Roaming quietly in front of a door with a brass plaque that read 'Miss Celia', a white-haired girl stood with her hands folded nervously.
Amelia Everhart.
Her usually regal bearing was replaced by something more subdued—more delicate.
Her crimson eyes, bright and resolute during sword practice or political debates, now flicked left and right with the awkward hesitation of someone unsure of her place.
She had been waiting for several minutes now.
She didn't knock.
She didn't want to be rude.
Disturbing Miss Celia during what little peace and quiet she got felt… impolite.
And Amelia had never liked being an inconvenience.
Especially not to someone like Celia, who, despite her unassuming demeanor, had more authority in Rose Academy than even some of the nobles.
So Amelia simply paced. Back and forth in the long corridor of the faculty wing's third floor.
