St. Annister's

All Seems Well

        Was she really going; did her ‘parents’ really make her? It was unbelievable as she made her way up – alone – and knocked on the large wooden doors. It was neat and extremely shiny, stretching to the top and meeting in a point. The doors, magnificent in themselves, were highly decorated with iron. Little stubs stuck out at the edges of the door, crawling out like tree branches that seemed to be trapping the doors within their clutches. Though, as they moved closer to where the doors connected, they separated a bit and formed a circle around the door knockers, which took the shape of the school Coat of Arms; it took the shape of a shield, which was split four ways. The inscriptions showed a simple bow in the middle, which sways out and covers the shield in strands of ribbon. She had seen the actual picture, which sported the school’s colours of black and bright red.

        Sighing, she hugged the bag she always carried closer to herself, glancing down at her outfit. They had a uniform they had to wear upon arriving; a simple dress that was knee length, short, puffy sleeves, collar, and a simple strip down the middle. As well as that, she wore lacey ankle socks and shoes that strapped over the main part of her foot. Both were two colours; dull black-grey and a strong red. A single bow held her haphazard midnight hair back from her face, which seemed to always fall before her beautifully emerald eyes. She brought a single backpack, which contained her art supplies, as well as books and other necessities. They had checked it before she left, which excluded her razors, band aids, and other cleaning supplies. Another thing she held was her white blanket her real Mother had made her when she was born. It was knotted, torn, straggly little thing.

        She bravely knocked against the wooden doors, reaching out with her free hand to grip the suitcase that sat behind her. Taking a step back, she watched as a single male had opened one of the doors, golden eyes staring out at her. The man gave the smallest of smiles, taking a step back and opened the door wider for her to enter.

        "Welcome, Miss Silveus Dyth." the monotone voice called to her as the shy girl took a step in. The man, much taller than here was clad in slightly baggy black jeans, as well as a black button up shirt with white pinstripes, black combat boots, and - surprise - black gloves. Draped over his shoulders was a black, shadowy-like materialed cape, two golden laces connecting the sides across his chest. The man himself was handsome; slightly rounded triangular face, thin, pursed lips, cute button nose, but bold, golden eyes. The only flaws were the tattoo-like marks beneath his eyes. They were pure white, upside down looking pitchforks. Besides that, a scar ran over his lips; about half an inch beneath his lower lip and one-fourth an inch above his upper lip. Black locks started from a tip half-way to his chest, though as it continued up, it arched out in soft cow-lick like strands until it reached his head, forming an inverted triangular puff at the very top.

            Tentatively, Silveus made her way into the school and glanced around the large foyer. It was highly decorated, reminding her of old victorian castles. The stone walls were lined with portraits of figures she didn't know. Ancestors? Maybe. Bright red curtains draped over the windows, golden fringes scattered at the end. Around the room, chairs, loveseats, tables, rocking chairs, nightstands, and a couch were scattered. They were made mostly of a nice burgundy leather, intricate designs scattered within the fabric with gold. She stood there, luggage in hand and her mouth open in awe, staring around the room. The man next to her seemed rather pleased as he shut the door, standing a couple feet away with his hands clasped behind his back.

        "Do you like it?" he asks kindly, his golden eyes boring into Silveus's own emerald ones, searching for an answer himself, which he was granted.

        Slowly, she nodded her head yes and turned to face him fully, clearing her throat, "Yes, very much. Might I ask your name?" she asks, wanting her voice to sound almost calm, but it came out as a hoarse squeak.

        The golden eyed gave the same smile as earlier, "Steward Constantine Fyler at your service." he crosses an arm over his chest, bowing his head respectively, "May I take your luggage and assist you to your room?"

        It didn't seem like a question, because before she knew it, they were walking down an endless corridor. Her hands were free to mess with the lace of the dress as the man, as promised, took her luggage.