"Mom, please don't take me to Westwood Academy, please," Wren pleaded, her voice shaking as tears streamed down her pale face, her eyes red and puffy from crying.
The sound of her own despairing voice echoed through the car, making her mother glance at her through the rearview mirror, her expression stern and unyielding. Back at her kindergarten, Wren had heard rumors that Westwood Academy was a place where naughty kids were sent and punished like prisoners, their every move monitored and controlled.
The thought of being confined to such a place, with its strict rules and harsh discipline, filled her with dread. She had seen the uniform of the children who attended Westwood, and it looked bland and lifeless, with only green and black mixed together. The children were required to cut their hair short and wear heavy black boots, which seemed like a form of torture to Wren. As they arrived at the academy, Wren's eyes widened in horror as she gazed up at the imposing structure.
The building loomed before her, its colorless walls seeming to absorb the light around it, casting a gloomy shadow. The air was thick with an eerie, strange aura that made her skin crawl. She felt a chill run down her spine as her mother's grip on her arm tightened, dragging her towards the entrance. At the front gate, a burly man with a stern expression stood signing a register.
"Name, please," he growled, not even looking up. "Wren Williams," her mother replied, her voice firm. The man nodded, still not looking up, and pointed to another man who was handling the kids' bags. "Your new number is this. Keep it safe; it will guide you to your new room."
He handed Wren a small tag with a number on it, his eyes finally meeting hers. "Love your hair. Looks silky; would be easy for scissors to pass through." His words sent shivers down Wren's spine, and she felt her mother's grip on her arm tighten, as if in agreement. With a surge of desperation, Wren turned to her mother, tears streaming down her face.
"Please, mom, don't do this. I'll change," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. But her mother's expression remained unyielding. "It's too late, little girl," the burly man intervened, his voice devoid of empathy. "Once your name is here, there's no turning back. Say your final words to your mother." But before Wren could utter another plea, her mother turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the cold, unforgiving atmosphere of Westwood Academy.
The burly man nodded towards the building. "Seems like your mother knows best. Welcome to Westwood Academy, your home away from home." Wren's heart sank, her eyes fixed on the receding figure of her mother, feeling abandoned and trapped.