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“That’s all,” he says through gritted teeth. It must have been painful for him to even announce any form of acknowledgment or praise my way. “Everyone else, prepare for your trial.”
Lovely.
Out of the chosen five hundred, I’m the sole individual who has already been approved to be an N.M.U. candidate.
Just put a target on my head so I can be killed.
By accident, of course.
Another individual in a black cloth moves to take Professor North’s place. I secretly wonder if we’ll be draped in the fine silk of black with symbols of gold.
Makes it easier to blend with the shadows.
“Line up in an orderly fashion as we make our way to the Pillar of Roses. Forewarning… the roses should not be touched.”
Seeing as I’m standing at the front of the gated platform, everyone begins to line up behind me.
“Why not?” I hear a female student wonder. “Are they poisoned?”
“Bet the thorns poke to kill,” a male student jokes.
“Shh. I don’t want fucking bugs coming out of my mouth. Don’t let us get struck.”
“Oh, please. He just got mad because of Miss Prestigious over at the front, who thinks she’s the shit.”
“I bet you her family paid hefty to make her be accepted without a fucking trial.”
“That has to be against the rules.”
I want to zone them all out because I can’t keep up with who is speaking. In fact, it’s nothing but a distraction at this point.
“Why would it be against the rules to acknowledge a Viper?”
I’m immediately intrigued by the soft, whimsical tone that comes from behind me. It carries enough of a tug of intrigue to my very generous orb of magic that I turn around completely to acknowledge the female that’s fourth in line. She’s not who you’d expect to even be participating in these trials, let alone be a student of N.M.U.
Those who attended had a strict dress code.
Black. Red. Gold. Green.
That’s it.
Even silver seemed like a rarity unless it was a genetic trait in your hair—something I have but purposely dyed to black so I wouldn’t be picked on further.
Clearly, that didn’t do much in the ‘don’t see me’ department.
This female has bright golden locks. So gold, bountiful, and divine looking, I’m tempted to point a wand her way and send her to any holy school that will take her.
Even the catholic church would be a safer place for her than the depths of this shadowed dynasty.
She’s wearing pink tights, a white top, and a pink knitted sweater. Her running shoes are white with a hint of pink sparkles, and her lips are lightly glossed. Her skin is like powdered milk in the shade, not pale enough to be considered sickly, but definitely paler than most people’s tanned complexions. She looks like a porcelain doll that’s been revived into a real-life being and has never been touched by the rays of the harsh sun.
Meaning she’s absolutely beautiful, like a goddess.
I can already feel the shift of envy seeping out of the surrounding females, who take a lengthy look her way. I guess we don’t have much of a choice after she’s drawn attention to herself, but compared to everyone else, I’m secretly in awe.
Someone with fashion sense. Praise the Shadows.
“What did you just say, Barbie Fake?”
