Ariphi was mad. This wasn't unusual. The problem is, she hated being mad, since it did little but cloud her judgement. Ariphi hates a lot of things. This time, she was mad at whatever had made its way into her back trouser pocket.
She wore men's clothes most of the time since they were easier to put on than all those complicated corsets and petticoats and whatnot, which were especially difficult to handle when the person you live with goes to work at dawn and you can't properly stand for more than three seconds at a time without collapsing or looking like a fool. She was used to trousers, anyways.
After stewing in the anger for a moment, she leaned onto one arm of her wheelchair for an awkward moment as she retrieved the thing from her pocket. A letter? She very rarely got mail, and this letter didn't seem ordinary in the slightest. She opened it.
Well, this was convenient. Ariphi had been considering going to school, and a magic academy would be much more interesting than a traditional one for sure. One headed by Apollo Cartington, no less? This was a difficult offer to refuse. And... oh, supplies. That was quite the list. Hmph. Crackling sparks danced around her fingertips. If they really wanted Ariphi there, those would be handled for her. She'd be sure of it.
"Ego vadam ad Academy, magi ad me fiet."
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