Blackmoor Academy, 1991–1998
They met on the night the headmistress gave her annual speech about unity and division among the students. Two girls, trembling in identical ways, both trying very hard not to show it.
Lilith came from a quiet Tudor cottage on the edge of a Surrey village whose name no one ever remembered. Her mother was a librarian at the local school and her father a quiet academic who had vanished into government military research years earlier. She had ink-stained fingers and a habit of biting her lip when she was nervous.
Morgana was the youngest daughter of the Hale family. A cold, old, blood money family that still smelled faintly of the last beast wars. She wore her black hair in two severe plaits and carried herself like someone who had already read the rulebook and found it insufficient.
They were given beds next to each other in the east-wing tower dormitory of Blackmoor Academy, a sprawling gothic mansion that specialised in making the nation’s leaders of tomorrow. Isolated on the remote moors of northern England. Fog clung to the stone walls, the wind howled through the turrets like a warning.
That first night, Lilith cried herself to sleep for she hadn’t wanted to attend Blackmoo,r but nobody ever refused the invite. Morgana reached across the narrow gap between their four-posters and slipped her hand into Lilith’s. Neither spoke. Neither let go until morning.
The years that followed were a slow, inevitable blooming.
By third year, they had become the pair everyone noticed. Two girls who finished each other’s sentences, who could debate literature and history while mixing perfect chemical solutions in the lab or execute outstanding swordsmanship against numerous opponents. They were still awkward—braces on Lilith’s teeth, Morgana’s nose still too long for her face, but they were already learning that power could be soft as well as sharp.
Fourth year brought sports injuries from sword and dagger, tentative kisses with boys that felt more like science experiments, and the night they got drunk on smuggled wine in an unused attic room and admitted, in shaky whispers, that they liked the way the other looked in candlelight more than any boy they’d tried to want.
Fifth year was brutal exams and the slow realisation that the world outside the academy was cracking. They studied until their eyes burned, then fell asleep curled together on the common-room sofa like kittens, legs tangled, breathing in sync.
By the start of sixth year, the world was becoming a darker place once again. But at least the girls had one course for celebrations. Both of them were now eighteen.
The country was in turmoil by September. The beast from the darkness had risen up once more, the armies matched to meet them and to reinforce the borders but it wasn’t looking hopeful. Strict new rules were enforced by newly appointed staff at the academy, curfews backed by physical punishment, and students who repeatedly broke rules or refused early enlistment vanished without explanation. The mansion’s stone corridors smelled of fear and something darker.
In the light of this new norm, Lilith and Morgana stopped pretending.
It began in the abandoned storeroom behind the third-floor armoury. They had ducked inside to hide from a staff curfew patrol. New appointed enforcers all wearing the new silver pins of loyalty. The door clicked shut. The silence pressed in.
Morgana kissed her first. Hard and desperate, tasting of salt and terror. Lilith answered with months of pent-up want, shoving Morgana against the stone wall, hands sliding under the too-big black blazers. Their mouths crashed together, tongues sliding wet and hungry, teeth clashing in their haste.
Morgana’s fingers tangled in Lilith’s dark hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat so she could bite down hard enough to leave marks. Lilith gasped, hips jerking forward instinctively.
They tore at each other’s clothes with shaking hands. Blazers pooled on the floor, ties yanked loose, shirts ripped open. Morgana’s pale breasts spilled free. Small, perfect, nipples already tight and dark pink from the cold air and arousal.
Lilith ducked her head and sucked one into her mouth, tongue flicking mercilessly while her hand shoved between Morgana’s thighs. She found slick heat through soaked knickers. Morgana moaned loud enough to echo off the stone.
Lilith pushed the fabric aside and plunged two fingers inside without warning. Morgana’s cunt clenched tight around them, hot and dripping. She fucked her hard and fast, curling her fingers to stroke that swollen spot inside while her thumb circled Morgana’s clit in rough, relentless circles.
Morgana’s head thudded back against the wall, hips bucking, thighs trembling.
“Fuck, Lilith, harder, please,” she gasped, voice breaking.
Lilith obliged. She added a third finger, stretching her wide, pumping deep until Morgana’s slick coated her wrist. When Morgana came it was violent back arching. A choked scream tore from her throat, inner walls pulsing and gushing around Lilith’s fingers in hot, rhythmic spasms.
They barely paused.
Morgana dropped to her knees on the cold stone, shoved Lilith’s skirt up, and yanked her knickers down. She buried her face between Lilith’s thighs without hesitation, tongue lapping broad stripes from entrance to clit before sucking the swollen nub into her mouth.
Lilith’s hands fisted in Morgana’s hair, hips grinding against her face. Morgana’s tongue fucked inside her, then flicked mercilessly over her clit while two fingers slid in and crooked.
Lilith came with a shattered cry, thighs clamping around Morgana’s head, flooding her mouth with sharp, sweet release.
After that, every hidden corner became theirs.
The disused attics learned their shapes. An empty classroom on the seventh floor, where they sixty-nined on an old moth-eaten rug. Morgana on top, grinding her soaked cunt against Lilith’s eager mouth while she devoured Lilith in return, both of them moaning into wet flesh until they shuddered through simultaneous, messy orgasms.
