Ad Astra Per Aspera ♱ Cheryl Blossom

𝖑𝖝𝖝𝖝. can't catch a break

''That's wonderful news. Now, would you mind if we went down to the chapel to light a votive candle of thanksgiving to celebrate.''

The blonde's body tensed as she reminded herself what — rather, who — was in that chapel. The redhead shook her head at once, frowning.

''Excuse you? Go—go where?''

''To the chapel,'' Aunt Cricket repeated. ''We always visit with the ancestors whenever we come to Thistlehouse.''

''Absolutely not,'' the Blossom girl denied, standing up in defence. ''You're not going down there. Now begone! All of you! You won't be getting my signature, nor will you ever visit that chapel again. It is off-limits to anyone but me.''

The Blossom board shot suspicious glances at each other whilst slowly filing out of the living room and into the foyer. Cheryl was quick to usher them out of the house, swiftly slamming the door shut behind them, before she stormed down to the chapel.

Nana Rose's chuckling was drowned out by the sound of Mia's phone ringing. She was about to ignore the call when she noticed it was Jughead; he should've been thanking his lucky stars that he was able to get her on the line.

''I've been doing some digging. I pulled copies of Stonewall Prep's literary magazine from the year that our grandpa and Mr DuPont attended. In the table of contents it lists a story written by Forsythe I, but it was torn out!''

''Hello to you too, brother dearest,'' she greeted sarcastically. ''I miss you terribly.''

''It's like every trace of his writing at Stonewall Prep is just gone.''

''Well, do you know where he went to school after Stonewall Prep?''

''Dad said it was Riverdale High.''

''Right . . . '' the blonde mused, thinking back to Betty's ramblings during dinner that no one asked for. ''Didn't Polly Pocket mention there being a literary magazine there, too, back in the day?''

''I'll be on the next train.''

༺✧༻

RIVERDALE HIGH

NOVEMBER 14TH, 2019

RIVERDALE

Flicking through the archives of Riverdale High wasn't how Mia envisioned her Thursday morning to go. Still, she loved her brother, so she bit her tongue and got on with it — for the most part.

''Wait, hold on,'' he muttered, rustling between sheets of paper. ''There's a story in this one written by Frosty Pyjamas.''

''Frosty Pyjamas . . . as in ❛FP❜?''

''Sounds like a joke,'' Betty shrugged, returning back to her own pile of articles.

''Or it's a pen name,'' Jughead suggested. ''Mia's right — think about it. Frosty is almost an anagram for ❛Forsythe❜, and pyjamas are ❛PJ's❜. P and J. ❛Pendleton❜ and ❛Jones❜.''