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[color=white][i]Monday, August 24, 2015[/i][/color]

Somehow, for some reason, Aella thought her sixth year at Salem Witches' Institute would feel [i]different[/i]. Perhaps she would have felt older, or more confident, maybe even arrogant - rather, Aella felt the same. Aella did not feel older or wiser, neither smarter or dumber; just simply Aella Persephone Strand. And Salem Witches' Institute still felt the same, as well. The Peregrine was a nightmare, as always, filled with incidents that Aella would rather block out of her mind - 'is it possible that people will remember be spilling my root beer everywhere?' - and horrible small talk that drove her insane. So insane that Aella ended the trip laying in her bed in the Peregrine Hotel, watching the road roll by and listening to the squabble of Mercury and Pluto - 'God damn, it's just a cheeseburger!' After exiting the small car, the Institute looked the same as well. Tall with bland red bricks and questionably nude statues of random, unimportant women. Even the dorms felt the same; dizzying starry night blinking and encompassing every window and ceiling. Despite how much she loved stars, it was a bit of a nightmare, really - somtimes Aella was afraid she'd wake up floating in the middle of the black, abysmal space with only burning embers surrounding her. Nevertheless, it was the same fear she had since her first year at Salem. Even the annual welcome feast, given by Headmistress Endicott felt repetitive and tiring: no magic in the halls, curfew at ten, study hard, etcetera etcetera.

It was undoubtedly this unbroken schedule that left Aella feeling unsatisfactory when she woke up that Monday morning. The crushing idea of school settled on her shoulders as she crawled from beneath the comforter, nearly tripping out of bed. She didn't bother with a shower, or to look extra cute on the first day of school - afterall, why should she bring up everyone's expectations of her when she had no intention to upheld such assumptions. Instead, Aella raked a brush through her hair and through on the typical polka dotted button up with the customary red cardigan and simple black pencil skirt, only rivaled in darkness with the freshly shined Mary Jane knock-off flats. The only out-of-ordinary item on her was her rainbow striped knee-high toe socks which appeared disgusting and unflattering when with everything else. But Aella obviously didn't care.

Aella was not a morning person - quite the opposite really - but she made it her mission every year to wake up early in order to write a letter, as was tradition, to literally send to the stars. So, Aella ambled into the Good dormitory den and slouched into one of the cushioned red chairs, tucking her feet underneath her. Scratch parchment had already been laying out, from some forgetful student no doubt, and Aella didn't particularly care if it was needed by said student or not. Snatching it from the clutter of miscellanious objects, Aella retrieved her favorite quill - a semi-expensive ostrich-feathered one that she had recieved from her father once he learned about wizarding predilection towards such utensils (he thought the oversized plume was hilarious) - and begun writing. She didn't say anything of importance, of course, but the usual - [i]Dear Whom It May Concern, I understand you believe this concerns you, it does not. Put it back. This is for my future self, not some snot-nosed brat who thinks they are so cool.[/i] - and an added note - [i]P.S. we do not have the thighs to become a stripper, study harder[/i]. And after she wrote the letter, she folded it into a nice square and wrote the year in large, looping numbers so no current student would read it.

It was at this point that others began to awaken and so the blonde hurried to the window. She wound up her arm and, thrusting with all her might, propelled the letter out into the starry night sky, hopefully to never be retrieved - like, ever. With her letter written, there was only one more thing left to do before classes: eat to her heart's content. 

Aella skipped out of the parlor with her ratty messenger bag slung onto her shoulder. She paid no heed to the gossiping portraits, or the snoring statues, and only stopped skipping once she entered a more used corridor. After that, traveling became slower and several minutes passed by before Aella made it into the Great Hall. 

Much to her disappointment, the Great Hall looked the same as well. It had the same ugly yellow and white wallpaper that was only barely tolerable and too-light wooden tables stretched the length of the room. And, dining like kings and queens, the teachers' table was situated on a raised platform as if to solidify their authority. As per usual, the four heads of houses stood at the ends of their respective tables, waiting for students to come to them for their schedule. Professor Baladeva, the head of Warren, looked perpetually annoyed as she waited at the table, looking immaculate as always. Impatient, the white-haired professor continued to glance at her watch as if it would make the Warren students come faster. Professor Bellona, the head of Tituba, was chatting with a seventh year student, presumbly about potions, and looked slightly pleased with herself. When Aella's eyes went over to Professor Conall, she couldn't help but sigh in reluctance. The head of Good was currently fixing his hair, looking in the reflection of a spoon, all the while making ridiculous faces. For a moment, Aella wondered if it was truly worth it to get her schedule and she pondered the consequences of running away right at that moment. Unfortunately, Professor Conall had great memory and, more unfortunately, noticed Aella right away.

"Oi, centaur! Come get your schedule." Professor Conall shouted, his voice echoing in the room. Those nearby chuckled slightly, not because it was particularly funny but rather because a student was being called out and they had been conditioned since the age of five to laugh at the weak. Aella felt her cheeks heat up to a beet red as she dragged her feet to Professor Conall, snatching the schedule out of his hand.

"Is that really appropriate, Mr. Conall?" Aella mumbled, out of protest rather than actually out of care.

"Why wouldn't it be appropriate, Chiron?" Professor Conall asked, losing interest in the conversation but humoring Aella either way.

"Er, no reason." The blonde backtracked, shifting on her feet anxiously. "Nevermind."

Something about a student's embarassment must have thrilled the History of Magic teacher as he immediately perked up and leaned in, smiling, "Spit it out, Nessos."

Having played her hand, Aella let a gust of air escape her mouth before she allowed herself to speak about the forbidden topic: the Rebellion. "Well, you know, with the whole Alphard and Fomalhaut thing. I just thought that...forget it, it's stupid."

Professor Conall seemed to understand what Aella was getting at and, in a weird display of respect, decided not to comment on the subject, but rather shooed Aella away with a reassuring yet dismissive hand. "Go, go, you're boring me with your politics, horseface."

Aella sat down in one of the ivory seats at the Good table - it was the Good table in name only, students and teachers didn't particularly care who sat where - and slapped toast and crepes onto her plate. It was only midbite into her eggs that Aella remembered her schedule and peered down at it through bleary, still-sleepy eyes:

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"Damnit, I have transfiguration first." Aella swore under her breath; as testament to her bad luck, Professor Conall heard her as he was passing by and he gave her a good, punishing thump on the back of her head. Aella allowed the small pressure to hit her, sinking into it and letting her head thump onto the table, flecks of food settling in her hair.[/color]