Fowler School of Magic's

I'm real. I can feel. I am breathing.

She went through her final reassurances as she stepped through the gate. Seconds ago it was a broken down school, abandoned years ago. Now it was buzzing with life, a magical barrier.

She struggled to remember the life before this. Before that step. Right now a man was approaching.

Two large antlers sprouted from his skull, a red ribbon tied around one. She looked him up and down, ignoring the hooves in place of feet in favor of his clipboard.

"You're name?"

She continued to stare. He sighed and snapped his fingers impatiently,

"Miss, your name?"
"My name," she repeated, "my name is Calliope. Like the muse. I don't-"

He snapped his fingers once and she was in a room. She quickly took in her surroundings. There were two beds, another student already occupying once. She looked just as startled.

"I'm Francine."
"Just Francine?"
"Yes. Who are you?"
"Calliope. Calla, please."

She frowned, "I'm sorry, one more time?" She asked, leaning forward enough that her dark hair fell in her face. "Calla." She repeated, warning a nod from Francine as she laid back on her bed.

"So where you from Calla? You obviously have some sort of death connection if you're here in the ever so sunny Mortem House."

She had never been here yet she felt she knew everything. Something was strange here. She knew about the Mortem House, and the Vita House, and the Mutatio House, still, she couldn't ever remember ever being here before now.

"I see dead people." She said quietly, "I can talk to them. And I can sometimes know when people are going to die."

Francine laughed, like being annoyed by the ghost of an enthusiastic centuries old bard who was still touchy about his death before a performance was amusing. Though in some aspects it was. Still, it wasn't something she easily got used to.

"What about you?"

Francine rolled over onto her stomach now, staring her straight on. "I can bring back the death. Give me some bones and some blood and bada bing bada boom you got yourself a resurrected corpse."

She couldn't place her accent. Though she hadn't been many places.

"Where are you from?"
"France. You?."
"America, Indiana specifically."

"You know French then?"
"No I speak English."
"Well you're speaking it now?"

She frowned again, deep lines in her forehead that shifted her whole face. "I can hardly hear don't mess with my brain too." She wasn't trying to though. She just wanted to figure out all the fog in her head

She decided to unpack. When she looked back her bed was made with her old sheets. Bedding she hadn't seen in years. A simple yellow sheet with small flowers on it and a black comforter. The smelled of it filled the room. Memories out of reach.

"I was homeless I think." She said quietly, "Then.... I went home maybe?" She vaguely remember a letter telling to come to this address. No. No that wasn't right. She had a family, though it was dysfunctional at the best of times. She was homeless when she ran away. Yes. That was it.

Still, it felt odd. The bedding was from one of her favorite houses, the one they'd stayed at the longest. Moving around from place to place wasn't great, why they did so she didn't know.