This story, for the most part, begins in the halls of a small high school you may or may not have heard of. However, for the sake of making this ordeal easier to understand, I think it's best to explain briefly the situations which lead me up to it. Then I think it best for me to quickly run over a description of the characters.

At the beginning of this story you find Melora. Melora was a mysterious girl by nature, had transferred into the school at beginning of her sophomore year. Her family, a very close and compassionate family-which before was a very independent and wealthy family, to say the least-had lost a considerable amount of money due to poor investments. And though their situation could have been worse, their lifestyles were deeply marred. Many of their funds, including money to charity and donations to this and that society, were cut short. This included the tuition to Melora's school.

Now, her school wasn't a parochial school. You see, I explain this because it will help me to express the persona of Melora. This school was based on creativity and talent in The Arts, which Melora was extremely fortunate in. One of the top students in the institute, she always participated in their extra activities; talent shows, art exhibits, theater, concerts, and anything else she was eligible for. She had as many friends as she had talents, and was of course very upset when she had to leave them. This creative environment was kind and considerate, and throughout her whole life Melora was used to an accepting group of people. Therefore, public school was a very different world to her.

To put it bluntly, one could say her personality was quite childish. She was always caught in a nest of daydreams. You would have to repeat yourself quite a few times to even catch her attention. Deep down she secretly heard music; a sweet song everywhere she went. This often distracted her from her school work, and usually was what drove her to stop what she was doing, pick up a paintbrush, pencil, or anything else she could find, and create the art she was so renowned for. Her images of the life she saw, faeries buzzing about and mermaids weaving their hair into nets of night sky was her only escape. Sometimes she would even burst into song with the music in her mind. When people would ask her why she was singing, she would dance about and whisper "It's their sweet song! Can't you hear it?" As time went on, and as she was no longer considered a child anymore, and though she still heard it as well as she had in her youth, they began to question her and accuse her of wicked things. She stopped her violent outbursts. She stopped her singing and chanting. However, even the things they said couldn't stop her urge to empty the beauty onto a canvas, piece of paper, or sheet of music. And if you listened close while she worked, you could still hear her hum. Her constant distraction and imaginative talents is what sent Melora to the freed environment of her school.

Of course, as startling as were her outbursts and talents, so was her appearance. Five foot two inches, slender and delicate, most all of her body was wrapped in a sheen of wavy and healthy violet hair that fell past her lower back. Naturally pale, her deep purple eyes always drew forth very much attention. If you weren't careful stared too long they would slice through you, maddening you into a blessed frenzy. On her forehead was a blue and purple birthmark, which seemed to be a crown of tiny lilies strung together and placed just slightly above her brow. Her fingers were nearly as long and bony as a spider's spindly legs. Her soft palm was a circle, and the mounts of her hand churned an unnatural strength. Each line of her palm was carefully etched, deep and clear. However, I will not begin to describe their curves and locations, as this will be analyzed later in the story. None the less, it was with such fragile storybook fingers she created her beautiful otherworldly music.

Even the way she moved was mystifying. She didn't walk but somehow seemed to drift. The way she graced about was rhythmic and ethereal. Strangers would often stop and stare at her, as if to make sure she were real, or rather a figment of their imagination; a being from a dream. She was beautiful and she caught the eyes of many.

One of the pairs of eyes she caught were the eyes of Ryan, another crucial member of this story. Ryan was known most through the high school was his acting and magic tricks. Some only knew to fear him. Clever and seductive, the dark attire he so often wore made him all the more strange. Of course, to many I suppose what he did was strange.

Startlingly morbid feats as well as simple optical illusions brought him to his place of high school popularity. Card tricks, dark interpretive dance, morbid chants that hypnotized, and anything exotic enough to catch someone's attention was Ryan's claim to fame. His most recent, however, brought painful tears to the eyes of his audience. Sitting calmly as his friend and renowned sidekick pierced the skin of his back, and eventually suspending him from the chains strung high to the ceiling in his basement, he warned them of releasing the pain and achieving a higher state of mind. These were things he knew nothing of.

Ryan's appearance was starting too. However, his typical outfit consisted of a black cape, Halloween makeup and a good hand for eyeliner. When performing, his face was mysterious artwork, but when offstage and out of the sight of people, his skin was tan and washed out from harsh soap. His gorgeous dark hair cut jagged at his jaw, and his ebony eyes sharp enough to pierce. His look was meant to send you into a trance and his intentions always succeeded.

With his looks, charms, and abilities to seduce, I regret to say that Ryan's company was often occupied with simple whores. Both seemed to be looking for love and answers in all the wrong places. Sadly, Ryan had never known much of love from anyone, including his family. His tricks were merely games and he knew nothing of magic; and a magician who knows nothing of magic or love is barely a magician at all.

