Hey, starchild, are you listening?
The moment she set foot in the building, Seren realized how out of place she felt. There was something about the ordered chaos to the flocks of children and youths streaming in and out of classrooms and libraries that appealed to her, even as the rigid schedules chafed against her free spirit. No doubt it was the same reason that she only barely managed to fit in with the Dragoons. She felt keenly the eyes of strangers upon herself as she padded on quiet feet along hallways and poked her nose into reading nooks, very aware of the night dark aura that trailed in her wake. Setting her apart. Marking her as other, more than ever in this place where magic was outlawed and foreign.
When she found the classroom - and the class - she had been searching for, the lesson was still in session. Slipping in through the open doors, she settled quietly in the far back and tried to pay heed to the subject at hand. But most of her attention was on the owner of a particularly dark head of curly hair, and the teacher's droning voice was soon little more than a buzz at the periphery of her awareness as she contemplated her brother's relationship with combs.
When she found the classroom - and the class - she had been searching for, the lesson was still in session. Slipping in through the open doors, she settled quietly in the far back and tried to pay heed to the subject at hand. But most of her attention was on the owner of a particularly dark head of curly hair, and the teacher's droning voice was soon little more than a buzz at the periphery of her awareness as she contemplated her brother's relationship with combs.
Seren
