The last thing Mira expected to do was die.
And the last thing she expects to happen when she dies, is to wake up with a sore neck and a bad back.
"So? Did you find her?" Asked Abby, not looking up from her book. She had been sat, waiting for Craig to return.
"Of course I did." He sighed. He took the thin folder from under his arm, opening it. "Miss Mira Thorn, 16 years of age, a B grade student, who enjoys reading, writing, archery, swordplay and balisongs knives. Six months exactly. The day before her birthday." He sighed.
Abby looked up, at her 17-year-old friend. Well, at least, he appeared 17. His ruffled, light brown hair glistened with raindrops. His pale face was scattered with light freckles. His dark blue eyes were cast towards the ground. Wearing blue jeans, a black shirt and a long black coat that reached his ankles, only his smile was amiss.
"Craig?" Abby asked. His eyes met hers. The girl before him appeared 16-years-old. Her pale, sharp green eyes searched his for an answer. Her hair lighter than his, was pulled into two pigtails either side of her head. Her crossed legs were clad in black jeans, her torso in a white t-shirt, decorated by black and grey flowers around the hem. Her short leather jacket hugged, her book laying in her lap.
"We leave tomorrow evening. The preparations have already been made."
"I see. I shall go and pack."
"Alright. I'm going to stay here for now. Read up on this Mira girl."