• She didn't see that boy again, and was thankful. Someone else explained everything about the schedule, the classes, the professors, and all the general know-how in the academy. Sadly, Victoire and Aline were in separate classes and only had near twenty minutes to talk to each other. This occured when Victoire left her class and visited Aline's room, where Aline was preparing for her class.

    "Aline," Victoire sighed, "Would you believe that there's not a mirror in this stupid place?"

    "Yes."

    The air was too thick for conversation.

    "Aline," Victoire sighed again, "It's so stuffy down here, don't you hate it? My room doesn't have any windows, either."

    "I believe it."

    Aline was looking away from her, but Victoire took her shoulders in her hands and stared her firmly in the eyes.

    "Aline, I want you to understand something," she said. "I want to go home as soon as possible."

    Aline slipped Victoire's hands off her shoulders, and continued her preparation freely.

    "Aren't you listening to me!"

    "I'm listening," she said. "And it seems like you want a lot of things. Besides, you hardly gave this place a chance."

    "This is you!" Victoire huffed, throwing her hands up in the air like a marionette. "This is always you! You're so stubborn! Nothing, nothing, I do will ever sway you to see my point of view!"

    "'Your point of view', Victoire, when was the last time you thought about what I want?"

    "You never want anything." Victoire wheezed, her voice stinged with wonder.

    The anger came to a simmer, but the tension boiled on. "Get out," they both wanted to say, but neither one had the courage. Victoire settled it by leaving.


    They didn't read from scriptures there. Unlike Aline and Victoire's former tutor, every lesson wasn't based on the Bible. In fact, the Bible wasn't even included in the reticulum. Instead, they used fat books that told detailed accounts of utter nonsense.

    The professor waved his hand to the class and announced, "All right, take your forty minutes."

    Most of the class dispersed, and even he professor hurried out of the room. But a fiery-chinned young man leaned across his desk and called:

    "Hello there!" He was Hunther, the boy that had taken Victoire to her room. His smile was crooked and long as he spoke.

    "Good evening," Aline greeted back.

    "M. Mercy gave me the job to escort you to his private dining room, where you'll be treated to your meals from now on." His tone didn't suggest negotiability.

    "That's very polite of him. Pray, who is this M. Mercy?"

    "The Headmaster, of course! He's willing to treat you to anything, mademoiselle." Hunther's words were elongated and fierce, but it didn't seem intentional.

    "What of my sister? And where do the other students eat?"

    "The other students take care of their own meals, and arrangements are currently being made for Victoire," he answered, "I'm sorry that everything seems ill-prepared."

    "Well, I admire your courtesy for apologizing, but that doesn't change a thing, does it?"

    His lips drew into a thin line.

    "Now, tell M. Mercy that I thank him for the gesture but, until my sister is taken care of, I don't believe an audience with him is at all necessary."

    "But you must eat!"

    "I 'must' do nothing, monsieur, and I ask you to acknowledge my decisions," Aline corrected.

    As she reached for her books and notes, Hunther grabbed her arm and twisted it, rendering her immobilized. With only inches of empty space seperating them, he hissed:

    "I'm through with courtesy."