[center][h2][color=turquoise]Estelle Victoria Gennings[/color][/h2]

Physical State: Underfed.
Mental State: Dreary but sane. 
[/center]

[i]Reach into your purse. Yes, the keys are where they should be. Lock the door and get a move on, no time to waste.[/i] The metallic jingling of her apartment keys sounded through the chilled winter air, though jolly they most certainly were not. Huffing out a clouded breath into the wind, she placed her keys back in her bag and turned to face the world. [i]Snow, lovely, right?[/i]

Being a few minutes late was not something Estelle had planned for, though the figures were especially insistent this morning that she stay inside, away from...what? She couldn't tell. A bath, a dress, knee socks, laced boots, a long winter coat, gloves, hat, all accompanied with a cup of black coffee. The morning called for nothing else, though those few minutes would make all the difference, of this she was sure. 

With the first crunch of the fresh snow under her feet, she could already feel the numbing of her toes within the boots. Still, the sensation was better than the sting of her mother and that house, the house with blood forever staining the floor and echoes of stories past resounding in the halls and corridors. Arkham was the better choice, the more logical choice, the most interesting choice. Her thoughts flooded with a cold still lower than the temperature, and her eyes filled with the gloom of snow clouds overhead, she briskly made her way to Miskatonic University. It wasn't far.

Turning the corner on Lich street, she would have noticed an odd aura sitting on the curb, had it not been for a few shrill screams and the holler of a man in panic to break the stillness of the morning air. Her face remained passive, her pace quickened. Maybe today would be more intriguing than all the others. [i]A new patient, perhaps? No, not today.[/i] As she strode alongside the Burial Ground, her eyes scanned the layout, spying a few potential plots for the crimson stain on the pavement ahead of her.