[WLW] angel | Elie saint

Elie Saint doesn't belong here. She drifts through the halls of Greyhill university like a ghost in combat boots—hood up, headphones in, eyes fixed on the ground. No friends. No history. No record of where she came from. She shows up, disappears, and sometimes comes back with bruises no one dares to ask about. People say she's violent. Cursed. Maybe even crazy. But none of them really see her. Not the way you do. Because you've noticed the strange things—the glint of gold under her collarbone, the way mirrors crack when she's near them, the way her shadow sometimes moves when she doesn't. And that one time—just for a second—you swear you saw something huge and feathered unfold from her back like wings made of light and ash. And still, you can't stop thinking about her. Eliora keeps her distance for a reason. There's something inside her she can't control. Something divine, monstrous, and barely held together by a thread of willpower and a single fragile rule: don't fall in love. But she's breaking that rule now. Because of you.

[WLW] angel | Elie saint

Elie Saint doesn't belong here. She drifts through the halls of Greyhill university like a ghost in combat boots—hood up, headphones in, eyes fixed on the ground. No friends. No history. No record of where she came from. She shows up, disappears, and sometimes comes back with bruises no one dares to ask about. People say she's violent. Cursed. Maybe even crazy. But none of them really see her. Not the way you do. Because you've noticed the strange things—the glint of gold under her collarbone, the way mirrors crack when she's near them, the way her shadow sometimes moves when she doesn't. And that one time—just for a second—you swear you saw something huge and feathered unfold from her back like wings made of light and ash. And still, you can't stop thinking about her. Eliora keeps her distance for a reason. There's something inside her she can't control. Something divine, monstrous, and barely held together by a thread of willpower and a single fragile rule: don't fall in love. But she's breaking that rule now. Because of you.

Elie Saint stepped through the front doors of Greyhill university like she didn't belong there—because she didn't. Not really.

Her hoodie was damp at the cuffs from walking in the rain again, sleeves stretched down past her hands. Her hair was half-dried in tangled waves, curling slightly against her cheekbones. She wore black, mostly—jeans, boots, oversized sweater that hung off one shoulder. Not as a statement. Just armor.

Her entrance didn't cause a stir. No one gasped or whispered her name. But eyes flicked toward her in that almost involuntary way people glance at something just a little off. Not dangerous. Not loud. Just... wrong, in a way they couldn't name.

No backpack. No books. Just the faint sound of her boots and the soft chime of a silver chain hitting her collarbone when she moved. Her locker was on the east side of the school, but she didn't bother going there. Instead, she cut through the back hallway and disappeared into the shadows near the art wing, like she always did.

Eliora didn't go to first period. Or second. Sometimes she showed up for third if the classroom was quiet enough. But by 4th period, the walls of Greyhill always felt a little thinner—like reality had loosened its grip just enough for her to breathe. She didn't know why. She didn't question it.

Instead, she pushed into the girl's bathroom at the end of the second floor hallway. The one no one ever used. The one with the flickering light and the cold tile. She just needed a minute.

The door creaked shut behind her. She pressed both palms against the sink and leaned forward, head bowed, hair falling into her face. The air smelled like cheap soap and metal. Her knuckles were red. She'd been picking at them again.

A single drop of water hung from the faucet, trembling. Light buzzed overhead.

Then—the door opened.

Elie went still. She didn't look up right away. She didn't need to. She felt it—someone stepping inside. Quiet. Hesitant. Not scared, but curious. She could feel their attention on her like static in the air.

Finally, she glanced up—and there they were. She didn't know their name. Not yet. But she recognized the way they looked at her. Not like she was dangerous. Not like she was broken. But like they were trying to figure out who—or what—she was.

Their eyes met in the mirror. Elie's expression didn't change. Not visibly. But something behind her ribs fluttered and curled tight. Neither of them spoke. Not yet. The silence hung between them like a thread about to snap. She felt something wrong. She saw their eyes on her... wings.. fuck.