Deep inside the gates of a private academy, walls high and proud, there is a secret. Inside a room, a figure is hunched. Simply a dark shadow, back lit by a single soft light, his fingers move. Silhouettes, deep colors mixed and faded to black. Deep gold fading to gray, pale skin shifting to brown. The form sits upon a bed. No, it straddles something else upon it, and immobile form, simply an afterthought in the pressing dark of the room. But, none the less, while not ithe/i secret, a secret.

The man glanced at his watch and sighed. Four am, that didn't leave much time. Placing his scalpel down with a small clank on the metal tray, he gazed intently at the body beneath him. So much to do, so little time.

"Until tomorrow my friend," he whispered, slowly stroking the blond hair, rubbing it between his fingers. Swiftly, he sews up the cut he has made and leans over the side of the bed to a drawer, from which he pulls a small metal can. Removing the lid, he scoops two fingers in and withdraws a slowly dripping mess. Humming quietly to himself, he begins to rub it along his work. Softly, "Monday's child is fair of face..." he runs his hands lovingly over his toys body. "Tuesday's child is full of grace." A demented giggle. "But you aren't are you. So I must fix you! Fix, fix, fix you!" he croons to himself.

Busy hands move the body back to it's respective room. Laying it under the covers, he mumbles to himself. Finally satisfied with his work, he leaves, stalking quietly through the halls of sleeping students, he had never been noticed, why should today be any different?

Back in his room, He puts his instruments away, to be pulled out on another night. Once again humming to himself, he crawls into bed, the time reads 4:37. He knows his alarm for class will go off at six, perfect. "Wednesday's child is full of woe..." one last giggle, then at long last, silence.

oOo

Cego Academy taught grades nine through twelve and had a college atatched to it, you'd never have to leave. It was credited as the school for anyone who was anyone, but in reality, it was a dumping ground. Rich parents could leave their children for all of high school and even college, not have to give a care, and pretend they cared when they walked out some eight plus years later, degree in hand.

He was nervous, to tell the truth, who wouldn't be? He didn't show it though, soft white-blond hair blowing slightly in the breeze, a slight smile playing about his lips, posture the picture of confidence. Or was it indifference? Ivan looked up at the buildings behind the gates. Finally walking through them, he began to search out the main office.

"Ah. You're the new foreign exchange student, we've been waiting for you." a shuffling of papers, "Here's your schedule, your late, so it's already third period. Your class is conveniently located down the hall. Any questions? No? Off you get."

oOo

Arthur sat in his third period class, it was a mess. It always was. People sat on desks, under desk, near desks, anywhere but iin/i the desk. Oh it had been organized once, but the teacher had long since given up. There had been the GHR (Great Hormone Rampage) months earlier and the classes had never really been the same since. The deaths didn't help, three in the last month alone! The nerve of some people.

Alfred sat on the Brit's right, babbling on about some new game, Francis on his left, flirting with a sullen Asian with rather large eyebrows. Or was he flirting with the desk? Because with Francis, he wouldn't care either way.

"Class! Attention please!" It took some time before the mutterings stopped. "Class, I have just been informed that starting today, we are going to have a new foreign exchange student! Isn't that exciting?"

Ivan smiled.