The window of the car feels pleasantly cool. With my eyes closed I lean against it, enjoy the cold glass on my sweaty skin and support my heavy head with my elbow. The faint rustling of the neon light below me, which serves as the drive and path for this car, has a drowsy effect, it is somehow deafening. But I can't sleep. Not now. Not here. Too much coffee to drown my thoughts and daily depression. To forget my dreams If you think about it carefully, I really am a pitiful creature. My whole existence is actually totally pointless. But when I tell someone this I get answers like "Maybe we should think about increasing the dosage ..." or "Did you take your pills this morning?" Blah blah ...

With violence I pull myself back into reality. I have to stay awake.

"For how much longer?" I ask. If I have the choice between sleep and a pointlessly boring conversation with the even more boring driver - then I prefer to take the conversation.

"It's not far, Mademoiselle," replies the man monotonously. So he doesn't feel like talking. Great.
Even without opening my eyes, I know that I'm being stared at. That glances from the rearview mirror wander over my body, over my striped knee socks, my stubborn, flame-colored curls, the dirty bandage around my left wrist. About the eyebrow piercing I had last week without my aunt's permission (which is an advantage when you look older than you actually are). I can't help grinning. It is really fascinating. As soon as you look a little different from the rest of the world, people immediately see you as a completely different living being. At least that's what Jacks meant when she noticed the ghostly looks that were often thrown at her. And compared to Jacks, I look really wonderfully normal now. Still, if mankind only has me in front of their eyes - without a nearly two meter tall Jack next to them - they naturally think that I am the offspring of Hell. Just like the rest of the world. One of those anti-social youths who waste their entire life in the park on drugs and alcohol. So let's ignore the fact that I've never used drugs in my life, I'm only drunk on Christmas and New Year's Eve, as well as on birthdays, and I'm a trainee actress who works in two cafes at the same time to stay afloat. I smoke. That's all.
Of course, it's not necessarily the best to drop out of school at sixteen, to be self-employed and to live alone with your girlfriend and of course it's not really a secure life if you think about the inferior role offers at the theater and the hectic overtime according to small cafes finances its existence (and one cannot even leave the house without certain medication). But, even though I'm totally screwed after every overtime shift and have to waste my valuable free time memorizing suicidal roles in depressive plays (and Mii always complains about it!) - I like my life.Or at least I liked it. Until this morning everything I built up over the last year was destroyed. Just because.

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The Akademica des Roix, or Nocturne Rose, is located in the center of Cerno Venzia. The building is reminiscent of a modern castle, far too many towers and an outbuilding has a strange, pyramid-like construction. You can see that the ancient cultures had a strong influence on the architect. The result is… interesting. And scary. I still haven't got used to the fact that everything is black in Cerno Venezia, really everything. And when I say everything, I mean EVERYTHING. The houses, paths, buildings, etc. Only the neon lights, the streets, convey a feeling of color in various shades of green, blue and orange. It's also pretty dark here. A little too dark. My aunt once said that Cerno Venezia and Blanca Venezia represent the moon and the sun. And I think she's right. Because while in Blanca Venezia, where I lived a few hours ago, the sun is shining and all that white causes eye pain, you might think that it is always night here. But actually that's quite pleasant. The city seems threatening, but also relaxed. I think it's a pretty fascinating mix.

I examine the school, my school, intensely, through narrowed eyes. This is definitely more impressive than my old school, more promising, more exciting, more mysterious.

Nevertheless. I want to go home.

"Do you like it, mademoiselle?" asks my driver, looking in the rearview mirror. I stare out the window.

"Yeah, it's not bad here ..." I mumble, and to my own surprise I mean it.

The man has to smile, "You will see, you will surely like it. Here you are surrounded by like-minded people, so you no longer need to hide."

The only ones I've had to hide from are you! , I think as he continues to convince me of Cerno Venezia and my new school (or at least tries to).

"Although the lessons are structured, they also give them enough freedom so that they don't feel locked in. They are also looked after by experts who can be blindly trusted, so they have an easier time should they have any problems ..."
It doesn't stop at all!
"And how's the food going?" I ask and hope to end his long-term advertising with this question. With success.

