Miss O'Connell | B.E

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It sat on the rugged slopes of the mountains. The Blessed Mother's Catholic School for Girls lived on as if it were brought through a time machine from centuries ago. The campus sprawled like a labyrinth. Everything you could imagine a fairytale witch would dream of. The Gothic spires and Victorian turrets reached for the sky; a fearful sight for those who looked up too high. The stone walls were piped with grimy ivy in every crack and crevice, aging by the day. The gardens, though meticulously tended, felt nothing like the calming scene it was trying so hard to be.

The main building, built of weathered grey stone and tall, arched tainted windows, took up most of the campus. Intricate carvings were crafted across it, with statues of saints standing in silence. Their eyes were carved so deep that if you focused just enough, they'd trick you into believing they were watching your every move. That is, only if you dared to pass beneath them.

The uniform of The Blessed Mother's Catholic School for Girls was a classic attire. Think of the most prestigious of the prestigious, and that was it. Each morning, students wore maroon blazers, the school crest, an embroidered cross with a rose, standing proudly on the lapel. There were Crisp white blouses buttoned up to the collar. Their pleated skirts, a plaid pattern of browns and maroon would tire your eyes if you looked too hard. Knee-high socks were pulled up and polished black shoes covered them. The finishing touch was a neatly tied ribbon in the signature color, maroon, if you couldn't tell, woven through their hair.

The classrooms were old school, charming to say the least, but ready to fall apart at any given moment to say the most. Rows of wooden desks, worn out and tired, surprisingly older than their headmistress. They all faced large blackboards, surfaces ghosted with the chalky leftovers of the lessons, both from this very moment and years ago. Sunlight spilled through tall, arching windows, shining beams of colored light across shelves lined with books.

The girls who attended The Blessed Mother's Catholic School for Girls were even worse than the school. They were united by a drive for excellence. Perfectionism. Whether that was in academics, arts, or athletics, it didn't matter. Each clique tried harder than the last and beat the other down to the floor below them. There were scholars who bleed in studies, athletes who brought pride to the school's sports teams, and artists whose talents were nurtured by the canvas. 

Some were the daughters of influential figures: children of nepotism. while others were there on scholarships, determined to dig out a path to their future through their hard work and dedication. Regardless of their backgrounds, they all wore their uniforms within the line, all prim and proper to the bone. 

But at The Blessed Mother's, the only way to rise up was to beat others down. With fake smiles and dirty gossip, these girls looked ever so perfect to their teachers, but were nightmares to their peers. 

The girls at The Blessed Mother's Catholic School for Girls followed all the rules with precision and pride. They were never late, never rude, and never spoke back, not the teachers at least. Their hair was always neat and straight, tied back into a single ponytail. Adornments were minimal, heavily restricted: a pair of studs or sleepers, and one sentimental ring, nothing more. Though there was a rule against makeup, it was one that many subtly disregarded. The skirts were always the perfect length, and any deviation from the dress code would result in strict disciplinary action.