I step through the thick fog. The forest is ghost as I trod onwards. Marianne. A voice calls me. Marianne. I continue on slightly weary. Marianne. I feel a shudder and sit up with a start. My teacher is here, arms crossed with a burning stare. “Miss. Marianne, does my class bore you this much?” I stay silent. One word will land me in the dungeon. And the dungeon suits nobody. “Miss. Marianne, you must learn to speak when you are spoken to.” I sit silently, a slain soldier at her mercy. She continues her class, keeping an eagle eye on me. But as they slip away, so does my mind. I leave to a different place greater than any classroom could be.