Deuce Gorgon | NSAFM

The lanterns hanging from the Coven Commons flickered like tiny, dying stars—orange, green, and purple flames weaving illusions of ghosts across the damp stone. The Halloween Festival at New Salem Academy for Monsters was in full swing: banshees wailing for karaoke prizes, vampires carving blood pumpkins, and witches hexing apples to sing when bitten.

But Deuce Gorgon wasn’t really in it.

He leaned against one of the arched pillars near the Commons entrance, hood up, glasses in place, and hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets. The neon lights played across the scales that ran faintly down his neck and wrists, catching on every movement like sparks on wet glass. Behind his shades, his serpents twitched restlessly—sensing the laughter, the noise, the energy of monsters enjoying themselves without a care in the world.

He should’ve been one of them.

Before everything fell apart, Cleo would’ve had him on the dance floor by now—pulling him by the arm, rolling her eyes at how “unroyal” his moves were, then laughing anyway. They’d been a power couple once, statuesque and steady, until... well. The cracks showed. They always do, even in stone.

Now, even the music seemed to echo her absence.

Deuce exhaled slowly, fog curling in the cold night air. The scent of caramel cobwebs and burnt sugar floated from the nearby stalls, mingling with incense and rain-soaked leaves. Around him, costumed students passed in clusters—werewolves draped in ribbons, zombies laughing over coffin cupcakes, witches flicking glittering hexfire at each other. It was loud, it was alive, and somehow, he felt like the only statue in motion.

He adjusted his hood and pushed away from the wall. Maybe a drink would help. He headed toward a booth selling glow-in-the-dark pumpkin shakes, muttering a polite “Hey, thanks” when a gargoyle bumped into him and apologized. His snakes shifted again, whispering against one another beneath his hood, unsettled. They always got jumpy when he was trying too hard to stay calm.

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured under his breath. “I know. I’m fine.”

He wasn’t.

The Commons’ massive mirror wall loomed at the far end, glamoured to show only reflections of one’s “true self.” Deuce hated it. He’d walked past it a hundred times, always keeping his head low. Tonight, though, something made him stop. The crowd shimmered and blurred in the reflection, and for a second—just one fleeting heartbeat—he thought he saw her there. The bandages, the crown, the gold. Cleo, standing behind him, eyes soft but unreachable.

He blinked. She was gone.

The pumpkin shake booth attendant coughed, bringing him back. “Uh, dude, you good?”

Deuce managed a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Just... Halloween, y’know? Gets kinda weird sometimes.”

He paid, took his shake, and stepped away, sipping the faintly spiced drink as the night pressed in around him. Somewhere in the distance, someone was handing out candy skulls shaped like serpents. Somewhere else, a band was tuning up—probably about to play something loud and ironic about love being dead.

Deuce found a seat at one of the stone tables near the edge of the Necrogreen, where the fog rolled low over the grass. He leaned back, tipping his head toward the sky, listening to the hum of the party in the distance.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted company or not. But part of him—the part that still glowed faintly beneath the cracks—hoped someone might notice him sitting there. Someone new, or maybe just someone kind.

Because for the first time in a long time, Deuce wasn’t trying to turn anything to stone. He just didn’t want to be frozen himself.

The air around New Salem Academy for Monsters always hummed on Halloween night — thicker with magic, brighter with lantern-glow, sharper with the kind of energy that made even the ghosts a little more talkative. The Necrogreen had been transformed into a sprawling celebration: floating jack-o’-lanterns bobbed lazily above picnic tables, spelllights shimmered in gold and sickly green, and the smell of pumpkin spice (and faint brimstone) rolled from booth to booth. Music drifted from the Coven Commons courtyard, half haunting, half hypnotic — the kind of beat that kept monsters dancing until sunrise.

But Deuce Gorgon wasn’t dancing.

He was sitting on the cold stone edge of the Necrogreen’s fountain, where the reflections from the water made his sunglasses flicker with faint silver. The fountain itself was shaped like a coiled serpent — ancient, cracked, one eye still glowing emerald — and his familiar, Perseus, was curled around his neck like a lazy scarf. Every few seconds, the little snake hissed softly, restless from the sound of laughter and wings and chaos. Deuce ran a hand through his hair — careful not to startle the smaller snakes that made up his curls — and sighed.

“Yeah, I know, man,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and gravelly. “It’s supposed to be a good night. Just... doesn’t hit the same this year.”

He didn’t say her name. He didn’t need to. Everyone knew.

Cleo De Nile’s shadow lingered longer than the moonlight. It had been a few weeks since the breakup, but it still caught him off guard — passing someone wearing gold bangles, hearing her favorite song during class, seeing a flash of turquoise fabric. They’d been that couple: the “royalty and rebel” pairing everyone thought would last forever. And now? Now, he felt like part of a museum exhibit that had been carefully disassembled and labeled “artifact.”

Deuce exhaled and leaned back, resting on his palms as he watched the crowd swirl across the Necrogreen. Frankie’s laugh carried faintly through the air somewhere near the spellprint booth. Clawd and Lagoona were dancing near the jack-o’-lantern archway, glowing under hexlight. Even Nefera was there, regal as ever, standing at the far end of the quad with her entourage like she owned the place.

He didn’t resent any of them — not really. He just... didn’t feel like joining in. Not tonight.

“Could’ve been us,” he said quietly, his mouth twisting into a faint smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. “Matching costumes, glow-in-the-dark bandages... yeah. Probably better this way.”

A soft wind blew through, carrying a few stray candy wrappers and a loose gold ribbon across the path. It snagged on the fountain beside him, catching on his sleeve. He plucked it free and rolled it between his fingers — shiny, expensive, unmistakably De Nile gold.

For a second, he almost laughed.

Then he tied it around his wrist, just tight enough to sting, and stood up.

The party lights flickered, a gust of enchanted smoke rising from a nearby bonfire. He tugged his hood up, adjusted his glasses, and started walking toward the edge of the celebration — somewhere between wanting to disappear and daring the night to stop him.

Perseus flicked his tongue, sensing movement nearby. Someone had stepped into the same stretch of shadow that Deuce was headed for — maybe another student avoiding the party, maybe something else.

Deuce paused, half-turning his head, voice low but clear. “Didn’t think anyone else’d be hiding out back here,” he said, tone easy but edged with quiet curiosity. “You looking to escape the crowd too... or find something?”

The music pulsed behind him — deep, alive, and distant. The night, it seemed, was far from over.