The doom and gloom from Winn Nelson's death had started to fade as prom season fell upon Westfield High. It wasn't as though the students were forgetting about the tragic death, it was just that time was moving on and excitement and anticipation had started to overshadow the sadness. The once-heart-felt shrine at the boy's locker had practically vanished, the mourning ebbing away as life continued to journey on at a steady and sure pace—time stopped for no man and no woman. Deliah Snell and Christabelle Slater had self-declared that the prom would go on, bigger and better, and all in Winn Nelson's honour because that's what he would have wanted, a spectacle like no other. And the cruel teenage girls with icy hearts and sharpened grins were right, the prom would be a spectacle, the prom of the century.

Carrie and Ava were sitting cross-legged in one of the library aisles during lunch. Cool air from the air conditioner gathered around them and Carrie was glad for the long sleeves of her black blouse with the high and stiff collar. Actually, Carrie had always liked high necklines and collars and whenever she wandered through the thrift shop at the strip mall her mother worked at, she'd search for embroidered collars. She flipped over to the next page of a textbook she'd found on psychokinesis and telekinesis. The book was old and the pages were worn thin and the ink was faded, but Carrie was finding the reading enlightening. Finally, her research into her power had come to some sort of fruition. She made a mental note to show Michael the book.

"I know you don't hear much gossip," Ava Gold began, her eyes removing from her own textbook about a pirate called Charles Vane to the blonde sitting next to her. "But this piece of gossip is pretty tasty."

"Oh, yeah?" Carrie's eyebrows arched up with the question, a tiny smile pinching her cheeks higher. Gossip didn't really appeal to Carrie and she had no use for it either, but the tone of Ava's voice suggested that this slice of tasty and tangy gossip would be a pleaser.

"Tommy Ross broke up with Deliah Snell," Ava announced in a low voice, "and it was over you."

Carrie's eyes bugged, her mouth agape. "What? Over me?" she repeated, thinking she must have misheard her only friend at Westfield High.

Ava nodded, trying to control her smile shaped like a sickle. "He heard about the... locker incident and I guess he didn't want to date someone that could do something like that." Ava remembered all that blood with a shiver—the blood that had been smeared across Carrie's locker door and the hanging tampon that had dripped and dripped. It was disgusting and Ava's stomach had turned the entire time it took to clear away the blood. She'd skipped her last class that day to clean her friend's locker, believing Carrie shouldn't be the one to face the bloody mess again. And she would do it again for Carrie, even if it meant getting more bruises on her knees or sore arms from all the scrubbing and the scent of tainted blood that had gotten stuck at the back of her throat.

Carrie was stunned and didn't know what to say. Tommy had broken up with Deliah because of her cruelty and malice and her bullying. Carrie didn't know why her heart was melting suddenly or why her cheeks were warming with a blush that crept over her neck and along her collarbones with slender, rosy fingers. "That's—"

"—Awfully human and decent of him. I actually admire him for it," Ava said, speaking the words that failed Carrie. "That Deliah is a snake!" That was another thing that Carrie couldn't express but Ava Gold had no problem with it. Regardless, the break up of the star football player and the most popular girl in school felt strange in Carrie's heart; it tingled oh-so-sweetly.

—

By the afternoon, the strange tingling had reached Carrie's fingers and she couldn't remove the jock from her mind. He had witnessed many moments of harassment done to Carrie Moore by his very own friends but had never done anything about it. He had always been at a crossroads and he was finally choosing which direction he wanted to head in. His own minuscule revolt had started with him defending Carrie in English class that one time, and then Winn died and everything changed for him. His pained heart led him to kindness and compassion, while Deliah's grief led her to spite and savagery. The locker incident had been the final straw, the turning point, and after a long and draining fight, things had ended between him and the stunning blonde that ruled the halls of Westfield High with ruthlessness and with Christabelle Slater at her side, who was just as vicious.

Tommy Ross walked down the crowded halls by himself now, his eyes hooded and shoulders weighed down by more than just his backpack. The hallways didn't feel the same to him now, not since the night he'd lost his best friend. There was a darkness, a lingering in the air and he was coming to the realisation that people could get stuck in this high school, and he didn't want to get stuck in these damned halls. He wasn't oblivious to the whispers that followed him and he knew that the whispers were Deliah's handiwork, but he kept moving on, keeping an eye out for another blonde that wasn't jaded or brutal. He finally clocked Carrie Moore patiently trying to get around a cluster of kids from the debate club who were taking up too much room in the hallway as they voiced their strong and informed opinions on the state of the world. Whatever way you look at it, the world was damned, heading for the fire and tar of hell.

She made herself small, her shoulders bowing as she squeezed past them, muttering out polite and gentle excuses. The group barely noticed her and one girl nearly ramped her elbow into Carrie's face. It made Tommy's blood sour that they weren't considerate of Carrie, didn't even see her though she was right there, speaking to them, just asking them to move over a tad so she should get by. He picked up his pace, heading in the girl's direction.

"Carrie, hey," he called out before he reached her side. The peach-blonde looked up quickly at the sound of her name. She actually flinched at her name spoken out loud in the hallways. Tommy stepped back one step, giving the girl more space. "How are you?" he asked, trying for casual.

"You're asking me how I am?" she whispered out after a long moment of stunned silence. The tingling feeling was spreading—it was a force to be reckoned with. Carrie looked around herself frantically, so sure that he must be talking to someone else, or playing a mean joke. Her bones were tense as she waited for the punch line to slap her in the face.

"Yeah." He nodded, a smile spreading his lips delightfully.

She didn't even breathe. "Why?"

