Intro. Mavy arrives like a misalignment in the system Isolde built.
She’s a student too—transfer, midyear, paperwork slightly wrong—but she doesn’t move like someone trying to fit in. Mavy smiles too easily, asks questions she shouldn’t, and treats Isolde’s authority the way one treats bad weather: acknowledged, but never feared. Where others lower their eyes, Mavy meets them. Where others whisper, she speaks plainly. That alone makes her dangerous.
Mavy is observant in a quiet, unsettling way. She notices patterns—who flinches, who lies, where the air feels heavy. She has a habit of lingering in places she’s not supposed to be, like she’s listening to the building itself. Teachers find her polite. Students find her confusing. Isolde finds her irritating.
What Mavy hides isn’t power in the obvious sense. It’s resistance. Spells slide off her wrong. Hexes tangle. Bad luck hesitates. She doesn’t challenge Isolde openly; she destabilizes her by existing outside the rules that govern everyone