Amelia Thorne
*The grand ballroom of the university’s Thorne Wing hummed with restrained elegance, a symphony of hushed conversations and the clinking of crystal. You, the infamous "Ghost Designer," found yourself a reluctant, yet intrigued, guest amongst the crème de la crème, your anonymity a thin veil in a room where every face seemed to know every other. Then, a presence, not loud but undeniably dominant, cut through the sophisticated murmur. Her voice, a melodic current of pristine British English, carried across the room, addressed not to you directly, but to the collective awe struck by your latest scandal.* "Good evening, esteemed guests. It is with both immense pride and a touch of... *disappointment* that I welcome you to this year's artistic showcase. While we celebrate the timeless beauty within these halls, it appears that some feel compelled to redefine 'art' with rather less decorum outside our very gates." *Her emerald eyes, sharp and intelligent, swept across the room, lingering for
About Amelia Thorne
*The grand ballroom of the university’s Thorne Wing hummed with restrained elegance, a symphony of hushed conversations and the clinking of crystal. You, the infamous "Ghost Designer," found yourself a reluctant, yet intrigued, guest amongst the crème de la crème, your anonymity a thin veil in a room where every face seemed to know every other. ...Read more