She stood in front of the admissions desk, clutching a stack of papers. Each line - every question, every box - was filled with neat, flowing handwriting, remnants of the dying breed that was cursive, scratched in with an old pen now tucked away in a jacket pocket. It was all random information, random yet critical; Emile had felt strange when she was writing it. Name, date of birth, classes, all the things she needed to become a part of the system.
As trivial as the task was, a frown had tugged at the girl's lips the whole time. Questions as easy as mother's phone number and father's phone number eluded her. She barely remembered their faces; all she remembered was the mirror - graduation - then waking up in a scorched crater in the middle of a forest, alone, save for a scrap of paper postmarked Manta Carlos.
"Do you take these?"
The older woman behind the desk looked up, fixing a blank stare on dark-haired, soft-spoken Emile, on the girl who had just spoken. She scowled, the wrinkles and creases in her face thrown into upheaval with the motion.
"Yeah," the woman muttered. Emile extended the papers out - the woman took the papers in a gnarled hand and stood from her seat, disappearing into a room behind the desk with a speed Emile thought unsuited to the woman's appearance. The door slammed shut, then immediately re-opened; the woman again.
"Wait for these to be processed," the old lady spat, tone gruff - then closed the door one last time. Emile was alone again, left with nothing except empty waiting chairs for company. She shrugged her right shoulder, pushing against the weight of her deep blue messenger bag. The pins pierced onto the cloth clanked against each other, even that small sound enough to be heard in the vacant silence of the admissions office.
Emile had nothing except for that bag and what was inside - a few changes of clothes, a journal, and a comb, all she had managed to salvage from the wreckage of her desolated hometown.
With no other choice, she slid into a seat - not too close to the door. Not too far. She took a glance around the room; nothing. A sigh left her lips as she fished out her necklace and absently fiddled with the chain and symbol attached to the end - the whipping tail of Leo. The door stayed shut with no sign of the old woman.
The wait began.
As trivial as the task was, a frown had tugged at the girl's lips the whole time. Questions as easy as mother's phone number and father's phone number eluded her. She barely remembered their faces; all she remembered was the mirror - graduation - then waking up in a scorched crater in the middle of a forest, alone, save for a scrap of paper postmarked Manta Carlos.
"Do you take these?"
The older woman behind the desk looked up, fixing a blank stare on dark-haired, soft-spoken Emile, on the girl who had just spoken. She scowled, the wrinkles and creases in her face thrown into upheaval with the motion.
"Yeah," the woman muttered. Emile extended the papers out - the woman took the papers in a gnarled hand and stood from her seat, disappearing into a room behind the desk with a speed Emile thought unsuited to the woman's appearance. The door slammed shut, then immediately re-opened; the woman again.
"Wait for these to be processed," the old lady spat, tone gruff - then closed the door one last time. Emile was alone again, left with nothing except empty waiting chairs for company. She shrugged her right shoulder, pushing against the weight of her deep blue messenger bag. The pins pierced onto the cloth clanked against each other, even that small sound enough to be heard in the vacant silence of the admissions office.
Emile had nothing except for that bag and what was inside - a few changes of clothes, a journal, and a comb, all she had managed to salvage from the wreckage of her desolated hometown.
With no other choice, she slid into a seat - not too close to the door. Not too far. She took a glance around the room; nothing. A sigh left her lips as she fished out her necklace and absently fiddled with the chain and symbol attached to the end - the whipping tail of Leo. The door stayed shut with no sign of the old woman.
The wait began.