#2

Autumn walked through the frostbitten halls of Glacierwood High, wearing her school uniform as if it were a shield—a reflection of her disciplined and dignified nature. From her very first year, not once had Autumn been seen neglecting the uniform or defying its traditions. To her, it was more than clothing; it was a symbol of pride, a part of her identity.

The winter jacket, crafted from heavy wool in a dark gray hue, was designed for both warmth and elegance. Its wide fur collar shielded her from the sharp winds that howled around the school. Beneath it, she wore a pristine, snow-white sweater with subtle, delicate detailing at the cuffs, adding a quiet sophistication to the overall look.

Her school skirt, always the perfect length, never shorter than her knees, embodied respect for tradition. Its deep black fabric, adorned with barely noticeable embroidered patterns at the hem, moved gracefully as she walked. Autumn never thought to alter it—it was as if guarding its length was as instinctual as guarding her secrets.

Even her leather shoes, lined with soft padding for the icy weather, shone impeccably, their polished surface reflecting her meticulous care. Around her neck, she wrapped a long, navy-blue scarf of thick wool, knotted just so, with its ends trailing softly against her coat as they caught the whispers of the wind.

Her school bag, a heavy black leather satchel, spoke of timeless craftsmanship. Its silver clasps gleamed under the dim morning light, a testament to her attention to detail and her fondness for functionality.

For Autumn, the uniform was never just about conformity. It was an expression of her devotion to the rules and her silent yet powerful presence. She didn't need to break the code to stand out; her unwavering commitment made her remarkable. The school uniform wasn't merely fabric; it was a statement—of pride, discipline, and the quiet confidence of someone who found strength in tradition.

Autumn thought to herself, "Whatever I do, I do it for my own pride. Not to make others proud."

This must be what makes her special, if her destruction comes, as long as she chose it, it is not destruction, but fate.

Autumn was not giving up her headphones, the brown wire ones, the very ordinary ones. She walked proudly, her hair flying behind her, and the moment she passed, it seemed as if the cold winter air was blowing, freezing the eyes and hearts of those who saw her.

She entered the old Glacierwood High hallway, at the end of the way she saw Adams and August, her eyes were cold and the place looked like it was burning, but she thought if Adams really was disappearing, like he was now - avoiding her, not answering her texts, she felt ridiculous, but it wasn't her problem, it wasn't like she would think she wasn't enough, she turned and adjusted her clothes then walked another way.

She walked on a path that no one walks on, leading to the library.

The Glacierwood High library was a sanctuary of knowledge, nestled at the heart of the school. Stepping inside felt like entering a world untouched by time, where the quiet hum of learning thrived against the backdrop of ancient and modern wisdom.

The walls were lined with towering mahogany shelves, their surfaces polished to a dark, glossy sheen. The shelves stretched up toward the high, vaulted ceiling, which was adorned with intricate carvings of vines and stars—a nod to the school's rich heritage. Rows of books, with spines both weathered and pristine, told the story of generations of students who had sought answers within these walls.

At the center of the library stood a massive oak table, its surface marked by years of use, where students gathered in quiet camaraderie. Around the room, smaller wooden desks with antique brass lamps offered cozy spaces for solitary study, the soft glow of their light pooling onto the pages of open books.

The windows, tall and arched, were framed with heavy velvet curtains in deep green, though they were often drawn back to let in the soft, gray light of the countryside. When the winter sun shone, it cast delicate patterns onto the stone floor through the stained-glass panels that depicted scenes of scholars and nature.

In one corner, a fireplace with a carved stone mantle burned gently in the colder months, its warmth creeping into the air and softening the library's otherwise cool ambiance. Nearby, a cluster of armchairs with plush cushions offered a retreat for students who preferred to read or dream in comfort.

The librarian's desk, a sturdy and imposing piece of furniture, sat near the entrance. Behind it, rows of card catalogs were meticulously organized, though they were more a relic of the past now that a sleek computer terminal stood nearby for digital searches.

A faint, comforting scent of aged paper, wood polish, and a hint of lavender lingered in the air. The only sounds were the faint rustle of pages, the occasional creak of a chair, and the soft whispers of students sharing discoveries or seeking help.

This was more than a library; it was a refuge—a place where curiosity blossomed and the weight of the world faded, if only for a little while.

The curriculum was merciless—a labyrinth of complexity designed to push even the brightest minds to their limits. Advanced mathematics twisted into impossible formulas, history demanded not just memorization but analysis, and literature stretched her ability to extract meaning from ancient prose. Autumn thrived in this storm, but not without cost. Her delicate fingers, ink-stained from hours of writing, flipped through pages with the precision of someone who couldn't afford to stumble.

Her uniform was immaculate, the navy tie perfectly aligned against the crisp white shirt, as if to reflect the discipline she imposed on herself. Stray strands of her chestnut hair fell from her low bun, framing a face lit with quiet determination. Her almond-shaped eyes darted between the book and her notes, absorbing every detail with the intensity of someone who knew failure wasn't an option.

Autumn wasn't just a student—she was an emblem of excellence. Her name was whispered in hallways as the girl who always had the highest scores, the one every teacher praised, the benchmark others strived to match. To her, grades weren't just numbers; they were a symbol of her place in the world, a shield against the chaos of imperfection. Giving up her position wasn't something she could fathom—it wasn't vanity but necessity. Falling from the top wasn't just losing; it was losing herself.

And so, she sat, long after the library had emptied, her desk illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp above. Outside, the world shifted into twilight, but Autumn stayed rooted, a silent figure waging war against the demanding pages. For her, every line of text, every problem solved, was a step closer to maintaining the balance she had so carefully built—a balance she couldn't allow to crumble.

It seemed as if she heard a voice in her ear, "What's the use of studying while your man is with another woman?"

Autumn smiled, "There is nothing in the world that is mine to lose."

..Materialistic and trivial things like that, remaining and sincere from anything real. That's why I chose to study, my future is more important than any man.

The goblins of this city, really have no mercy..

That's what Autumn thought.