"The ... food?" he asks while looking for a parking space, "What do you mean?"

"Well," I say and have to fight with myself to suppress a grin, "May I suck my classmates, do I have to announce it, or do I get a slave that I can suck?" Don't laugh, April!
"Oh, that," says the man and relaxes again, "Don't worry, the school has developed a special system for that!" he smiles.

Aha. So a special system? Well ... that can be fun.“What kind of system is that?” If I'm honest, I don't even want to know.

"That will be explained to you when you have arrived. As I understand it today, the headmistress is waiting for you to explain everything to you."

It just keeps getting better. Now I'm even being met by the school management personally? I really have to be special! “Do I have to go to this school?” He finally found a free parking space and just ignores my question while he stops the car.

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The outside is teeming with children and teenagers, about the same age as me. To any outsider, it would all look like a normal school. But that's not it at all. Even if they seem somewhat normal from the outside, their aura reveals that they are different. And I know my aura is saying exactly the same thing. I am different. Or better:

I have been until today.

With my eyes hidden behind monstrous sunglasses, I stand there, surrounded by my own kind. It's running cold down my spine. Am i excited Nervous? I dont know. I breathe in slowly. It smells of a thousand different perfumes and aftershaves, of fabric softeners, suitcases, of roses. For roses? Seriously? There is an unbelievable level of noise around me. Little children crying goodbye to their parents, friends who haven't seen each other since the holidays and now have to tell each other everything. A mixed bag. I close my eyes and let myself fall, let myself be carried away by the voices, enjoy it.

My arrival is drowned out in a loud rumble. When I widen my eyes and drive around in shock, I see that my driver accidentally knocked my suitcase over when he tried to close the heavy trunk door. Under normal circumstances I wouldn't really mind that, but today it does. Today everything is different. I am just about to take out my suddenly returned frustration on the man who puts my suitcase back down with a lot of fidgeting and a thousand excuses when someone says my name. I turn on my heel.

In front of me is a man in a pure white suit, his scarlet hair tied in a pigtail and falling loosely over his shoulder and the open collar of his black shirt.

"April Carpulette?" he asks again and looks at me interestedly through the glasses of his glasses. His eyes are a strange green.
“Uh, yes?” I have to look at him pretty stupid, because the corners of his mouth twist into a big smile.

Then he holds out a gloved hand to me, "Hi. I'm Xian Nox, the librarian of this lovely school. Nice to meet you ..." he violently shakes my rather weak hand, which is twisted around quite a bit, "... to meet you, April!" Now it really shines at me, almost like a second sun.

"Uh, yes, also ..." I can't manage more (and my hand hurts!).What a weird guy! But I have to admit he doesn't look bad. So while I massage my hand and keep my eyes on the guy, Xian, he turns to my driver, whom I had completely forgotten by then.
"Vivaldi, would you be so kind as to bring Mademoiselle Carpulette's luggage to her apartment?"

Oh, I have my own ... stop!

"That won't be necessary!" I shout quickly and run over to my suitcase, "I don't plan to stay!" Xian raised a narrow dark eyebrow.

Great. "Because it is like this ..." I look to the side, embarrassed, "I will write a request that I can go home again. To my aunt."

That's a lie. Of course I will NOT go back to my aunt, but at least that way (if everything goes well) I will get to Blanca Venezia, and with that to Mii, "So it is really not necessary to bring my luggage anywhere!"

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The headmistress office is pretty modern, even for the year 2111 after Armageddon. Fascinated by the color combinations around me (the furniture alone has at least twelve different shades of black!) I reluctantly sit down on the soft, red armchair that Xian offered me. He is in the process of making coffee. My gaze wanders from the strange devices on the individual tables to the screens on the walls, which are reminiscent of panes of glass. A faint ticking fills the room. It fills me with a familiar feeling and something starts to stir somewhere inside of me. A memory…?
I'm just trying to find out where this noise is coming from when someone clears their throat across from me. Caught I drive together.

Ramona Blanchett