[hr]
[h1][center][color=Silver]Paige Davis[/color][/center][/h1]
[code]Grand Ridge Academy Dorm -> Sucre Cafe[/code]
[hr]

Paige got up at 5:30 in the morning, once again, and performed her morning ritual, going out to the field and pacing back and forth without her crutch, trying to keep her balance, as usual.

She returned to her dorm and had breakfast, half-expecting another fire alarm to go off. After what happened at the stairs yesterday, she hoped not. Paige hated asking for help, more so when the cause of the problem was her prosthesis. Perhaps there was nothing wrong with it holding her back - she could hardly be expected to function as well as everybody else while handicapped like this - but there was no reason not to try, and Paige disliked admitting her weakness. Perhaps "embarassment" was the wrong word for it, but that the most fitting one she could think of.

The fire alarm didn't go off.

Paige had no classes today; this was the sort of day in which she'd normally practice playing her violin, spend extra time at the field walking, or catch up on her studies. However, with classes cancelled yesterday after the fire alarm, Paige had spent a lot of her time doing those same things, and dedicating a whole other day to them did not appeal to her. Besides, something was bothering her, and she wanted time to think without something else taking up her attention. This in mind, she scooped up her white leather coat off the back of a chair, and headed out to the Sucre Cafe.

She had seen it this morning, getting out of the shower. A mark on her back, like a tattoo, just below her neck. A cresent moon, with a design of a sun held within the curve. And it was a design, to be certain - it was impossible that something so intricate and stylised could have been caused by anything but a human. The first assumption would be that Paige had just drunk too much one night, made a bad decision, then forgotten about it by morning. However, this was impossible. Paige rarely drank, and never enough for something like that to happen, barely being able to walk anyway. Since she had no knowledge of its formation until so recently, it could easily have been days or weeks since that had occured, its position on her back meaning it was easy to miss. Paige was certain, though, that there was a logical solution to this conundrum. Tattoos don't just appear on people, and she should know. The one she'd gotten herself had hurt, badly.

This was the train of thought Paige followed on the way to the Sucre. She found a seat, ordered a latte. Paige sat by the window for over an hour, thinking closely, coming up with nothing.