"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see."

― Edgar Degas

Violent streaks of gold and white flashed across the stormy canvas. Drops of water blended into groups beat at the glass that divided the two worlds. Each splash hitting, only to slide down and disappear, ineffective. The sound of cymbals fused with the high-pitched whistle and roaring clatter of the train on its ascension across the tracks.

Ib shivered, the chill of the window finally getting to her. The gloomy weather outside made her think of home and how warm it would be at this time of year. The sun would be radiant with a light breeze to keep the humidity pleasant, and there would be a whirlwind of events (these she could do without), such as the outdoor parties her parents would attend or even host. It wouldn't have mattered since Ib would've been dragged along anyway, and expected to take part or be the scapegoat when faced with talking to the undesirables, to put it mildly.

Ib unconsciously wrapped her topcoat tighter around herself, grateful that those events wouldn't repeat themselves again this year. Instead, Ib has successfully managed to land a spot at Saint Rose Academy, a prestigious and highly selective art school. It was even rumored that anyone who attends, let alone graduates, is set for life, and, though far from home, her parents couldn't refuse such a rare opportunity. It would be a golden topic of conversation at those garden parties.

The day the scout had visited her home was still engraved into her mind. The man had had fair, long hair held back in a low ponytail, stubble, and his body frame was thick, nearly muscular. He had worn brown slacks and a matching vest over a white button up, which had stood out in the lavish room. Even the decor had looked too expensive in comparison, but that man hadn't even batted an eye or given a hint that he was uncomfortable. Instead, he was confident and had a presence that demanded attention. He carried her portfolio with him, and gracefully laid it out on the coffee table, went through a few minor details, and then handed Ib her acceptance letter.

Not two months later was she sent off, her parents driving her to the airport where they said goodbye, before catching a plane to America, switching planes twice, until finally boarding a train which would take her to Nivis Alba, a city, before she would have to hail a cab to the academy from. All in all, it should have taken three to four days at the least.

It was nearing the fifth day and Ib felt worn out. She hadn't been able to properly sleep on either planes due to excessive noise and crude people who either sat behind, in front of, or even next to her. The train was by far quite lax, but Ib felt to wired up to even attempt sleeping. The mere idea that she would be attending such a world-renowned school wasn't very nerve-wracking yet, it was the knowledge that her parents' influence would no longer reach her. She would know no one and others wouldn't know her parents, which usually equaled them attempting to be friendly.

Not knowing people, of course, was supposed to be part of the experience, but Ib had a problem with conversation and herself. From a young age, other children and even some adults would comment on her eyes. They would leave her out and some parents even told their children to stay away from her. Her eyes were always the first thing people commented on or looked act, which usually resulted in them feeling uncomfortable and either finding a hurried excuse to leave or staring at something else, knowing to be tactful. Still, smaller children and sometimes older children would still point it out. Over the years Ib had become accustomed to this and opted to stay silent most of the time, or even occupy herself so that others didn't feel that they had to approach her.

Ib peered out the window, watching the station approach as the conductor's voice broke through the silence, saying what they were paid to say at every drop-off. Ib stood and grabbed her luggage, hurrying out onto the platform before anyone could offer her assistance. She didn't want to bother anyone.

A single word to describe the train station would be grey. It was void of large quantities of people, the lighting was dim, and it felt empty. Ib could hear her steps and the rolling of her luggage like an elephant charging up stairs echoing all around her. She was self-conscious of it, but kept going nonetheless. She paused at the double doors, watching the rain fall for a moment before heading out. Cars flew past her, the rain was making it hard to stare anywhere but down, and a cab driver ignored her attempts to get him to stop.

It was a few minutes later when a taxi finally stopped and Ib hurried for the door, only to be met with another hand. They both drew their hands back, looking at one another in surprise. "You can have it." The male said, taking a step back and smiling good-naturedly. Ib wasn't sure why, but she grabbed his coat to stop him.

"We can split it."

"No, it's fine. Really." He said, but eventually gave in as the rain picked up.

The cab driver was putting their things into the trunk as they both waited in the backseat. The boy was running a hand through his damp lavender hair while Ib looked out the window. It was slightly awkward. "So, where are you headed?" Lavender guy asked, breaking the silence.

"St. Rose academy." Ib replied, watching as the guy paused. "Really? So am I. I didn't know they accepted children."

Ib returned her attention to the window, not bothering to reply.

"I didn't mean any offense, it's just that this school is like a college." Ib only nodded.

"My name's Garry."

"Ib."

A/N: Hello Ib fans! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of White Roses.

Edited: 2.08.2015.