I sat on my bed, glancing at the applications for the different schools around Magix and other planets. Alfea College, Red Fountain, Cloud Tower, Beta Academy, Rumbling Mist- new school, new year, new pamphlet. It was as if they were deliberately trying to torture me- a school would advertise something cool, like a watch tower, then go and start on discipline policies. Call me spoiled, but I think discipline is unnecessary considering that all things have natural consequences. Mess with a witch, get cursed. Sing a song badly, get kicked out of choir. Be a pacifist and don't fight back, get destroyed.

I'm a bit of a pessimist, if you can't tell.

I took a bit of time away from my bed, and I walked around my room. It's a bit of a "best of both worlds," thing designed by my parents- it's suitable for witch or fairy, both gothic and glamorous. It had only been my home for six months, since the last time we had moved, but I was already dreading going away from it to attend Alfea or Cloud Tower.

The thought of school still made me shudder. How would Alfea girls handle a kid who dyes her hair midnight black? Don't they frown upon pink suitcases in Cloud Tower? How am I going to survive?

I touched a poster tacked to my door. Advertising my favorite band, Little Delicate Vampires, the poster kind of reminded me of myself. It had a pretty charm to it, pastel colors showcasing the name of the group. However, it also had a contrasting gothic girl in the center- the lead singer, Flare of Melody. The effect was altogether enchanting, the one thing that didn't remind me of myself- poor little Rory is magic-less, remember?

A soft knocking sound filled my room, and I heard the door open quietly. I turned to face it, and saw my father, standing in the doorframe with his wings fully unfurled. I immediately spiraled into depression, upset by the unwelcome reminder of pressure to go to Alfea or Beta. Still, I managed to put on my best only-acting-happy face, and said, "Come in, Papa."

My father beamed, obviously falling for the act. He sat on my wrought-iron, four-poster bed, and signaled me towards him. I sighed and walked over. He patted the spot beside him, and I set down.

"Oh, Rory, your hair!"

I reached up to touch my stick-straight locks, wondering what could be wrong with them- was bubblegum stuck in a few strands? Did it frizz?

"You should really reverse the dye before you go to Alfea- fairies do not dye their hair black!" my father scolded lightly.

My smile phased into a scowl. I should have been on alert that my father's visit to my room, normally too depressing for his tastes, was only to advertise the sister school of Dragon's Billow, his alma mater. I took a deep breath and got ready to explain my peril to him.

"Papa, I don't know if I'll be attending Alfea; I'm not a full fairy, they probably don't want me there. Halfies are pretty rare and discriminated, you know."

Papa's face fell. "Very well then," he said coldly. "I can see you've made your choice. I'll alert your mother that you are attending Cloud Tower."

"No!" I shouted, horrified. "Papa, I haven't chose Cloud Tower either! Let me do some more research on both of them!"

My father paused at the door. "Alright," he said. "One more week to choose, Rory."

As he shut the door, a single tear dripped down my cheek. How would a week ever be enough to decide which death sentence would be less painful?