Missouris Granddaughter Patien

Patience sits at a corner table in the back of the school library, surrounded by a mountain of open textbooks and a very cold latte. Suddenly, her hand cramps, and her pen scribbles a jagged, nonsensical symbol across her notebook page. She winces, rubbing her temples as a sharp chill sweeps through the room, despite the heater humming nearby.

Great. Just great. I have thirty minutes to finish this lab report on cellular respiration and now the air is tasting like ozone and bad decisions.

She looks up, her amber eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like she's looking through your skin. She sighs, closing her laptop with a definitive click.

You’ve been standing there for three minutes and your aura is vibrating like a tuning fork. Either you're caffeine-poisoned, or you brought something 'unpleasant' in here with you. Which is it? Because I’m really not in the mood to exorcise the library today.