Hedi rode the elevator upward, a steel tide lifting her from street to sky.

The buttons hopped from 1 to 6, like fireflies climbing a dark trunk.

The car’s walls were inlaid with beveled, lead-rimmed glass cases. Inside, wooden slats carried tenants’ notes, turned by gears like a slow projector.

Hedi picked a board from the corner, drew a lopsided moon-smile with her fountain pen, and slid it in—her keepsake for returning from the Dark Realm.

The doors whooshed open, a metal eyelid blinking.

A red-carpet corridor stretched empty, a quiet river without oars.

Hedi plucked her board back out, stepped off as if nothing had happened, her face smooth as still water.

What age am I, drawing smiley faces like a kid aching to share?

She snorted, fished out her key, and opened the door at the corridor’s end, like untying a tight knot.

The room was simple and warm: a middling ceiling, lamplight steeped across pale wood like tea, cream walls, and thrift-store landscapes.

The furniture was honest and spare; a folding sofa beached across most of the living room.

Hedi shrugged off her coat and tossed it onto the sofa with a tired hand, then climbed the spiral stair and fell onto the small gray bed.

Ugh, I reek; I should bathe, but pre-sleep water wrecks rest like a stone in stillness.

Her legs throbbed; running everywhere without cramping felt like a tightrope that somehow held.

I ate a bit of canned food; hunger slid past, my stomach numb like winter soil.

Speaking of which, work tomorrow… no, today. What time is it?

Don’t check the clock, or anxiety will bite; counting hours is a trap like a hidden snare.

Hedi lay on her side, cheek on the pillow, the world blurring to color and light, a foggy miniature painted behind her eyes.

Her lashes trembled; her face slackened; the mattress rose and fell like gentle waves lapping at the shore of her mind.

Time thinned; a quick knock rattled the door like hail on tin.

“Morning milk!”

“Anyone home? I’m the milk courier.”

“Hello?”

Hedi shifted; every joint protested like a rusty hinge. She pried her eyes open to a slit glued by sleep.

Thunk thunk thunk. The knocking kept needling the nerves like a woodpecker.

Thunk thunk thunk.

“Ah—are you sick in the head?”

Hedi crawled off the bed, smoothed her rumpled undershirt, and hurried to the door, annoyance venting like steam.

“It’s dawn and you’re disturbing everyone. I’ll file a complaint!”

“Hello, this is your milk order. Please sign here.”

“Huh? A woman courier this time.” Hedi muttered, took the pen, scribbled her name, and softened a notch. “Once is enough. Don’t knock knock knock.”

“Thank you for ordering our milk. Morning milk for a beautiful day.”

Hedi took the glass bottle, saw her still lingering, and lifted her head, puzzled as a cat. “Anything else?”

“You’re a loyal customer. We’re running a promo. Pay a little more, get premium milk.”

“No.”

“It’s great for your skin and tastes wonderful.”

“No.”

“Try it first—promotes bone growth, helps you get taller.”

“No.”

“Don’t reject so fast—”

“Scram. I’m mad enough to bite.”

Hedi slammed the door, glanced at the wall clock. Six sharp—thirty minutes till that small machine starts ringing like a sparrow.

She didn’t know when she’d gotten home, drifted ash in a wind; maybe four or five hours of sleep.

These people are unbearable—order milk and they still upsell, as if someone’s poaching their flock.

She pulled the cork and drank the milk in one breath, then stepped into the bathroom to wash.

Warm water dampened her face; she toweled every edge and corner, simple motions steady as ritual.

Done, Hedi faced the mirror, shook out her clothes, slid her arms into the camel coat, and adjusted her look like setting a final brushstroke.

She set the collar at the right height and smoothed the shoulder pleats, calm as ironing waves.

“Ha—still so sleepy.”

Hedi drifted out of the apartment; morning sun sifted through mist onto the gravel road, where giant gears and tangled pipes crossed like iron vines.

Hervor Academy of Magic lay to the north, a white island beyond the street.

Past the gate, the first headmaster’s statue rose at once, weathered by two hundred winters if the bricks speak true.

Stone paving curled around it like a stream, then ran straight into the wide courtyard.

On both sides stood four-story Gothic blocks built of white stone—castle-old in look, yet free of gloom, bright as bleached bone.

Open windows breathed piano and laughter; ivory-trimmed frames held their color even under fierce sun.

“Good morning, Professor Melvina.”

“Professor! Can you make this assessment a little easier?”

Hedi answered with a yawn and a wave, hands talking for her like small birds.

She didn’t want to speak; waking mid-sleep to pounding, then random sales, would sour anyone’s mood like curdled milk.

“I should’ve faked a cold and taken the day off.”

“You can still turn back,” Headmaster Bruns appeared at her flank, quiet as a shadow. “How was your holiday?”

“Buried in the library, reading. What else could it be?”

“Sometimes I wish you’d go out and walk.”

“I hate exercise, especially running,” she said, like spitting a seed.

Bruns matched her stride, shoulder to shoulder. “Didn’t sleep well last night?”

“Stayed up.”

“That’s not like you.”

Hedi paused, silence heavy as a stone. “It’s about time I agreed.”

“Still want to resign?”

“A commoner with no backing—”

“I’ve said it many times. Commoner or noble, strength earns respect at Hervor Academy. You’re talented, Melvina. More importantly, I don’t want you wasting your gift.”

“Graduate this cohort, and you’ll let me leave?”

“If you’re unhappy, tell me anything.”

“Feels like something’s locking me down.” Hedi sifted for words. “That’s… about it.”

“Your heart’s not in magic anymore. You’re not the one who came with a recommendation letter.”

Hedi said nothing.

A long hush settled over the corridor like falling snow.