Claire didn't think it possible that things could have gotten any worse. As if having tripped in front of John Ache on the way to class, spilling her lunch over Veronica Queue, and then setting the fire alarm and sprinklers off in chemistry were not enough, as she opened her eyes, she found that her skin had a different and new shade to it. Of all the things I could turn into, a fantastical servant to an, arguably mad, chocolatier was not one of them. With her hands on the bathroom sink, she studied her image in the mirror. Do I have to be carrot colored and tipped with emerald? Why me?