Tommy shifted his weight, tightening his grip on his backpack that laid across one shoulder, leaving most of his letterman jacket visible. "I guess I just wanted to check on you." His eyes dropped to his feet and guilt twisted his stomach. "What Deliah and Christabelle did to your locker... it wasn't cool and I'm sorry that happened to you, Carrie."

Carrie studied Tommy for a few heartbeats, considering what to say. She was touched by his apology and how he'd sought her out to see how she was doing after all that tainted blood. The Asian-American teenager was always handsome, his dark hair short and tidy, and right now, speaking to Carrie in an attentive voice, with guilt and compassion drowning his puppy-dog eyes, he seemed soft. Tommy Ross was a soft jock with a heart of gold that had once been chained by the toxic culture of Westfield High and peer pressure, but not anymore. She finally nodded in return, "Thank you for your apology. It means a lot." She then skirted around him, heading for her next class.

And then Tommy did something impulsive, something no one at Westfield High would expect from him or ever understand. "Wait!" He reached out, wrapping his fingers around her slim wrist tenderly. Carrie paused, looking back at Tommy Ross with bright confusion. "Wanna go to prom together?"

Her heart stalled. "Excuse me?" she choked out.

"If you already have a date that's cool," he replied, shrugging. He didn't know much about Carrie Moore and it was entirely possible that she already had a date to the prom. She was a pretty and intelligent girl after all.

"I don't," Carrie muttered out, that tingling feeling sparking in her heart that echoed with doubt and suspicion. "You're not playing a joke on me, are you?"

"What? No." Tommy shook his head. "Carrie, I'm not trying to trick you."

"You really want to go to prom with me?" she breathed out in disbelief. She hadn't even planned on going to prom and certainty never expected someone to ask.

Tommy smiled widely. "I really do." He didn't care what anyone thought of him taking Carrie Moore to the dance. He'd chosen his road, his path and he believed it was bathed in kindness and sunshine. He was wrong.

Carrie's heart swelled with excitement and she worked hard to contain the blissful feeling that surged through her veins. "Okay!" she agreed instantly, without even considering what this could mean for the stars that were suddenly out of formation, for the universe that was going to bleed with blood so tainted and bright that the heavens would cry bloody murder.

—

Carrie wanted to tell Ava Gold that afternoon, but she couldn't find her friend after the bell called out the end of the school day. She'd checked Ava's locker and the library, but nothing. She would just have to hold onto her piece of good news for a little while longer. The news of Tommy Ross asking her to the prom was like a bubble in her chest, glossy and proud, waiting to pop. The school entrance was quiet and lacking students when Carrie hurried down the steps towards Michael waiting by his tree.

She had actually forgotten about Michael Langdon due to her incredible and world-spinning news. She was going to prom with Tommy Ross! The smile that strained her lips wanted to break her cheekbones that were hued in the sweetest of pinks. Michael thought the blush was for him, but it wasn't this time.

She skipped to his side with child-like excitement that bubbled through her bloodstream like fizzy soda pop. Carrie couldn't believe that she was finally going to have a normal teenage experience before she graduated at the end of the month. "Michael! Michael! I have something amazing to tell you!" she beamed, sliding her hand into his scorching palm. Michael's blue eyes were bright, absorbing Carrie's unusual but vivid pep.

"What is it, Carrietta?" he asked, his cheeks high just at the sight of her joy and bliss. He threaded his fingers through hers as they started down the pathway drenched in the afternoon light that glowed with golden and almost angelic hues.

"I was asked to prom today!" Her heart was exploding with that tingling feeling that numbed her limbs with an ardent delirium.

"Did Ava Gold ask you?" he asked, seeing as that was the most likely option. And a very sweet option.

Carrie shook her head, her tangles of blonde hair flying around her pink, flaming cheeks. "Nope. Tommy Ross!"

Michael's heart dropped. So he wasn't the reason behind Carrie's wonderful and glowing happiness. "There was a prom night in Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation and that didn't end well at all."

"We're not in a horror movie, Michael." His hand fell away from hers and his eyes were suddenly dark, his mood turning with the drop of a pin. "Aren't you happy for me? I'm going to have a normal and magical night. That's all I've ever wanted," she added, her brow creasing.

"That's not what to you want, Carrietta," Michael announced in a dark and shadowed voice. "Not really."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're not normal. I'm not normal. We'll never have normality, don't you see that?" He drew himself up close to Carrie, getting into her face. His eyes were hard, boring into hers with daggers. His anger and violence were blooming and it caused Carrie's spine to shiver. "We're meant for so much more than fucking normal." His sweltering heat was licking at her skin with such loathsomeness and fear shuddered awake in Carrie's bones. "The dance you see in your head with the soft, blush silk dress and the strings of stars twinkling as you slow dance with the handsome jock will not go how you wish." It was like Michael could see into her very mind, see the perfect picture that she had created in her head. It was like he had the power to find her fantasy hidden in her brain and pulled it out with sharp talons to torment her with. But it was more than just that, for Michael knew what would happen at the Westfield High prom. His Dark Lord had shown him in fragments, fragments that were now piecing themselves together.

Carrie was trembling and tears welled in her eyes. "Michael, please," she sobbed out, her voice shaking. She didn't understand where all of this monstrosity had come from. She knew darkness dwelled in Michael's blood, for darkness also dwelled in her own, but this was vastly different. Michael was currently cunning and cruel—she hadn't known he was capable of that. But everyone was capable of such cruelty.

He stepped away from her and she was relieved as cool air rushed against her hot skin. But Michael's jaw was still set with power and conviction. He was darkly dangerous and it unsettled Carrie Moore to her soul. "We're nothing like normal, my Carrietta, and you will be crowned rightfully for it one day."