She was sixteen, she shouldn't be bombarding into her friend's house at night, and all for what? Some stupid fight with her mother, that was. Not like she could be bothered to go anywhere else, her father would certainly be no help, and he never was. So, stalking across the grass and dirt in her nightgown and slippers, Minerva made her way across the landscape to her best friend's house.

The door was large, so was the house, although it was much more homey inside- compared to the golden paint and white decoration around the many large windows sitting on the marble walls. She knocked once, the breeze soft and light, though the darkness heavy and thick like a veil over the Highlands.

There was the sound of crackling fire inside, but she didn't say anything, still hugging herself with her arms as the tear stains on her cheeks grew a little red. A necklace on her chest as the wind grew slightly colder, making her shiver on the touch. A rose was sitting next to the top step of your porch, red and fresh.

She waited, still, as her brown curls brushed against her face.