walls, chased by streaks of lavender smoke.

Rowan howled with laughter. “Oh, brilliant! A natural!”

Lina stepped back as the jar of starlight levitated, glimmering blue. “Maybe we should… help?”

Elara reached for her wand, fumbling through her pockets. “Um, settle!” she cried. The magic only grew, her belongings now waltzing in partnership. A stray sock attached itself to Rowan’s ear.

Rowan flicked her wand. “Arresto chaos!”

With a puff, the items dropped. Silence. Socks fell with anticlimactic flops. Everyone stared at the heap and burst out laughing.

“It happens,” Lina reassured, eyes twinkling. “Especially on your first day.”

Rowan sprawled on the bed, the sock still dangling from her ear. “You’ll fit right in.”

Elara let herself smile. Maybe she would.

By the time moonrise spilled silver through the tall windows, Elara had found her way to the Great Hall, guided by new friends. Rows of long tables shimmered with glassy apples, levitating pies, and pitchers brewing their own mists. Enchanted banners danced overhead. The whole room buzzed—students swapping stories, practicing little spells, sometimes with explosive results.

Professor Blackwood stood at the head. “To our new witches, may your path be bright.”

Elara looked around at the faces, odd and lively and brimming with possibility. Laughter spun through the air, colored by the promise of adventure.

She sat between Lina and Rowan, heart racing in a new and wonderful way. The old world was behind her. Ahead, magic waited—untamed, unpredictable, and hers to discover.