The old marble bathroom at three a.m., water steaming around their naked bodies. Morgana bent Lilith over the edge of the tub, spread her cheeks, and licked slow, filthy circles around her tight back entrance while three fingers pumped her dripping pussy from behind.
Lilith sobbed with pleasure, pushing back, begging for more until Morgana worked a slick finger into her arse alongside the others, fucking both holes until Lilith screamed and squirted across the marble.
Over the Christmas holidays, they stayed at Lilith’s mother’s cottage in Surrey. The neighbours thought the two girls were simply “very close friends.”
They fucked on every surface of the little house.
On the kitchen table, curtains open to the snowy garden, Morgana’s legs wrapped around Lilith’s waist while Lilith thrust deep with a strap-on they had purchased together, pounding her so hard the table legs scraped the wooden floor.
In Lilith’s narrow childhood bed while her mother slept downstairs, Morgana rode Lilith’s face, grinding her clit against her tongue until she came so hard she had to bite the pillow to muffle her cries.
Once, even bent over the back of the sofa whilst Lilith’s mother was in the kitchen, Morgana’s fingers buried knuckle deep in both holes, scissoring roughly while she whispered filthy promises. Telling Lilith exactly how long she intended to keep her ruined and aching until Lilith shattered again, soaking Morgana’s hand and the cushions beneath them.
They left bruises shaped like fingerprints, bite marks on inner thighs, hickeys blooming purple along collarbones that had to be hidden with makeup before breakfast.
They learned each other’s bodies with obsessive, reverent attention.
Morgana loved to be held down, wrists pinned above her head while Lilith teased her clit with slow, torturous licks until she begged. Lilith discovered she came hardest when Morgana talked filth in that cool, aristocratic drawl each word deliberate, precise, devastating while she fucked her with relentless precision.
Seventh year, they stopped hiding.
They walked the corridors hand in hand. They kissed openly in the dining hall. Deep, possessive kisses that left lips swollen and breaths ragged. They shared one four-poster in the dormitory and dared anyone to comment, fucking quietly but shamelessly under the curtains while others slept, Morgana’s hand clamped over Lilith’s mouth to muffle her moans as she came around thrusting fingers Or rubber cock..
Some objected.
Certain staff sneered. A group of older boys, sons of influential families, cornered them outside the common room one afternoon and called them names and worse. Morgana fought back. Her fist made contact so hard that one of them ended up with broken teeth. After that, the threats became quieter, but they never stopped.
Then came the night of the attack. It had been bound to happen sooner or later; they attacked the academy the last time, so why not presume that they would this time?
Dark beasts, feral, monstrous creatures drawn from the wild moors assaulted the academy under cover of storm and fog. They tore through the gates, claws raking stone, howls echoing through the halls.
Students and staff fought back with practiced precision. Their weapons were sharp and shone bright in the candle light, swords from the armoury having only ever been used for fencing now tasted blood. But soon drilled discipline gave way to sheer desperation as each student fought for their lives.
Lilith and Morgana fought side by side, blades flashing in the torchlight. But, They were separated near the east wing when the vampires joined the fray. Ancient creatures acting as mercenaries promised blood in exchange for aiding the beasts.
One of them, tall and beautiful, with silver hair and eyes like spilled ink, caught Lilith alone in the corridor leading to the upper attics.
She fought. She was brilliant with sword in hand, slashing with fierce precision. But the vampire was faster.
It happened in seconds.
He slammed her against the stone, fangs sinking into her throat with a wet, tearing sound. Blood sprayed across the wall in a bright arterial arc. Lilith’s scream was short, cut off by the crunch of cartilage as he tore deeper.
Her sword clattered to the floor. Her legs kicked once, twice, then stilled as the vampire drank in greedy, obscene gulps, crimson spilling down his chin and soaking her uniform.
Morgana found her thirty seconds later.
She dropped to her knees in the spreading pool of red. Lilith’s eyes were already glazing, lips parted in a final, soundless gasp. The wound in her neck was a ragged, glistening hole. Her pulse fluttered once more and stopped.
Morgana screamed until her voice gave out. She cradled the body, rocking it, kissing the blood-smeared mouth, whispering every love word she had ever saved for this girl.
When the fighting ended and the dawn came and the beasts withdrew, she still hadn’t moved.
Lilith Sinclair was buried three days later in the little churchyard at the edge of her Surrey village.
It was a quiet funeral. Her mother insisted. The coffin was pale oak. White lilies everywhere. The grave overlooked rolling green fields that Lilith had once run through as a child, chasing butterflies.
Morgana stood at the back, dressed in black, her face hidden behind a veil of grief. When the vicar spoke of a bright young life taken too soon, Morgana’s shoulders shook so hard she thought her bones might crack.
After the mourners left, she stayed.
She knelt in the damp grass and pressed her forehead to the fresh earth.
“I’ll find you again,” she whispered. “In whatever comes after. I swear it.”
Then she rose, wiped her eyes, and walked back toward the world that had taken everything from her, except the memory of two girls who had once been dorky and awkward and so stupidly, incandescently in love that even death could not quite erase the shape of their hands fitting together.
