F. Wedekind Academy

Well, this is one good way to get rid of me. She would find a way to kill her father if she ever bothered to go home again.

She'd been dropped off unceremoniously the night before after a long, silent drive, had her bags completely ransacked and checked for contraband, and lectured on school rules for about two hours (during which she'd said nothing and quietly seethed) before being allowed to go to bed. ((hey, is the dorm blocked off into rooms or is it just one big room with a bunch of beds?))

After being awakened at the crack of dawn and shuffling into the chapel for one of the three (THREE!) chapel services scheduled throughout her day, she'd followed the others into the cafeteria for breakfast. Girls were seated on one side, boys on the other, in order to "foster right relations between men and women."

Woooooooooooowwwwww. Ignorant, much? She could just tell this was going to be a drag. At least breakfast didn't taste like shit.

The whole place looked ancient and drab, as if it were built and then suspended in time. Her schedule looked like it, certainly: Homemaking, seriously? Biblical Womanhood? She's frankly surprised there's electricity in this place. The other kids are looking at her occasionally, not rude, just wondering, she supposes. At the head of the table, there's a long T where all of the teachers sit and watch them.

It's about as different from what she was used to as she could get. She wondered too, how much trouble she could make...