Genvieve
I find myself in a now-familiar position, kneeling on the stage at the speakeasy. I'm amongst my peers this time. What I would assume to be the equivalent of other "pledges" at this point. I recognized Mac, the meathead. The others also seem to ring a bit of a bell, but I don't think we've ever actually been introduced.
One of the girls is a perfect Swedish blonde with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. I only got the opportunity to get a decent look at her because she was coming in at the same time I was. Otherwise, I've had my eyes cast obediently down every time I've been here. Normally in this situation, I'm extremely nervous, or at least I have been all the other times I've been here. Today, on the other hand, I feel oddly numb. Empty.
