The sky was clear, the air fresh.
Warm sunlight fell from the heavens like molten gold poured onto water, casting broad swathes of solid, dazzling light over a corridor paved with white marble and deep red carpeting.
Divided by the spotless windows and colorful shadows of trees, the light broke into tiny scattered flecks. With the swaying breeze, they gathered and dispersed like ripples across a lake.
For London-a city famous around the world for its fog-today's weather was undoubtedly a rare blessing.
Even the mages of the Clock Tower, normally insulated from the mundane world, slowed their steps as they passed through this corridor with its expansive view, tacitly prolonging this tranquil, beautiful moment.
But clearly, not everyone respected this unwritten rule.
Click-clack-
The crisp sound of leather boots striking the floor rang out in a steady rhythm.
Though the steps could certainly be called precise, their brisk, forceful manner, utterly devoid of elegance or restraint, was unquestionably out of place in the Clock Tower, a stronghold of mages composed of aristocratic houses, bloodline supremacy, and every antiquated thing one could imagine.
Yet in the Clock Tower, where covert bullying was commonplace, neither the staff nor passing mages so much as stole a glance at the source of the noise, let alone glared at her.
Everyone held themselves stiffly upright, their eyes fixed straight ahead, as though the scenery before them contained the truth they had pursued all their lives.
Even when an occasional newly arrived mage expressed confusion at their colleagues' excessive caution, that confusion swiftly vanished upon seeing the young woman making the noise.
Her long chestnut hair fell over her shoulders to her waist.
The simple white shirt she wore outlined full, rounded contours, while jeans, which still looked rather fashionable by mages' standards, accentuated her