Walking through the corridors of the Imperial Academy with Clara von Marigold clinging to my arm was a tactical error. I realized this approximately three seconds after leaving the classroom.
"Look at them…" "Is she being threatened?" "She's blinking SOS! I'm sure of it!" "Should we call a professor? Wait, what if he curses us with necromancy?"
The whispers followed us like a swarm of angry bees. The cadets parted before us like the Red Sea, their eyes wide with a mixture of horror and morbid curiosity. The "Idol of Class B" and the "Trash of the Academy" walking arm-in-arm was a scandal of epic proportions.
I let out a long, tired sigh, feeling the headache returning.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you, Lady Clara?"
Clara giggled, her pink twin-tails bouncing with every step. She squeezed my arm tighter, not out of affection, but out of necessity.