The halls were crowded as Melora pressed her way down to the office. The day was Monday, and it was the second week of high school for the other students. Unlike Melora, they already have a routine prepared. As she walked, clutching her journal as close to her as she could, her hair flowed freely down her back, steaming in a trail behind her. Following this trail were the eyes of everyone she passed. Whispers and murmurs hung heavy in the air around, which she bit her lip trying to ignore. Music was pounding in her brain, already giving her a headache. "Make me invisible," she whispered to herself.

"It's dyed, I know it is-Where'd she come from?-She wasn't here last week?" This was the sea she made her way through. Finally she breathed again as she reached the sign that read OFFICE. Turning the handle of the door to her haven, she composed herself and her confidence. Yet still, as she walked into the room she felt the same skeptical gawks and stares. From behind her soft purple hair she peered at the first secretary in sight.

"My name is Melora Bercowitzs," she began, steadying herself, "I need my schedule."

After a moment the large woman, who had been typing feverously on her computer, muttered "Alright, hold on." Again came more typing and clicking. The rest of the small room was silent. Eventually the printer hummed and beeped to life, angrily spitting a piece paper out. Sipping her coffee, the woman slowly spun her chair around, pulling a piece of paper from a cubby on the wall. Melora glanced around at the world from behind the strands of her purple hair to see everyone else in the office staring at her. One secretary, a younger woman, thin and very pretty, slouched forward in her chair, her chin rested in her palm as she examined Melora from head to toe. The glimmer of a diamond sat upon her ring finger. The other secretary, another older large woman, sat back in her chair, her arms crossed, on the phone. "Mmhmm," she would say, shortly agreeing now and then to whoever was on the line. As for the students in the office, one made more of an attempt to appear not to be looking at her than the other. Looking down at the book in her lap, then at the notebook on the table, never touching her pen to the paper. Each time her gaze moved back to Melora.

"Alright," said the first secretary stapling the papers together. As Melora moved closer the woman stood up, coffee in hand. "Here you-" The woman began as she finally looked up. Just as soon as she did, the cup in her hand fell to the floor. SMASH, it made itself known as it's brown liquid continence flew everywhere. "Oh my," the woman said lightly and standing guiltily. "Damn," she finished, kneeling to pick up the pieces. "I'm sorry Miss Bercowitzs, I just-I,"-'was she reaching for an excuse or did she stutter all the time? 'Melora thought- "I've been a bit scatter-brained lately. Forgive me."

"It's okay," Melora tried to calm her down, setting her books down and pushing her hair out of the way. She bent down slowly to help pick up the pieces.

"Oh, don't worry about it, Deary. It's okay, really. I've got it." But by now the pieces of ceramic were picked up and Melora was mopping up the mess on the floor with napkins from the desk. "No, no, I have it. Would you like one of the assistants to show you where your classes are? The school isn't that hard once you have it down."

"That's okay, my old school was much bigger. I've got it taken care of." All she wanted to do was get out of this room. Spotting her papers on the desk, she saw a map of the school underneath her schedule. "I'll just take this and get going. Thank you." By the time she finished saying this, Melora had her books in her hand and was out of the office.

She found a bench in the hallway across from the office. Sitting down, she read off her schedule: Independent Living, Creative Writing, American History, and Painting on A days, Trigonometry, Chemistry, Homeroom: Reaume, Advanced Art 3/4 on B days. She sighed, not wanting to move as the crowded noisy halls slowly cleared out. Passerby's would look at her as they neared, yet no one stopped to talk. No one stopped to ask her where she was going, and if she knew how to get there (Which she didn't). The bell rang and finally the last students were swept away. Around her, all was still but inside her head shrieked and cried. Music rose in a bubble, polluting her mind. She bit her tongue stop the sound at her mouth, silencing herself. She was terrified and didn't want to be there.

After a while she calmed herself and rose from her seat. What more could she do? Maybe walking would help to keep her sane. Following the map, she wandered through the school. Down hallways she didn't know, into different wings. She watched as students sat in rooms, some working hard, others not working at all. Everyone looked alike and everyone seemed like the same person from outside the door. Silently and slowly she walked, looking in at everyone through every door she came to.

Finally she made her way to her 5th hour, Trigonometry. Again she watched the people from behind the window on the door. The teacher stood in front of the room, writing on the chalk board. Her hair brown curly hair was ratty and frizzy and you could see her slip sticking out at the bottom of her skirt. Melora counted at least three runs in her stockings. In the first few rows Melora saw four students watching and working solemnly. Three listened to headphones, one nailed her nails, while at least ten stared at the bored blatantly. A boy sitting against the wall flipped through a textbook and wrote words on his hand. In the back a boy and a girl sat playfully nudging each other, oblivious to all around them. This made Melora smile.

Quickly she was pulled back to reality. She looked around and found a clock hanging on the wall down the hall. Half of class was over; she had lost track of time. She looked down at the shiny tile floor, not yet scuffed. She watched her reflection for only a moment while gathering her courage.

