Suntithenai
~ ~ ~
"Time is a river and books are boats. Many volumes start down that stream, only to be wrecked and lost beyond recall in its sands. Only a few, a very few, endure the testings of time and live to bless the ages following." – Joseph Fort Newton
~ ~ ~
The sixth fall term at the Academy had just began. Lydia had been the Headmistress from the beginning. This past year was undoubtedly the hardest on her. In the winter term, boycotts and pickets from Rhydin had found their way onto the campus. Several individuals had lost their lives in the mayhem. Lydia had lost her loyal secretary once it was discovered she was the perpetrator of the onslaught of violence.
Giving the campus time to calm down, she decided it was time to check in on another project that had been completed that may be potentially dangerous to the grounds. One of the professors, Atticus D'Arcstorm, had led the building of several artifacts among each of the seven houses of Bristle Crios. Lydia acknowledged that if he knew she would be checking them out, he might alter them in some way, and she she decided to go and view them without notice. She wouldn’t be able to access them herself since they did not reside within her campus. She needed someone who had access to the main keys for all the grounds, and she knew of just a man. One of the very janitors of the Academy. Once she procured his assistance, she decided to begin at the house that was nearest and dearest to her heart, her former residence, Vampire House.
~ ~ ~
Coven Bristle Crios. Vampire House. Catacombs. The man who walked before the headmistress maintained a casual gait that allowed him to remain a half step ahead of her, and he frequently looking over and back at her as he chatted. He had an easy smile, and his blue eyes seemed to dance in amusement. There was an air of eagerness about him, but he'd mostly kept it from showing too clearly by idly chatting with the headmistress about the Academy and different classes. His questions and commentary were light fare, nothing stressful. Her calling upon him had been well timed, it turned out, as he'd been relatively close at hand – and had arrived to escort her on the rounds she intended to make.
~ ~ ~
"Time is a river and books are boats. Many volumes start down that stream, only to be wrecked and lost beyond recall in its sands. Only a few, a very few, endure the testings of time and live to bless the ages following." – Joseph Fort Newton
~ ~ ~
The sixth fall term at the Academy had just began. Lydia had been the Headmistress from the beginning. This past year was undoubtedly the hardest on her. In the winter term, boycotts and pickets from Rhydin had found their way onto the campus. Several individuals had lost their lives in the mayhem. Lydia had lost her loyal secretary once it was discovered she was the perpetrator of the onslaught of violence.
Giving the campus time to calm down, she decided it was time to check in on another project that had been completed that may be potentially dangerous to the grounds. One of the professors, Atticus D'Arcstorm, had led the building of several artifacts among each of the seven houses of Bristle Crios. Lydia acknowledged that if he knew she would be checking them out, he might alter them in some way, and she she decided to go and view them without notice. She wouldn’t be able to access them herself since they did not reside within her campus. She needed someone who had access to the main keys for all the grounds, and she knew of just a man. One of the very janitors of the Academy. Once she procured his assistance, she decided to begin at the house that was nearest and dearest to her heart, her former residence, Vampire House.
~ ~ ~
Coven Bristle Crios. Vampire House. Catacombs. The man who walked before the headmistress maintained a casual gait that allowed him to remain a half step ahead of her, and he frequently looking over and back at her as he chatted. He had an easy smile, and his blue eyes seemed to dance in amusement. There was an air of eagerness about him, but he'd mostly kept it from showing too clearly by idly chatting with the headmistress about the Academy and different classes. His questions and commentary were light fare, nothing stressful. Her calling upon him had been well timed, it turned out, as he'd been relatively close at hand – and had arrived to escort her on the rounds she intended to make.