The following evening, Blanche was once again wearing her crimson High-collared formal tunic-style tracksuit. Unlike the day before, she had rolled the sleeves up past her elbows in a desperate bid for ventilation. Despite the adjustment, the poor girl was practically melting, sweat beading on her forehead as she darted across the academy grounds. It didn't take long for the inevitable to happen: she transitioned from being "as fragrant as Melody" to smelling like a wet, sun-baked puppy.
To prevent further olfactory decline, she was eventually forced to retreat into the classroom. She sat directly beneath the air conditioning unit, poreing over her Dream of the Crimson Manor — Illustrated Children's Edition or joining the other kids in a round of nursery rhymes. Blanche looked longingly o
