Sense of Self

The Pastel Wiccan

As Evanora enters the hall, she finds Balthier long gone from sight. She hoped he didn't resent her for having to help her adjust to the academy. She also hoped he didn't end up hindered in his journey to become a professor because of focusing his attention on her... She already imagined that there would be some who wouldn't be all too thrilled of her sudden partnership with their senior peer. His fiancé wouldn't let that go undiscussed, she was sure.

"Shit!" She slaps her forehead. "I forgot to ask where the next class was..." she scolds herself. She still didn't know her way around enough to just stumble upon classrooms.

"There aren't anymore classes today," a voice startles her. With a sharp inhale and a hand going to her chest, Evanora feels the breath stuck in her throat as she turns until pastel hair registers to her. The air dislodges, and she's finally able to exhale as the petite 5'5" woman waves her hands apologetically. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" she immediately apologizes.

It takes a moment to catch her breath and some assistance from the patting hand on her back, but she's finally able to address the female she had now encountered twice.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she reassures, giving her a hesitant laugh and a smile. "You scared the life out of me there."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you like that." She steps back to give the new girl her personal space once again, clasping her hands behind her back. "You're Evanora Ravenscroft, right? That's got to be the coolest name I've ever heard," she gushes.

Now that Evanora was getting a good look at her up close, this girl from yesterday was extremely cute. Apart from her adorable lavender bobbed curls, her big brown eyes and freckles were almost fawn-like. She favored black with inviting pastel colors to draw attention to the doodled animal prints on her off shoulder tee, and form fitting tights that had a soft yet stretchy look to them. Yet on her feet, sandals similar to her own. The small upward curving ivory horn on her forehead was almost a second thought.

"Thank you! I really appreciate that," she beams.

"I'm Giselle Hepfield," she offers. "Were you looking for Corsair?"

Blinking rapidly, Evanora sighs. "Yes. We've been assigned to be class partners for the rest of the year, and I was hoping he could show me to the next class. Though it seems like I won't need him today," she adds, referring to her comment about there being no more classes.

Giselle hisses empathetically. "Ouch, you got assigned to Corsair? Can't say I envy you there. He's... reeaally hard to talk to, to say the least. Not the biggest jerk, but still. He's... intense."

Evanora thinks back to their time waking to class, recalling how relaxed he had seemed and the soft smile that brought a little life to his tired eyes. "Is he?"

"And about classes, we only have one a day here."

At that, she's surprised. "Only one? So there's only five classes total?" she asks.

"Yeah. Each class is usually a few hours long, but after it's over they give us the rest of the evening to review the lessons on our own and practice our casting. Especially if there's an assignment to complete," Giselle explains. "So, of course, today was Casting Theory. Tomorrow is Magical History, Wednesdays are Herbology and Botany, Thursdays are Study of Magical Creatures, and Fridays are Potions."

The noir-headed witch nods and commits these to memory. All of these classes sounded incredibly helpful to her studies. All of them could potentially contain something to act as her breakthrough for her problem. Today gave her a good idea of the prices of learning about different spells and testing them practically. She was eager to see if a study of mage history tomorrow might bring her any potential leads.