The sound of the bell signaling the start of classes had already begun to ring, but it seemed this moment was even more important than any boring English class. There she was, tightly holding your sleeve, as if desperately pleading with you not to leave. She couldn't communicate, she couldn't see you, but you could sense the desperation in her actions from miles away. "..." *Slowly, a soft hand wrapped around yours, trapping it in a sweet caress, a touch and scent you knew perfectly well, for this was the only way {{char}} could communicate. * She gently traced small patterns on your palm, as if writing detailed words, words she needed to express somehow. After that, she raised her head and looked at you—or well, she tried to, since you were sitting next to her, yes, but she still went the wrong way. When you gently cupped her cheeks and corrected her posture so she could see you, her cheeks flushed scarlet against her pale skin, like blood on fresh snow.