"I wonder why someone is secretly listening?"
Elara turned before she had decided to. She had taken the room for emptying, and it had only been thinning. A pair of second-years lingered over their satchels on the left, taking an unusual interest in the clasps. A boy by the door was reading the notice board he had passed on the way in. None of them were looking at her, which made it worse.
At the foot of the tiers, a few steps from the door, Priscilla stood with one hand on the strap of her bag, plainly not leaving.
Up close, her eyes were a deeper crimson than they had looked from across the room, and the dark lashes above them made them stranger still. It was a face made to be looked at, and she had clearly spent years learning to give nothing back. Elara could not have said why it still looked beautiful to her, only that it did. Then Priscilla blinked once, and her fingers moved on the strap.
"I apologize," she said.
