FREYA
I grew up in an orphanage. I know very well what this kind of tone means. I am in trouble…
The floral scent is overwhelming. No, overwhelming is the wrong word here. It’s nauseating. Too many flowers. Way too many for the small space of this staircase.
“Well, Freya,” Raymond Baltazar chuckles, “One thing is for sure – you are popular!”
Oh, you have no idea!
“Do you want to come in, Headmaster?” I ask him, trying to force a polite smile onto my face.
“No, Freya, I’d better not,” he moves both his hands behind his back, “This is private enough to talk. Entering your room for me, your teacher, would be wrong at this hour. And this is one of the things I need to talk to you about. Please, hear me out, lady Winter.”
“Of course,” I reply weakly, feeling how my cheeks tur
