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Allow me to set the scene, it's the second of October, the year is twenty-sixteen and after a long strenuous day at school, one [Name] Fielding, age fourteen, stops by The Magnus Institute London. This is their fourth visit to the institute, clutched in one hand is a notebook filled to the brim with notes and theories, an intelligent child to say the least. However should anyone ask what was in the notebook they'd be met with a glare and the simple, curt answer of "homework." This of course was a lie, but [Name] had long since learned of the privileges and powers of wielding a silver-tongue, and it was something she took great advantages of. Waiting for their turn at the desk, they hung back in line, preferring to go unnoticed among the other visitors of the Institute.
This was the scene that led to the meeting of one Helen Richardson and [Name] Fielding shortly before the death of the former. The woman in question was rather paranoid that day, eyes darting every which way, constantly checking over her shoulder. Not to mention she'd taken a bit of an apprehension to doors, though we'll get to that in a moment. Her hair was a mess of dark thick curls which she hadn't even bothered to pay the bare minimum of attention to that morning.
"So, what are you in for?" [Name] spoke first, glancing at the woman next to her as the two waited for the receptionist to finish arguing with the person in front of them.
Helen gave a bit of start, glancing over at them. [Name] was tall for their age, dressed in a boy's school uniform, the blazer of which had been traded out for a worn leather jacket which she somewhat doubted and originally belonged to them. The glasses on their nose did little to hide the bags under the girl's eyes and her hair wasn't as well kept as perhaps might have been considered socially acceptable. Not that Helen was in any place to judge on the matter, the Real Estate Agent had been less than, well, put together than what she might have otherwise been.
"I'm here to make a statement." She said curtly, looking away from the girl. Something about the gaze of that... person. Calling them a child felt out of place for some reason, though why they couldn't exactly say, but regardless of the fact there was something ever so slightly off about them, leaving a rather nasty taste of deja vu present in Helen's mouth.
"Oh," [Name] seemed to brighten ever so slightly, eyes glinting in the light, "what for? Jon, the current Archivist I mean, can be a pit of a prude sometimes when it comes to statements, though then again I'm only speaking from second hand experiences and I highly doubt he's going to be any less, believing after what happened with Jane Prentis." They rambled.
![Allow me to set the scene, it's the second of October, the year is twenty-sixteen and after a long strenuous day at school, one [Name] Fielding, age fourteen, stops by The Magnus Institute London](https://img.wattpad.com/74dec5a167f0529bcf2ba5339147a4250c844364/68747470733a2f2f73332e616d617a6f6e6177732e636f6d2f776174747061642d6d656469612d736572766963652f53746f7279496d6167652f4439384779674e707459577947413d3d2d313030343432373936392e313635393839376334363130313665313437353436343630383435342e706e67?s=fit&w=720&h=720)
