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One would imagine that after being drugged, one would simply drift off to sleep. But the demons that were given the task to haunt the Stark family, decided to be particularly nasty.
Currently, William was staring down at a notebook, practically digging a hole through the pages, as he tried to figure out why needed to prove a triangle, was indeed, a triangle.
The teacher was writing on the blackboard, the name of Shakespeare, which was absurd. But right after writing the 'p', she decided to continue writing 'p' on loop instead of an 'e', drawing the young genius' attention.
Three rows, with students all wearing black, were writing Spanish on the pages of their notebook. This caused the only boy in white, William, to furrow his brows in confusion. He craned his neck backwards, and sucked in loud breath, when he saw an endless void of students, all dressed in the same shade of black, and writing in their notebooks, synchronously. Almost too synchronously. They even had the same pens. With a humungous gulp, he looked back at his notebook, trying to drown out the absolute absurdity going around him.
The biggest problem was that in high-school, he was actually blind.
But here, he wasn't.
Abruptly, the words started to flow down the pages, almost like liquid. If that wasn't enough, the teacher decided that writing wasn't cool now. So she started to to drag the chalk painfully across the board, creating a screech so loud, it was probably heard in Asia. The brunette covered his ears in pain, as the sound felt like razors, piercing his auditory nervous system.
"AAARGH!", he let out an earth-shattering yell, throwing everything on his table to the side. His heart was beating sporadically, his pupils dilated, as goosebumps appeared on his exposed forearm. His breathing became heavy and erratic, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, his throat dry.
He was having a panic attack.
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Looking at his palm, he tried to calm himself down. But that didn't work, as small palms, started emerging from his five fingers, and more palms from those fingers. The whiskey-eyed boy furrowed his brows in shock, and started wiping his other hand on the morphed hand, trying to get rid of the trippiness, but to no avail. He got up from his seat, flipping his desk in the process, and propelled himself forward, getting out of the classroom.
