“So, Miss…”
“Melody Apple-Simpson,” Marizu cleared her throat. “your papers are in order. Welcome to the Ministry of Dawn.”
Melody solemnly nodded. A lock of black hair flipped over her shoulder.
Marizu doodled on Melody’s résumé. “You are assigned under a man named Blaise Russhell,” Marizu threw down her pen and rummaged through her desk drawers. “He will assign you a vacant desk on his floor. He’s your direct superior and such,” She seem to find what she was looking for, a piece of paper. Marizu jotted something down and examined the paper. “Good! Blaise is in his office,” Marizu tossed the paper aside and returned to doodling. “Top floor. Door marked with his name. B-L-A-I-S-E. Two s’ two l’s. Red, long hair. French. Can’t miss him,” She said without looking up. “When the temperature goes up, you’ve found him.”
“Er, thank you ma’am,” Melody said, slightly thrown off by the last statement. She opened the office door.
“Please, remember Melody,” Marizu called after her. “This place was originally meant for unique and talented people. We don’t like it when you stare.”
Melody turned to nod and found she couldn’t complete the action. A small flock of ink birds pecked at paperwork as a graphite flower grew out of her résumé.
“Get going! Shoo!” Marizu waved an impatient hand.
Melody then found herself in the lobby, across the room from two French doors which showed a snowy England street.
She sighed. The Ministry’s boss had her office on the ground floor. According to the receptionist, there were twenty-three floors and the elevator was out. It was going to be a long walk.
Melody later found that there was no direct route from the ground floor to the top, except by elevator.
As she walked through the floors, she was slowed down. For an office building, the halls were pretty crowded. Whether it was because the elevator was down or because of something else, Melody couldn’t tell. But she learned what unique and talented people meant. Her blue eyes grew wide at the sight of the employees.
On the fifth floor, a girl dashed through doors and people alike while another followed above her head.
On floor eleven, a man hummed tunes that shattered glass, but not eardrums.
A woman on the seventeenth floor had hair that stood on end. Lights flickered where she walked and anything without a surge protector was in danger when she passed.
The list grew longer with every passing floor. They’re all wearing white scarves, Melody thought, with a morning star. What did it mean? She wondered.
Finally, she reached floor twenty-three. Melody strolled down the corridor, carefully examining nameplates.
“Blaise?” a sudden voice asked.
Melody turned and nearly hit into a stack of paperwork. In an attempt to avoid it, she nearly ran into the wall. But she was stopped by an unseen rope.
A voice laughed weakly. “I’m sorry. I should watch where my paperwork follows me.”
Melody straightened, seeing the owner if the voice for the first time.
“Bonjour! I’m Jacques Aramis,” The man smiled. “I’m telekinetic and telepathic,” He said, answering her unspoken questions.
Melody nodded. That would explain what just happened, she thought.
This man, Jacques, had about half of Blaise’s qualities ¬—long haired and French— she noticed. “I understand, sir.”
He beckoned either her or his paperwork to come, both followed. “Well, Melody. You seem to be new here. As you may have noticed, many of us here are, ah, unique,” He laughed here. “Sometimes, I forget there are some who are, as I would put it, more normal than we.”
Jacques stopped and removed his scarf. He looked at Melody. “It might be best if you remove your sweater.”
“Yes sir,” Melody did as he suggested.
“And, please, no more sirs or ma’ams from now on. The Ministry isn’t the military.”
They continued. Melody soon learned removing her sweater was a good idea, as the temperature slowly climbed the longer they walked. Once the temperature hit summer levels, they stopped. Blaise Russhell was engraved on the nearest door.
“Here’s your stop. Welcome to the Ministry!” With that Jacques bid her adieu and continued down the hall.
Melody watched him turn a corner, paperwork obediently following through the air.
She brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear and opened the door.
A gust of wind came billowing out of the office. Her hair flew in every direction. Paperwork tumbled out and her sweater fluttered halfway down the hall. Melody stood on the spot, momentarily dazed.
“Hm?  Frère, you have a visitor.”
Melody looked inside. It was what most would call a typical office. Except for two factors. The red-haired man, whom Melody recognized as Blaise, was wearing long sleeves, boots, and his white scarf, perfect for the snowy England outside. But he seemed unaffected by the unnatural temperatures coming from his office.
Besides him another person was in the room, a reddish-blonde woman. She did not sit in a chair, but instead upon the very air itself. A tornado of paper swirled around, possibly in an attempt to fight the unseasonal heat.
Blaise looked at Melody. “Who are you?”
Melody timidly walked in, frightened by the gusting winds and the man’s fierce gaze. “Melody Apple-Simpson.”
Blaise sighed in impatience. “Renée, enough of the wind. You’re scaring her.”
“Only if you cool down, Frère,” was the response.
Within a minute, the temperature returned to normal and the room was free from gusting winds. The woman continued to sit on the air though.
“So, what do you want?” Blaise fiddled with some boxes by his desk.
“Miss Marizu told me that I’ll be working under you.”
Blaise nodded approvingly. “So you’ll be needing this,” he took from one of the boxes a snow-white scarf and tossed it to Melody. “You are to wear it whenever you’re working here.”
He motioned to Renée. “My sister will show you your desk. There’s one by Sharp’s office,” he added for his sister.
Melody turned around in time to see Renée jump down from her airy throne as one would jump from a ledge.
Blaise laughed at her shock. “You’ve never been outside the fish bowl before, have you?” he said as he lazily drew circles of flame in the air. “You’re very old-fashioned, Melody Apple-Simpson,” He laughed again. “You remind me of apple pie. Very old-fashioned apple pie.”
Melody silently followed Miss Russhell to the far end of the building. She didn’t even notice the other people in the hallway. She was thinking about what the red-head had said.
Once she was at the door of her new office and Renée had left, Melody sighed. I knew I had much to learn about the world. It should have been obvious when I joined this Ministry, she thought.
She opened the door and sat down. She glanced around the office. It was identical to Blaise’s, she noted. She gazed out the large window behind her and watched the snow fall upon Devonshire. “I’m out of the fish bowl. But I haven’t yet reached the sea,” she said aloud. “There’s much of the world I have yet to see.”