CHAPTER 6 (PART 1)

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"Every rose is the prey of winter"

Djalāl al-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī

Walking while wearing invisible shoes is not as easy as it would seem. It's hard to imagine the distance between the bottom of the shoe and the ground when all you see is the top of your foot. I slowly make my way toward the entrance to the Academy, noticing that the receptionist is now gone. In fact, the place seems deserted, not a soul in sight. I spot a magnificent 1920s Cadillac parked outside the entrance of the building.

The chauffeur, who looks more like a bodyguard, extends his arm to help me into the vehicle

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The chauffeur, who looks more like a bodyguard, extends his arm to help me into the vehicle. From the look on his face and his grin, I assume he approves of my outfit. Either he approves, or he's laughing on the inside because Flicka went over the top. Maybe this is just an initiation prank and I'm ridiculously overdressed for the evening. Just as I'm thinking about opening the door to go and change, the chauffeur starts the car and drives away. Oh well, I'll have to go through with it now. He only drives a few streets away and then turns into a driveway paved in cobblestones and bordered by a tarnished copper fence. At the end of the path, an immense mansion that closely resembles a gothic cathedral rises up imposingly before us.

The chauffeur parks the car at the entrance of the building and opens the door with one hand, guiding me with the other

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The chauffeur parks the car at the entrance of the building and opens the door with one hand, guiding me with the other. He walks me to the main entrance and opens it, revealing a luminous hall.

"What is your name, miss?" he says, holding a slim piece of glass on which writing seems to be scrolling by. It looks strangely like a tablet but is somehow transparent.

 It looks strangely like a tablet but is somehow transparent

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