Morrigan Crowley exited the castle into the courtyard, where the yellow sunlight of a fading summer's afternoon beat on her face and strained her pale eyes. The last details of her appointment to the school were finalized in the meeting she just left, and she stood in the square of ancient stone for a moment and looked up to the many towers and spires.
A woman approached her. She was blonde and well-put-together and wore a light coat. Morrigan wore an absurd black dress. She put her hand in the woman's with barely any pressure, like it was a fragile curio of alabaster that she gave her for safekeeping. "Good afternoon, Professor Bowen," she replied. "It is a flock of new arrivals this year," she said. Half the faculty was turning over. "A flock of what kind, is the question." It could be a murder of crows, but Professor Bowen was rather bright-looking for a corvid.
A woman approached her. She was blonde and well-put-together and wore a light coat. Morrigan wore an absurd black dress. She put her hand in the woman's with barely any pressure, like it was a fragile curio of alabaster that she gave her for safekeeping. "Good afternoon, Professor Bowen," she replied. "It is a flock of new arrivals this year," she said. Half the faculty was turning over. "A flock of what kind, is the question." It could be a murder of crows, but Professor Bowen was rather bright-looking for a corvid.
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