Gideon Cromwell steps around the corner and Sierra's breath catches in her throat. She knows that she would've had to confront him sooner or later but she had hoped that it would've been the latter rather than the former. After all she couldn't run out of the room every time she caught a glimpse of his muscled figure. Sadly, all good things must come to an end.

Sierra swivels around, ducks her head and sends prayers to every god in the world above that Gideon won't see her.

'Please don't see me. Please don't see me. Please don't -.'

"Sierra!"

'Shit!'

The redheaded witch slowly turns around, her eyes closed in hopes that this was all just a really, really bad dream. But alas when she opens her eyes, her hazel ones meet his blue ones. Before she knows it, she's melting inside.

He walks towards her, his strides long and with purpose, and she tries not to turn around and run. Sierra Kingsley is intelligent, loyal and easily distracted. Sierra Kingsley is not a fumbling, melting, boy-crazy mess (unless around her extremely attractive boyfriend). Correction: ex-boyfriend.

"How have you been? I've been trying to talk to you, but with The Revealing and stuff you're a little hard to get a hold of," he says, sending her the smile she had gotten so accustomed to receiving.

She smiles sheepishly. "Yeah, I could say the same for you actually." Sierra has no plans on pointing out that she had been avoiding him the entire semester.

"You could, but I'm not the one that Dayton Blackwood has made a mission on guarding," Gideon adds. Sierra doesn't miss the distaste in his voice when he says Day's name and nor does she miss the narrowing of his eyes.

"I think he just prefers Day," Sierra replies, crossing her arms haughtily and putting more emphasis than needed on his name. She tries not to dwell much on the fact that all it takes is a mention of the consumer witch for her back to straighten and her eyes to become ablaze with confidence.

The Cromwell heir's face muscles tighten and stiffen. With displease evident, he remarks nonchalantly, "I don't really care about Blackwood's preferences. That's not the point anyways."

Sierra raises her right eyebrow - the only one that she can control the rise of.

"What is your point, Gideon?"

"He's your boyfriend, isn't he?" Disgust laces his words as he continues, "He's doing a good job at hogging you."

Without the female witch even trying, Sierra's eyebrows rise so high that she worries they might disappear into her hairline and leave her eyebrowless. She sputters trying to gather her thoughts. Did her ex-boyfriend really think that Day was her boyfriend?

Before she can even come up with a reply, Gideon laughs bitterly and adds, "What do you see in him, anyways? A bit of a downgrade don't you think?"

Sierra looks back at Gideon with shock and disbelief. Maybe it was her newfound loyalty towards Day or maybe it was him doubting her choices that made her angry. She tries not to mull over the fact that she doesn't correct him.

"Excuse me?" she says, giving the envious boy a chance to correct and redeem himself.

"He's a demid, Sierra," he hisses in disbelief. He steps closer and Sierra steps back. "What were you thinking?"

'Foolish boy.' She had given him a chance to walk away unscathed, but now she was not happy - at fucking all.

"Are you out of your mind? Gideon, do you even realise that you're living in the twenty-first century, right now? No one, and I mean no one cares about their blood status. So what if he has civisal blood? The future generations might not even know their blood status and you're downgrading Day's worth because he's a demid?"

He lets out an exasperated sigh. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm pretty sure that's exactly what you meant." Pause. She scoffs and adds, "I can't believe I dated you."

Gideon's exasperated and irritated face changes to show the offense that he's feeling. Slowly disbelief takes over.

"How can you say that? I was there for your worst!"

Sierra stumbles back as if struck by some sort of lethal weapon. She sure as hell felt like that.

When she speaks, her voice is calm and dangerous - just like the calm before the storm. "My worst?"

"Yeah, your worst." A bitter and sick grin takes over his face. "Or don't you remember the days where you couldn't even get out of your bed because of the shit you had put yourself through?"

Sierra's eyes widen and as she gazes up at the absolutely furious boy in front of her, she can't recognize him. He's not the same boy who made her daisy chains or bought her ice cream on their first date. This is someone different, this is the boy who had dumped her on her birthday and the same boy who had refused to answer her calls or speak to her - until now.

"What do you see in him? He doesn't deserve you, he - ."

"And what? You do?" she interrupts him mid-sentence. The strange look that appears on his face is enough to confirm her suspicions. "Bless your delusional soul. I deserve someone that can tell the difference between my worst and my weakest." She laughs bitterly and he cringes. "That's obviously not you."

With a heated glare directed her way, he stomps off. She fights to keep her tears at bay as she looks at his retreating figure. Sierra can't figure out how she wasted three years on him. She doesn't know how she never realised who he truly was. And here she considers herself to be intelligent. It's only then that she notices how quiet the hallway is (and it's not because it's empty). In fact, it's quite the opposite. The hallway is crowded and all eyes are glued on her.

"Hope you all enjoyed the show," she remarks before stalking off. She holds her head high until she finds the door to a bathroom. Instantly her body sags and a broken gasp escapes her lips.

Sierra remembers the unfortunate day that she found the bodies of her dead parents. Though, it is every day after that's a blur. And as she sobs into her hands, she misses her parents more than ever. Her mother would've hugged her and told her it was going to be okay. Her wise dad would've cracked some jokes, anything to make her laugh, and then uttered some philosophical words to get her thinking. Most of all, she missed her brother, who used to stand up for her when she couldn't do it.

"Sierra? Are you okay?" Minerva asks, stumbling into the bathroom, her hands covered in the remnants of spell.

The witch in question, wipes her eyes and stands up.

"I'll be okay." Pause. "What's that on your hands?"

"Oh just some amroot," Minerva replies, as she walks to the basin and washes the leftovers of a green paste away.

Sierra's eyebrows furrow knowing that amroot doesn't look like that. Any other time, Sierra would've questioned Minerva's lie, but not today. With a nod, Sierra turns around and leaves, hoping to make it to her dorm room without bumping into another familiar face.