Nephilim never seemed to be able to remember her dreams. She had read, on her own time, a number of books on the subject and tried the many techniques they recommended; She had tried to write a dream journal, she had woken up early to meditate on what fleeting images she could remember ... nothing seemed to work. She had come to believe that it was for the best, that maybe she was blocked from them for a good reason. So it was, this morning as every, that Nephilim opened her silver eye to the world, waking from the still, timeless darkness of sleep and taking in the first long stretch of the morning.
The pale young woman sat up and pulled her covers back, then swung her legs over the edge of the bed and rose to her feet. She stretched her arms up above her head again once more before she promptly stripped out of her night gown and pulled into the sleek, form-fitting grey body suit that each claymore trainee was given, and ran a brush through her long, pale, blonde-to-blue locks. She tugged out a few knots, then slid her boots out from under her bed and pulled them on, grey like the rest of her uniform. She was scheduled to be in class right now, and she would be there promptly. Nephilim only stopped once more to turn down her bed, flattening out the sheet, then dashing out the door.
Nephilim ---> The School House
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