Mimic [ON HOLD]

Chapter Nine: Attend

"Welcome to Human Transformation," Mrs. Danford greeted me, as I stepped into Dome 1. She looked about thirty years old (although how I was I to tell?) and had long jet-black hair. Her bony frame only amplified the sternness and status she exuded; however, her kind smile had the opposite effect. Esme pulled me to a seat, at one of the desks with the chair attached. The desks were arranged in concentric rings around a lecturing platform. I noticed that many of the seats were empty, probably due to the low attendance of the school. Mrs. Danford, who had been greeting her students at the door, took her place at the podium. While she organized a few papers, I looked around at my classmates. I didn't recognize anyone except Quinto and Fi a few rows back. Felix was nowhere to be seen, even though he had told me this was his weakest subject area.

"Class." Mrs. Danford said the word as if it were its own sentence. "Continue with your celebrity look-alike projects. You will have the rest of the period to complete them. If anyone would like 5% bonus, they may present today instead of next Monday."

The class buzzed quietly and pulled out folders of paper. The sound echoed through the domed room, making a strange lull. Looking up, I saw that the dome was actually created from triangular panes of glass melded together.

"Miss Anyijaverra." Again, Mrs. Danford made no attempt to make the phrase more than a steadfast statement. "You have a lot to catch up on. Perhaps I will give you a brief introduction to the subject while the class works."

With that, the teacher swooped forward and I stood up.

"No, no. Stay where you are."

Sitting down again, Mrs. Danford took a seat perched on the desktop to my left.

"I've heard about you, Anijaverra. My condolences about the accident, and the loss of your memory and family."

I whispered a quiet thank-you, aware that Esme and the other students were eavesdropping.

"Class. You may begin your work," Mrs. Danford said sweetly, and the room began murmuring again. Esme glanced at me, and went to the back of the class to work with Fi and Quinto.

"So. Anyijaverra—"

"It's just Anya," I told her, having grown rather attached to the nickname. Who was I to know what I preferred to be called before the accident?

"Anya, then. How old am I?"

I stopped. It's a trap, I thought. She can't be expecting me to be right. Maybe she's under some disguise, as I had theorized before, and she was really young or really old? I decided to play along.

"I'm not sure, ma'am... maybe twenty?"

Mrs. Danford's eyes sparkled, and she smiled. "Incorrect, Anyijaverra. I am, in fact, 84 years old."

"I would never have known, ma'am," I told her. She beamed.

"This is the magic of human transformation. It may not make my joints less achy, but it sure can remove wrinkles, isn't that so?"

"Absolutely," I said, humouring her.

"And this will be a skill you too will learn. First, though I must know your experience."

"Uh," I began. "I don't have any—"

"Perfect!" Mrs. Danford exclaimed, grabbing my hand. "It's a start."

"I... what is?" I asked. Looking down at my hand, I noticed the bright red nail polish I definitely hadn't applied myself. My hand had become bony and my fingers were longer. It was an exact replica of Mrs. Danford's hand. "Oh. Well, that's all I can do. Copy other people without meaning to."