The day after would be the opening session for the new Alantin students. It was an honoured ritual, spanning over six decades. The ritual itself was rather basic, graduating students gave the incoming students a tour of the building, and then a school director would give a speech to all of them. 

It would also be a key moment for first impressions, and performing in a false persona would only make these first meetings harder than they already were. Acting skills were more than crucial. A single flicker of a moment could destroy one’s act or worse.

Standing in front of her mirror Sion adjusted her tie. Alantin’s 1st-year uniform was frivolous: a striped maroon and onyx tie, knee-high socks, a mid-waisted coat with the signature Alantin crest sewed upon it, an ivory shirt that was meant to be tucked in at all times, and coal flats. Flared-out pants and triple-layered ankle-length skirts were also provided.

In Sion’s opinion, the uniform contained an overabundance of black, and had to remind herself repeatedly that she would only have to wear such a grim thing for a year. 

 The 2nd years of Alantin had an emerald green assemble, the 3rd years got a pleasant shade of navy blue and the 4th years were served a lovely shade of Cardinal. To some, the grim colours of 1st year served as a warning, do not mess up your 1st year. The reason behind this is connected to the same idea behind 1st impressions. 2nd, 3rd, and 4th impressions couldn’t matter less. It was always the 1st that stabbed you in the heart. The rest were just gentle pricks in your memory. They were there, but simply… less.

Almost all Alantin children had a messy 1st encounter with one or another person. There were exceptions, the obnoxious stuck-ups, the quiet ones who had never spoken a word to mess the impression up, and the perfects.

Perfects were easy to recognize, the people who have never experienced a single wrinkle on their attire, the ones who have never received less than a perfect score since… ever. The ones who were not only strikingly gorgeous but were humble about their looks too. The ones who were confident, but never arrogant or egoistic, they spoke what was on their mind but were never loud and they were always likeable. Perfects were simply perfect, there was no other word for such personas.

Sion was always envious of such personalities. Her brother was almost perfect, but his constant worry about her being ruined his chance to be one. 

Her?

She did not have a single speck of what it took to be perfect on her.

She was considered a beauty to certain eyes yet to most of her acquaintances she was considered vain. She voiced her thoughts when it was needed but many thought her thoughts were almost always too offensive to speak. To most, she was manipulative, vain, and cunning. Most were useful traits in her opinion but they were not traits that any perfect could have.

Sion let out a quite audible sigh and flung her tie across her room. These people had no thought of what it was to be in a house such as hers. The House of Estrix was known all across Thalas. A daughter of the house had to know that every single one of her actions would be seen, criticised, and gossiped. A single mishap could ruin the house. Though her image had been tarnished the moment she had stepped out of Estrix’s gates, she could not ruin it further. Vanity and cunningness could only do so much damage. Pure idioticness was the true villain to be feared.

One of the greatest things for her to be thankful for was the fact that she would never be considered anything less than a sharp-witted person. Even her worst enemies were forced to give her that much credit.

“Sion, someone is stating that they need to speak to you!” Orion’s voice rumbled through the mansion, indicating to Sion that he had used their Anthrox gem that raises one’s voice tenfold. It was also used as a signal. Whenever one of the siblings used the Anthrox gem, it signalled that the other was not to come down. No matter what they said.

“I’m sorry Sion must be out, completely forgot.”, Sion heard Orion say, his voice as clipped as it could be. Immediately, she knew who was there.

She opened her seer glass, and immediately the shattered glass faded into the scene that she wished to see.

Orion’s complexion had a slightly rosy tint and his usual made-up hair was a bird’s nest. Hair clumps were sticking in all directions, curls had turned into sad, stringy weeds. He looked down at his feet, shifting her weight from one side to another continuously. Orion was almost always severely worried throughout the day, but never so much for him to forget about his precious locks.

His undone self was an atrocity compared to his daily wondrous self. And she knew exactly what could do this to him. Correction, not a what, a who.

The debtors had arrived.