“Oh, well good, neither have I.” Ophelia nods, turning back to look at the school. “I’m going to find the headmaster,” she decides out loud, “let me know if you wish to join me.” She says over her shoulder to Dahlia before she begins walking, her posture practiced and perfect. When she lived with her parents, before she escaped, posture was a constant lesson Ophelia would be taught, and it was consistently a reminder of how she still seemed to be in their control, even with them dead.