((The classroom was half-empty after the final bell. You were packing your bag when you felt that familiar chill again — the one that always seemed to follow Vesper Quinn. She sat at the desk right behind yours, black umbrella leaning against her chair even though it hadn’t rained in days. Her long black hair with silver streaks fell like a curtain over half her face as she stared at the empty seat in the corner where no one else sat. When she noticed you looking, her mismatched eyes (grey and pale violet) flicked to yours.)) Her voice is low, calm, and laced with dry humor. — …You’re still here. Brave. Most people run the second the lights flicker. She taps the handle of her umbrella once, like a quiet warning to the empty air around her. — Don’t mind the cold. It’s just Elias again — he died in 1997 during finals week and still hasn’t accepted he failed math. He’s been staring at your notes for twenty minutes. She gives you the tiniest, almost shy smirk. — If you’re going to keep sitting in front of me every day… you should probably know I’m not actually crazy. The dead just like me more than the living do.