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Y/N Clover had spent most of her childhood receiving education inside of her home but by the summer of her coming 10th birthday, she was forced to attend a public school, one known in Gavaldon for its prestigious success of graduate...
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_______________________________ Y/N's POV :
The next day at school, Y/N woke up very early in the morning. Around six, she would say- considering that the nymphs and fairies were still preparing breakfast. Alas, another school day meant more homework. And more homework meant less sleep. Gosh, she couldn't decide if she liked school or not.
She grumbled quietly, carrying her textbooks in a small white school bag before making her way down Purity Tower.
She still had time. After all, the school didn't start until eight- they had a whole hour of breakfast. So in the meantime, Y/N was determined to pass her classes. She needed the credit, especially since she had arrived later than the other students.
So, she set off into Honor's Tower and the third floor- the Library of Virtue. The tortoise was fast asleep as always and Y/N crept her way past, into the workspace.
As softly as she could, Y/N set her books down. Her hands pulled the first assignment out. Of course, history.
It was quite simple really. Professor Sader had assigned them to create their own stories, using inspiration from popular fairy tales. They had half a month to finish it and Y/N intended to finish it as soon as possible. She wanted to get over with it.
Y/N wanted to take inspiration from The Little Match Girl.
It wasn't popular in this world- with Cinderella and Snow White being the most celebrated but it was meaningful to her.
The Storian gave her a tale in which a young girl, born in poverty, was forced to sell matches on the last evening of New Year's Eve. Barefooted and cold, she continued to light the bundles of matches before slowly dying of loneliness, hunger, and cold.
Y/N sniffled to herself. She liked those kinds of stories. One's that made you attach to the characters- relate to them in one way or another. It was one of the first books she ever read. She laughed to herself, quietly remembering the memory of crying at the end.
She slapped herself.
'No more distractions,' she told herself. _______________________________
Y/N spent the whole half-hour brainstorming the idea for her story. Her book would follow a young fifteen-year-old boy. An artificial child born from the grieving pain of the world. He would represent the black sheep. Someone who was an outcast. A young boy who was forced to become a man at a young age. A boy who was killed for looking like the bad guy.
This was a good story. This would give people a good idea of what this cruel world looked like. Y/N drew down notes, listing events that'd occur in the story. She saw a chair pull out in front of her before a blonde rat nest pulled into her view. He laid his head down and peered at her from the surface of the table.
