The new Dark Arts teacher is, of course, Colin. Smoke comes out of Serena's fuck-hair as she tries to process it, and Colin realizes that last night was only a taste of the cockblocking Serena web in which he will soon be entrapped. The Hudson Hero himself calls Colin on the phone that very moment, and says not to worry about any promises of celibacy Serena might demand from him this week, because it's Serena: The little plastic castle is a surprise every time, and she'll be on it like white on a closeted Republican senator by next week for sure.
Blair just goes ahead and lets herself into PRADA, heeding the call of her witchery and for no other reason, because she lost her fucking mind long ago. There, amid terrifying suspense music and a pile of scraps and rags and seaweed, stands her defiant prey: Jenny Humphrey, knee-high to a rockstar, standing perfectly still, crouched in the defensive posture she learned out in the cold ruinous streets of Bellona, ever-burning city of Dhalgren dreams and unnecessary roughness, city of unending war, city that is the destroyer of all cities. Jenny pulls a gleaming knife from her granny boot so subtly you'd think she was a statue. But no statue made by man ever smelled quite like this. Quite so much like Teen Spirit.
Jenny begs, begs in a way she was taught not to do, once in the cold world beyond her banishment, but the cold fire in Waldorf's eyes demands it, pulls it from her: "Whatever you're about to do, my dad and Lily are going to be home any minute." She brandishes the blade weakly, all her training draining away in the awful moment of her life's surrender.
She wears a thousand necklaces, one for every kill in the arena that is life outside the island kingdom. They feel to her now like vanity, like fraud, like a lie, but once they were her ticket through the slums and burning wooden artifice of fair and awful Bellona. Where is that bravery now, Princess Humphrey? Rise up! Wound the autumnal city! Explain that big weird braid coming out of the back of your head; explain the way it lies in weight beneath the hair upon your head like a yellow viper fat with blood.
"Not to worry, Little J. This is going to be a very short conversation. I let you walk away after you whored yourself out to Chuck because I assumed you were smart enough never to come back. I might've been willing to make exceptions for holidays, birthdays, health emergencies of immediate family members, but I don't believe any of those scenarios apply?"