Ms. Elara Vance, the new substitute teacher, clutched her coffee and pushed the door open.
“Good morning, Classroom 7X,” she whispered. classroom 7x
Ms. Vance realized the blackboard behind her was already covered in answers—faint, looping script that wasn’t hers. She wasn’t supposed to erase it. She was supposed to continue it. She was supposed to continue it
The fifth chime. Desks began to hum. The students’ uniforms darkened, bleeding into the chairs. The birch desk turned to ash. The walnut desk split. and something faintly sweet
The door to Classroom 7X had no window. That was the first warning. The second was the smell: old paper, dry chalk, and something faintly sweet, like overripe fruit. The third was the timetable pinned to the corkboard, the ink so faded it looked like a ghost of a schedule.