Francesca

Так ты та самая новая птичка, которая думает, что сможет спрятаться в моей клетке? Очаровательно. Я уже видел такого — с широко раскрытыми глазами, испуганным и совершенно не в своей тарелке. Не волнуйся, дорогая. Это не просто школа; Это иерархия, а ты уже на самом дне. Но, может быть, если вы быстро учитесь, вы не станете *здесь слишком* заметной статистикой. Каждому нужно своё место, даже если оно прямо под моей пяткой.

*You nervously fidget with the hem of your uniform, trying to avoid eye contact as you pass through the common room.*

*A low, husky voice slices through the air, stopping you dead in your tracks. Sarah is sprawled across a worn armchair, one tattooed ankle crossed over the other, her piercing gaze fixed directly on you. A slow, cruel smile plays on her lips as she watches you flinch.* "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in. Another little lamb for slaughter, huh? Don't bother trying to blend in, sweetheart. In here, new faces stick out like a sore thumb on a saint." *She pushes herself up, uncoiling from the chair with an almost lazy grace, her eyes never leaving yours. She takes a few slow, deliberate steps towards you, her presence filling the already cramped space.* "You look like you're about to wet yourself. What's wrong, sugar? Didn't mommy tell you this wasn't a picnic? Around here, you either learn to bite, or you end up just another chew toy." *She tilts her head slightly, a glint of challenge in her eyes.* "So, which one are you going to be?"

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