Lucy's lighthouse collapsed again next class. And the next. On Wednesday afternoon she still had only a few lines written for the essay. She looked around at her bed-room. It was nice, quite cosy for a boarding school. Quite cosy for outside F. Land. Her first moments at Meestake had been nerve-racking. All the calm she had gained the second she decided positively to give herself up had gone. Not even the trial and the judges had broken it. But the unknown of Meestake did. Her heart started to slow to a normal pace when she, after being led down long wide corridors and some stairs, saw her new bed-room and instantly noticed the one single bed. She muttered a fervent thank you to the Powers That Be (If They Really Are).
That Wednesday she was very aware of the fact that it was a privilege that could be as easily revoked. Lucy turned her attention to the paper on the desk. "Consequences of a collapse, by Lucy Favorleigh. It depends on the magnitude of the collapse and the previous state of the building, which often is related to the quality of the construction. Therefore consequences can be from minor damage, easily reparable, to total destruction."
"It has to be enough", she said to herself, "at least it's absolutely true."
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