Turning the knob slowly and cautiously, she entered the classroom overwhelmed by nervousness. With each step she turned the heads of more students. The teacher, whom Melora's slip of paper named Frost, was the only person unaware of her presence. She approached the flustered woman quietly, moving closer and closer to the front of the room.

Finally, almost as if the acts were synchronized, Melora reached the front row of chairs and Ms. Frost tapped the chalk to the board one final time. Turning she asked, "So we all understand the homework now, correct?"

Her eyes fell on Melora and she didn't notice that no one had answered her. "How can I help you, deary?" the woman asked through a sincere smile.

Melora didn't want to answer. She knew she didn't want to open her mouth. She wanted to turn around and run out of the classroom. She wanted to take a giant eraser and completely erase her existence. Most of all, she wanted to weep on the floor for her lack of self esteem.

Through the dense silence Melora picked up and dusted of the pieces of herself, putting them back together in a jumble of a girl. Strands of hair fell in her eyes, and through the shattered glass of her vision she peered at the cheery teacher. "I'm a new student. My name is Melora," she chirped, pushing her schedule to her.

As the woman analyzed the schedule Melora gazed around the room. She had caught everyone's attention, even the lovers in the back of the room who were still nudging each other but watching her fiercely.

"Alright," the teacher paused. "My name is Mrs. Frost. Why don't you tell us a bit about yourself?"

Melora wanted to. Mrs. Frost was kind and she wanted to make her happy. She was so nervous and couldn't figure out why.

"Go on dead," Mrs. Frost pushed her with words.

"My name is Melora,"she stated bluntly. The all stared, almost stunned to hear her voice, "and I used to go to school across town at the art institute." The silence gnawed at her. Across town, they knew, meant lots of money.

"Do you have an interests of hobbies?" They continued to stare, but not so fiercely as Melora attempted to go on.

"I like to paint and sing. I like to create," she paused, looking for words through a cloud of nervousness, "and I like to see what other people create." She looked around for something to focus on.

"Hi Melora," a girl beamed from a corner in the front for. Her skin was tan and her face looked delicate. Asian Angel, the words popped into her head. Melora smiled back.

"Today's lesson is over so I don't expect you to do the homework. You can go ahead and take a seat anywhere in the room," Mrs. Frost was still smiling. As Melora looked around she saw that everyone was smiling. How nice, she thought, to be in the middle of a room of smiles.

She chose a seat in the back corner of the classroom, directly behind the Asian girl in the front. From here she watched everyone. Some worked on their assignment, some chatted. Most continued doing whatever they had been doing during the lesson. The girl who was painting her nails was now applying makeup. Everyone was happy, some glanced at her and smiled, but overall they continued with their work. She watched everyone and felt better than ever.

As the bell rang she stood. On her way out of the classroom someone grabbed her shoulder. She turned back to see the girl from the front row. "Hi," she said still smiling. She bowed her head slightly, "Where are you headed now?"

She looked down at her schedule. "Theonis, Chemistry," she read off as they moved into the hall. "South wing, third floor I believe. That's on my way. Want me to show you where it is?"

A wave of excitement crashed down Melora's nervousness. This girl was so chipper. "Sure," she glanced around. For the first time that day she brushed her hair back behind her ears. She looked in the eyes of everyone she passed.

"You're hair is very pretty. Is it real?" the girl asked.

Melora chuckled at the question and nodded, "Yes it's real. Did you think it was a wig?"

"No, I just wondered if it was dyed. And your eyes?" she asked.

"No, they're glass. My mom makes glass eyes. I'm blind," Melora didn't smile, which perhaps was the reason for the face the girl made. Melora laughed and the girl's startled face cracked into a smirk as well. "They're as real as yours," she finally said.

"Mine are contacts," she responded.

"Hmm, then maybe mine are a bit more real," she nodded to herself.

"That's cool. It's really unique. Are your parents like that?"

"Like what?" Melora knew she was giving her a hard time but it was so nice to laugh.

"Do they have cool eyes and hair too?"

"No, my mom is blond and so is my dad. How about your parents?"

She laughed. "They both have black hair and dark eyes, like me."

Melora nodded again. "What's your name?" she asked finally.

"My name is too long. Just call me Suki. Most people call me Ching-Ching. Which ever you choose. You want me to call you Melora or something else?"

"Call me Veronica. People call me Veronica," Suki looked at her like she grew two heads. Melora said, stifling a laugh, "Call me whatever you please. Why do people call you Ching-Ching?" Suki eyed her nervously.

"Why do people do the things they do? Why do people call you Veronica?" she countered.

"People don't call me Veronica. Why would someone call me Veronica? My name is Melora," she rolled her eyes and smiled.

By now they had reached Melora's class. "Want me to pick you up here for your next class?" Melora had been caught up in conversation and she had no idea where she was and how she got here.

"Yes, that'd be nice. Thank you," she smiled.

"No problem. Just wait here after the bell," they said their goodbyes, and again Suki bowed her head.

Melora entered the Chemistry room with renewed confidence.