Verena sat in detention, legs crossed, back straight, the picture of noble suffering. She had been here for exactly eight minutes, and frankly, that was eight minutes too long.
This was cruelty. Injustice. A violation of basic human dignity.
And most importantly, Evelyn's face was about to be dunked into a sink.
Clearly, there was no moral choice except to remove herself from this room imdiately.
She rose gracefully, clearing her throat. "Prefect, I must be excused. Urgent matters demand my attention."
The prefect barely looked up. "Sit down, Lady Verena."
"Ah, but you see," she continued, undaunted, "I suffer from a rare affliction known as 'Detention-Induced Debilitation.' A highly fatal condition. Symptoms include boredom, resentnt, and an overwhelming desire to leave."
"You're not going anywhere."
Verena pressed a hand to her forehead. "I feel faint. Oh, the room is spinning—" she wobbled dramatically, nearly toppling onto the floor. "My fragile constitution cannot endure this tornt!"
"You're perfectly fine."
"I am wilting, sir. Like a delicate flower deprived of sunlight and freedom!"
"Lady Verena." The prefect rubbed her temples. "Sit."
She sat.
For exactly five seconds.
Then she slowly, gracefully, rose again.
"Perhaps you misunderstand. My presence is urgently required elsewhere—"
"No."
"My mother will hear of this."
"Still no."
Verena narrowed her eyes. "You dare keep a noble lady hostage?"
"You are not a hostage. You are in detention."
"Sa thing," she muttered under her breath, before clearing her throat. "If I may propose an alternative: a small test of skill? A challenge, perhaps?"
The professor raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"If I can solve a riddle of your choosing, I should be allowed to leave imdiately."
"No."
"A duel?"
"No."
"A bribe?"
"Absolutely not."
Verena sighed. Ti for Plan B.
She reached into her pocket, retrieving a handwritten note and dramatically unfolding it. "Ah, but my lady," she began, dead serious, "I have here an official royal decree excusing from all disciplinary action."
The prefect leaned over. "That's a to-do list."
Verena squinted at the paper.
Bully fate into submission. Do not slap anyone. Hold back rage.
"...An honest mistake," she admitted, tucking it back into her pocket.
The prefect sighed. "Do you ever stop talking?"
"Only when unconscious. Which, at this rate, may happen soon."
She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Lady Verena, I swear, if you don't sit down—"
It was then that fate itself intervened.
A sudden crash echoed in the hall—so poor student knocking over a suit of armor. The professor's head snapped toward the sound.
Verena did not hesitate.
With the speed and grace of a seasoned criminal mastermind, she stood, nodded politely, and walked straight out the door.
The professor turned back just in ti to see her vanish into the hallway, her skirt billowing dramatically behind her.
"LADY VERENA—"
But she was already gone.
According to the novel, it was down the hall, past so fancy doors, near a statue, or maybe a window? Sothing about a left turn after the grand staircase or... was it a right?
Verena stord through the corridors, nearly knocking over a student.
"Move."
Another turn. Wrong turn.
A group of nobles gasped. Another hallway.
Still wrong.
She glanced at the glowing system tir.
[Ti: 1 minute left.]
Oh, I am so screwed.
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