The Silverleaf Academy was, in Clara Lysandra's opinion, a monument to a glorious and very boring past.
She wandered the perfectly kept lawns with slow, measured steps. Her face was a mask of cool, uncaring indifference. A practiced expression she'd worn for years.
She was a ghost in the vibrant, chattering sea of students. Moving among them but not part of them. Never part of them.
At her side, a whirlwind of color and sound, was her only friend. Elena von Dravien. The only person who could tolerate Clara's moods. The only person Clara could tolerate in return.
"Today's lecture was so boring," Elena groaned. She threw her head back dramatically, drawing stares from passing students. "And that research club... I swear, I will one day beat that professor myself."
"How can someone's voice be so... so flat? So monotone? Every time I listen to him, I want to sleep for a hundred years. Like a curse from a fairy tale."
