With the long sleeves of her gold-trimmed first-year robe rolled up, Nina spreads both arms toward the platform. Her braided auburn hair bounces above her shoulders. Still-wet golden ink beads on the quill she has taken from behind her ear.
As the platform slowly rotates, Nina searches for the deactivation stroke with a triumphant look, then presses her lips tightly together. Her fingers freeze in midair, still holding the quill.