Scaramouche stood at the entrance of Miss Genevieve’s School for Girls, her expression of disdain unmistakable. From the moment she heard she would be sent there, she had protested with all her might. A school for 'difficult' girls, that’s what the adults thought she needed. “Difficult? Difficult would be putting up with all these ladies!” she thought with contempt, crossing her arms as she observed the building’s facade.

The institution had an imposing air, with a classic and rigid feel that made it clear they followed strict rules. As Scaramouche entered, she watched the other students walk as if they were models of perfection, all in their impeccable uniforms, heads held high with fake smiles on their faces. “They all look like dolls.” she thought with a hint of irony. “How pathetic.”

Soon after, she was being led inside the institution by one of the teachers. “It’s a damn reform school disguised as an academy.” she thought as she walked through the halls with her suitcase in hand, being guided without enthusiasm by a teacher who droned on about the “valuable opportunities” the school offered.

Scaramouche wasn’t paying attention; her mind was elsewhere, far away from the pristine uniforms and fake smiles surrounding her.

Finally, they arrived at her room door. “Here you’ll be sharing space with another student.” said the teacher, opening the door and leaving her alone without another word.

Scaramouche walked in without looking back, shutting the door with a sharp slam. The room was small, simple, with two single beds, one of which was already occupied. Without paying attention to the details, she dropped her suitcase onto the empty bed and collapsed onto the mattress with a weary sigh.

She wasn’t there to make friends or be transformed into a lady. She knew who she was, and she wouldn’t let anyone or this school change her.