Like a mother tends to her infant, Aphra sat down and fondly polished the surfaces of the swords until they gleamed. She looked into the blade and saw a clear reflection of herself. Aphra quickly sheathed the sword. She let her hair loose, letting it fall to her waist. Gathering it up in a great lock of hair, she set about to brush it.

After a few minutes of diligent grooming with the brush, her hair shone so much that it looked like liquid copper. She smiled a grin of satisfaction.

Looking over to her bed stand, she saw a mirror. Aphra got to her feet and turned the mirror face down. She hated mirrors.

It was a childish feeling, but Aphra could not expel it.
Throwing the thoughts out of her mind, Aphra tied her hair in a tighter ponytail, leaving it at its full length.

She stepped out of her room and locked it; Aphra greatly valued privacy.

“Ah, you’re the new student here?”
Aphra turned. It was a tall, dark youth, with deep brown eyes.

She didn’t like the looks of him;

And Aphra was always right.

View this story's 1 comments.