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The strange girl gave me a wink, opened the office door, and left my sight. I breathed a sigh of relief, since it wasn't some strange intruder and rather a student, but now I had the leftover paperwork to worry about.

Class doesn't worry me too much. It's not something particularly difficult. Since I already was accepted into one of the most prestigious universities with a full ride, I didn't need to care much about class other than keeping grades up. The Advanced Placement classes were a joke, and I'm guessing the tests will be too, since classes tend to just teach for the test nowadays. The one course that I was interested in was the college-level English class that my school offered. It was actually slightly challenging.

During College English, we were given a prompt for homework due after the weekend; write a short poem. On what? It could've been anything. Any particular style we should use? Nope; just whatever seems right. There was always a catch with this educator. This Simon Petrikov, a professor at a nearby university who studied all things literature and English, had this way with tricking students that almost seemed mad. I loved that about this class. The sudden twists and turns that the professor would make would actually teach us something not only about the course material itself but about life and how it corkscrews around like an expensive and unpredictable rollercoaster. The greatest question about this project was "what am I going to write about?". As classes rolled onwards and came to a screeching halt at the end of the day, that question plagued my mind.

Although I have a love for all of academia, being creative was something that I had issues with. For example, when I was a child, during art time, I drew a picture of the periodic table and colored it according to type and drew in samples of each element. That was probably the most colorful thing I have ever done in my life. Everything from that point on was black and white and not too interesting. I tried researching creativity, but every source gave me the same answer; "close your eyes, and try your best."

I decided that maybe doing the rest of the paperwork from this morning would help clear my mind and give me the imagination I need or distraction I want. As I started making my way towards the office, I passed by an entire city of students. Some of them greeted me, some of them ignored me, and some of them were just having fun, like how all students should at this age. A medley of conversation pieces came flooding into my ears; none of them were interesting.

As I turned a corner, I saw a familiar face. He had this dirty blond mess called hair, a healthy gold skin tone, and dark chocolate eyes. He had a small, black birthmark on the tip of his nose that rested on a slightly round face. His name was Jake, a senior that was held back a year because of some unknown mischief he was involved in during middle school. Including being in the music club, Jake was the school's important linebacker with broad shoulders and powerful legs, but he wasn't as built as the rest of the team. In fact, he didn't really look like he was on a sport's team, if you were to stereotype. However, on the field, he magically finds a way to hold and win against someone twice his size, as if he could become larger at will. He was wearing a pressed, pale-yellow collared shirt with short sleeves that was unbuttoned to show the bright, white tank top that was underneath, a pair of clean black slacks, and nice black dress shoes. The collar of his shirt had the school's insignia on one side of it.

"'Sup, Princess?", he said while waving one arm. His other arm was too preoccupied around Rain. Rain gave me her small smile as a greeting.

"Hello, Jake, Rain. How are things?", I replied with my friendly tone and smile.

"'S all good; headin' over to practice. Hey, have you seen Finn?", he asked.

Finn was Jake's little, adopted brother. He was the freshman of the group of seniors and juniors that I'm friendly with. Come to think of it,

"I haven't seen him since the beginning of lunch. Is it important? Because I could let you use the P.A. system to call him out."

"Nah, I don't need him that much. Just haven't seen him and was worried is all."

Jake is definitely the overprotective type. He's even like that with Rain sometimes, but he does that because he treasures them. To give an example, Jake calls Rain "Lady" as a term of endearment; "Short for 'Milady'.", he told me one day. It's really cute; he looked like a knight in tan armor.

"Jake, is time for club to start, I think.", Rain said with a sweet voice that I never hear when I'm with her. Then again, people are different when they're with the one they love.

"Yeah, you're right. Well, gotta go, Princess! Come on, Lady. You wanted to listen in, right?"

Rain nodded as Jake let go of Rain with his arm. He held Rain's hand and started walking towards the club room.

"Wait, Jake!", I called.

"What's up?", he said as he turned around to face me.

"Is the music club performing at the festival?"

"Yeah. I thought Marceline told you this morning though.", he said, scratching his hair a little from slight confusion.

Right. Marceline. After a short flashback to this morning's events, I asked,

"Actually, she didn't. But who exactly is this 'Marceline'?"

"Don't tell me you forgot, PB! She's the head of the club. And, you know, The 'Queen'.", he explained.

I kept on hearing things about this "Queen" ever since sophomore year, but I was the "Princess", and I had never met Marceline beforehand. At the very least, I don't remember meeting her.

"She's the head of the club, correct? Then, she'll be at practice.", I stated.

"Yeah, defs. Why?", Jake asked curiously.

"I need to have a chat with this 'Queen'.", I irritatedly said. My irritation caught onto Jake very quickly.

"A-alright, Peebs.", he stuttered. "Here's the thing though; Marceline takes music super seriously, so you'd have to talk to her at the end."

"It's ok. I'll just wait with Rain."

We had a small conversation as we were walking to the music club, and the closer we got to the club room, the more I could hear the unique, deep notes that could only come out of an electric bass accompanied by other sharp tones that I guessed were vocals. When we got to the door, Jake was about to turn the knob but quickly froze in his tracks. Because of Jake, I could clearly hear the lyrics that this person was singing.

"-inal act of our little play.

There is a lacking of sympathy,

and all the sex is just formality.

And though I really hate the honesty,

it's the reality of you and me.

And still, I won't let this go!"

The powerful voice echoed in my mind. There was a strong mix of resentment, agony, anguish, and love that filled the breadth between the words, making them drip with passion. The bass playing was no different during this instrumental break.

"Can this be what they really call love?

All the hurt? All the hate?

It never goes away.

And if it lasts ''til death do us part',

kiss me now; seal the vow,

and let me die toda-"

Suddenly, all the passion and energy stopped and was replaced by a short but disgusting noise that sounded like someone shaving metal with a disposable razor. Through the old, wooden door, I heard someone awfully familiar say "Frick" along with some rattling and a few steps that also sounded painfully familiar. Jake took the break in the song as his cue and finally opened the door.

The culprit was the Queen, who was completely by herself.

I do not own any rights to Adventure Time whatsoever.

I used "Mozaik Role", arranged by nano.