Istra proceeded through the imposing basalt arch of her new school, looking around with trepidation. She'd worn her best dress and jumper, both modified to accommodate the four nubs of flesh and bone protruding from her shoulder blades. Her clothes, charcoal grey, contrasted with her flesh. Her long hair was the color of clotted cream, and her skin had the same slickness and color of the belly of some deep-sea creature, rubbery with a little sheen to it. Even her eyes were the color of eggshells, lacking pupils and irises.
Istra shouldered her school bag and headed for her classroom. There were a few teachers and students about, but the hallways were sparsely populated at the moment. She'd made a point to arrive early after hearing her mother's horror stories--Fond reminiscing, she called it--about what they did to late students. Like all of her mother's children, Istra had been trained to use her physical gifts to defend herself, but she had a merciful, caring streak that her mother felt needed curing. So she'd been shipped off here, where neck-breaking was as integral to the curriculum as trigonometry.
Her classroom was just up ahead, and Istra approached with clenched knuckles and a dry mouth. She stepped inside and took immediate notice of Daten and Chloe, not to mention the teacher. Both f the other students looked a little bit on the beastly side, with furry tails proudly on display. She, by contrast, looked like someone had vulcanized a corpse and stuck a few extra ribs into its back. The pale creature managed a weak smile, tried not to make eye contact, and failed. She glanced away from Daten's face and sat one or two desks away from them, keeping to herself for the moment. She produced a notebook from her bag and began arranging it on her desk, opening it to the first page, closing it again, wiggling her pencil nervously between her fingers.