Not updating, again! X_X

My apologies.

Now, where were we?

Oh right, the whole revelation thing, which is completely focused on Wing. If you've wanted to see more of him, you got your wish.

This note is completely useless, but I'm doing it anyway so you have something to scroll down!

Hey legal sharks! Yeah, I'm talking to you!

I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING RECOGNIZABLE FROM THE HIVE SERIES. ALL RECOGNIZABLE AFFLIATES AND TERMS ARE OWNED BY THE ONE AND ONLY MARK WALDEN.

Beat that! :P

Oh yeah, sorry if I haven't updated in so long. I've had the case of writer's block. But I think you can classify this one as a filler. ^_^

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality.

Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see

I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy

'Cause I'm easy come, easy go, little high, little low

Any way the wind blows doesn't really matter to me

Kent paused her phone from playing the entirety of Bohemian Rhapsody. Saving her file, clicking her pen, and submitting it virtually to the headmaster, she had finished the last homework for the whole school year in literary arts class. Although they weren't allowed to leave until they finished (or won, preferably) the summer season would affect the island, they were still permitted to call a "summer break".

For their final assignment, they were supposed to write a full novel, and the novel being completely original, not "fanfiction". Innokentiy had first been dumbfounded about what her topic would be.

But at last, she had finished it.

Primarily, it was supposed to be about a sarcastic, misunderstood, confused, and bespectacled thirteen-year-old (which was what she was at that age). But as she started, she noticed the glitches, and more importantly, the market appeal.

Why market appeal, you ask?

As prize for the best novel, Nero would send it to the mainland (wherever that was), have it published, and the author immunity from going home.

Kent had revised and edited her manuscripts for countless times. Firstly, what sensible person would read an almost-biographical book without a hint of romantic instances? Even she at that age wouldn't buy the book. Secondly, what would make someone buy such a book if there was nothing special about the character? Third, and most importantly, would anyone care to read it?

Now, she was completely finished. No more glitches, no more woes, no more panic.

Her main character, which she named Parthenope, was plain: brown hair, brown eyes, boyish build, even glasses. But Parthenope had photographic memory, and she was sure that someone would like this girl. Parthenope was a sketch artist, which having a photographic memory helped with.

Seeing the confirmation email from Dr. Nero, she let Freddie Mercury sing in her ears once more of a poor boy who shot a man.

Clad in her father's shirt and her mother's shorts, she left her bedroom to sit in the lounge. Innokentiy looked out into the setting sun. What a sight.

She stopped the song entirely, and unplugged the earbuds. Wonder what Otto's doing.

Knocking silently on her roommates' door, she heard the clatter of wood and the swearing of the boy. Potty mouth, she thought, smirking.

"Any breakthroughs?" she asked as he opened the door. As usual, Otto was wearing his "painting pants"—ratty ones that had splotches of color all over them, and a tie-dyed shirt.

"Did you hear 'Eureka!' and shuffling of feet? Then no," he snapped, swiping his hand (which was covered in paint) across his forehead. "Always so testy," she murmured, grabbing a washcloth and wiping away the paint coloring his pale forehead. "I have reason," he retorted once he was paint-free. "And that is?" They gathered up the newspapers lining the carpeted floor and threw them in the trash. "I don't barge in while you write, do I?"

"Actually, you do," she said matter-of-factly. "When was that?" Kent threw him a glare. "Remember when there was the loudest thunderstorm in island history, our power got knocked out, and we were running around with solar flashlights and solar-powered laptops?" He nodded. "I was writing, and it was dark. You barged in my room while thunder clapped, and I nearly dropped my laptop and suffered a mild heart-attack from the shock." Otto grinned. "Yeah, sorry about that, Madeleine."

Innokentiy rolled her eyes. "Never mind. So, what did the great Contessa prescribe as your final assignment?" He frowned. "We had to make a sculpture. Do you know how hard it is to take a chisel and make a statue of a meaningless chunk of stone? It took me four bloody weeks. And with rehearsals too! I was hardly inspired after a tiring day of singing a eulogy for the supposed death of Bohemia over and over." His expression softened. "And you?"

"A completely original novel," she grinned. "Not fanfiction, 365 pages of Innokentiy Volkov Thomas' brilliant ideas." He nodded, mildly impressed. "Can I read it?" She shook her head. "And why should you be any exception, Otto Malpense? You and the rest of the world can devour my work when it is published."

"Come on, at least the title."

"Alright then. You really want to know?"

"Just a Poor, Confused, and Misunderstood Girl."

See! It's so short!

Barely even a thousand characters!

This is my most disgraceful filler. EVER.