'Mille Stalin; big eyes and small nose and ears closer to elven than human. Not much was known of her past for it was never brought in conversations. Clumsy and always zoning out – aged 13, a girl with superior brainpower.' So was her description of many years ago. In a way, her facial features retained a sense of familiarity all the while exuding the years which had passed. Her big eyes, protector of her hazel-colored pupils sparsely had chestnut-colored sprinkles, each flutter of her eyelashes gleamed the gaze anew. Her hair, longer and untidy, didn't add much to her overall tall and slim figure. Her lab coat held to her shoulders in much distress, she pushed aside her bangs and stared, firming her prior statement. "I'm sorry, are you not Staxius Haggard?"
"No, I'm afraid not," he replied, '-why are the students giving the side-eye?'
"My bad," she exhaled, "-it's just I had hoped to see him again."
"Why?"
