Author's Note: Hello once again, everyone. It's been quiet a bit of time since I last updated. I am currently revising all of my stories. There will be many changes throughout the story - in this one and all the others. If you would, please follow along. For those who have invested their time into my writing, I am sorry I have not updated in a long time. I hope to pick it up again, but it will take time.

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Rating: T

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The moment the first sign of rain appeared on the horizon, she knew karma had turned its back on her. Dark clouds rolled across the skin, flashes of light dancing between sky and earth. It began to drizzle, a light misting coating the ground. It darkened the streets from light browns to dark hues, grey cobble stones to near black. Lightning flashed, thunder ripped the heavens apart, and it poured.

Of all days this had to happened, why did it have to this day? The dark-haired female mentally cursed, brushing wet strands from her face as she kicks her luggage. The suitcase tilts over, falling in a shallow puddle with a dull thud as she stuffs her hands in her pockets. Why is she, Reverie Nightingale, the one to be stuck in the middle of nowhere? Why is it she is stuck in this isolated place so far from the place she called home? The aged town below is as good as a ghost town with the rain cascading down on it, the people hidden from sight in hopes of keeping dry in their homes. It irks her, brows twitching as she glares at the structure before her.

At this moment, she would rather be back on the plane and flying back home – and she hates planes.

It's not the height she fears. She doesn't mind the fact that the ground is hundreds of feet below a metal floor, a blur of colors as the planes cuts through the air. No, her fear is that the plane will malfunction, and she will die because some idiot forgot to do a safety inspection.

Reverie sighs, her gaze narrowing as the rain continues to fall around her. The cold breaks her train of thought time-and-again. Why, of all days, does this have to happen today? There is no answer to her inward question.

For the length of time she has been standing in front of the school's gate, luggage at her side, no one has come out. No one has come to get her. She hasn't even seen a hint of life here, at the gates of a school she doesn't want to be in, any more than she did at the town she passed through to get here.

She curses her father.

Cross Academy, eh? She continues to pace, sweater and hoodie soaked through. It's not like I asked to be transferred across the damn country.

At fifteen, the thought of being a new student in a different country is enough to make her hackles rise. It only gets worse when her father dropped the news. No need to worry, he said. Many students transfer in the middle of the first semester.

It's Cross Academy or jail, Rev. The latter is out of the question. His dark eyes had cut into her, anger swirling in their depths. She was certain hers were worse, twin pools of burning steel filled with hate. In this moment, jail would have been preferable. If she went to jail, they wouldn't have her waiting for an hour in the rain for them to collect her. Nor would a skirt be part of the standard uniform.

Reverie whirls around on the gate, checks flushed. Carmen would know what to say. She always does.

Her home, her friends, her favorite hang-outs – all left behind. Hundreds of miles away, across the shimmering blue sea in the desert city that is her home. A burst of pain flames within her chest, replaced by rage seconds after as she grabs her two suitcases.

"Damn it all," the words are a light hiss of anger, her eyes narrowing as her attention turned to the entrance of Cross Academy. She storms to the gate, hurling her suitcase, one after the other, over the top. She scales the length of the metal barricade, dropping to the ground on the other side in a matter of minutes. Landing lightly on her feet, a grin stretched across her face. There's a time for patient and a time for action, eh?

Eyeing her surroundings, mainly the cobbled path swallowed by shadows and trees, she starts on her way. It's simpler this way, she tells herself. And she likes it when things are simple. The easier it is to get things done, the happier she'll be.

In the end, it all leads to the bigger picture: her not getting frustrated and taking it out on someone else. Last time that happened, she got in trouble. And trouble meant an angry father. When dad's mad, things always end badly – for her, anyway.

Gaze attentive, taking in the sights around her; she has yet to spot another person. She comes to a three-way in the path. Left, right, or straight? Brow furrowed, she takes the middle path – chance points that the school will be resting in the middle of grounds. As the light begins to settle, she curses.

In the distance, the silhouette of a massive structure makes itself known. Orbs of light dot parts of it, coming from windows she has yet to see. When the shadows start to sink into the ground, the white stones of the castle gleam. Coming upon it, standing tall and majestic, she groans.

"This has to be a joke," she mutters to herself as she pauses in front of the heavy wood doors. The steady fall of the rain is nearly forgotten as a scowl settles on her face. The school – a castle? Eyeing it, she deflates at the thought of the twisting halls and corridors sure to exist within. Harry Potter was sure to feel the same when he saw his own school – but at least he had magic to help him along.

Easing open the doors, she slips inside. Setting her suitcase on the ground, she looks over the area she is currently in. Wooden floors polished dark, stone walls, wooden staircases – the entire fortress feels to be closing in on her. A sense of unease falls upon her, the silence heightening the feeling as she edges towards the door. This place, she doesn't like it.

The sights alone tell her the school could be best described as 'proper.'

Looking down at her jeans, hoodie, and sweater – she gets a distinct feeling that her clothing is on the 'unacceptable' list. Perhaps they'll allow her to wear her boots. And the male uniform – she doesn't do skirts. They are one article of clothing she tends to shy away from. They show too much leg.

Not to mention her mother's reaction if she saw her in one. The last time that happened was a day she wished she could forget. What is that trash you're wearing? No daughter of mine will dress like a slut. Only thirteen, the words made her cry. Why she would say she was selling herself for money went over her head, that kind of work foreign on her young mind. School itself was a job, why would she need another one?

If she saw her now, she'd be certain that it would get up with a stinging slap and a throbbing check.

Again her thoughts turn to the school, and its two classes. The thought of it pulls a frown from her. Who would want to go to school at night? She knows humans need light for health-related reasons. And sleeping at night is vital – the body produces chemicals at night during sleep that help with health. Not only that, but eight hours of sleep are critical – the eight hour is the time when long-term memory is stored in the brain. Sleep at night is healthy. It's necessary.

Reverie pulls herself from her thoughts as she climbs the stairs to the upper halls, following the signs on the doors and boards on the wall. The Chairmen's Office, located on the third floor, is just down the hall from her. From the signs she read, the dorms are separate from the school. Two dorms total, each dorm having two buildings total with a smaller, center building acting as the female-male residents. The Sun Dorm, for day class, is on the right side of the school while the Moon Dorm is on the left. It's a good structure, though probably a bit hard to keep track of the students between and around classes.

The separate dorms have only one bad aspect – rain. Getting soaked when going to class? Hell no.

The dark-haired female pauses in front of the door, raven bangs falling in front of her eyes. She doesn't bother knocking on the door. Suitcases in hand, she kicks the door open. It swings inward soundlessly until its forced halt against the wall, rattling and breaking the silence.

Stepping into the office, soaked and tired, she eyes the three people standing at the other end of the office from her. A smile, twisted to a demented shadow of one, carves its way on her face as she drops the luggage on the ground. Flipping her hair out of her face, she props one hand on her hip as the smile turns into a grin.

"Who the hell taught you manners? Because, frankly, they suck."