[u]Rosette Sauveterre[/u]

Rosette was having a miserable day, even by her own standards, which were always considered to be disturbingly low. She was looking forward to it being over, if she lived to see the next day that followed it. She had missed out on what she considered to be two whole days at the Academy, because she had lost her temper again. She had gotten off of the boat she had been riding on with a relatively good outlook, but when a worker had decided to treat her like a little girl, she had been livid. No other twenty-two-year-old adult had to tolerate a sweet little voice that people automatically used with young children, nor a super-simplified or watered-down version of the important facts.

She had been so angry at the poor worker that she had viciously threatened him, and it had frightened him enough where without any further discussion, she had been dragged off into the Detention Center and thrown in a cell meant to nullify her powers. She had been stuck there for what she suspected had been perhaps too long, but she had no idea. It was a relief when they finally let her out, and when they did, her first order of business had been to drag her luggage into her shared room on the top floor of the west wing. Rosette had then chosen to leave her un-packed luggage on her side of the room, and then leave for a bit to grab something at the cafeteria. She ate quickly, spoke to no one, and had probably never been noticed the entire time. Once she had been satisfied with this, she went back to her dorm room to unpack her things.

When she entered the room, she made no sound. Her footsteps, the breath of her lungs, even the faint rustle of clothing, did not come from her. She had no smell, and her body gave off no heat. She was somewhat transparent, too, just like a ghost, and physically, she looked like a little eleven-year-old girl. Her dress was the only thing that seemed mature about the way she looked, aside from the un-child-like gaze and expression on her face. Her expression, with eyes that looked as though they had seen something awful, would have been perhaps the most frightening thing about her.

She wore a light form-fitting black sports jacket that zipped up at the front, which was left so that it was unzipped about two inches below the breastbone, revealing a dark charcoal grey top underneath. The jacket, which had long sleeves, possessed holes that her thumbs went through, so that only the pale fingers could be seen. Despite the weather, Rosette was also wearing a thin, cool cotton scarf, printed with charcoal grey and black patterns, tied neatly around her neck, with the long, trailing ends hanging down on her right side. On the middle finger of her right hand, a beautiful ring was worn, expensive just in appearance. She wore dark boot-cut jeans, and pure-black running shoes that looked brand-new, until one saw how worn and faded the very soles that made contact with the ground looked. Overall, Rosette’s dress was casual and monochrome, but it was in its own way, beautiful and elegant, going nicely with her medium-length hair, which was for the most part a dark black, save for a single strip near the front on her left side, where a notable strip had gone completely silver, like an old woman’s, and, judging by the color of the roots, was completely natural.