Nellie paced her lavish room in tight circles, her bare feet whispering across the velvet carpet, the soft fabric yielding under her petite frame.
The massive villa was silent around her, thick with marble and money, but it brought her no peace.
She was alone, again.
The kind of alone that echoed, deep and accusing, her ash-brown braids swaying with each step, brushing against her freckled shoulders.
The Interclass Spell Precision event had ended.
She'd barely held herself together, her gray eyes wide with nerves as she cast.
But she managed to score above everyone's expectations, and she was very happy about that—a quiet thrill that made her plump hips sway a little more as she paced.
Next up was the Academic Theory competition—books, written answers, high-pressure questions—and she felt like she was crumbling.
She still felt like the loser of Class D.
