Adele looked out the window of the train and sighed. The rain was still falling, and the scenery had not changed over night. The whistle blew, and echoed over the expanse of grey open plains. Occasionally she thought she saw bluffs off in the distance, but the fog was too thick to tell. It was always foggy in The City, but nothing like this bleak countryside. She had always fantasized as a child what the world looked like outside the city walls and now found herself gravely disappointed. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, after all, the cobblestone streets and small, identical brick houses of the city streets were all she was ever seen. The gate to The City was tall and carefully guarded. No one was allowed to leave without express orders from The Magistrate.

            Two trains left the city the first of every February after The Assembly, one carrying privileged men and one privileged women, both headed for special training. The Assembly had been tradition far longer than anyone could remember, and all the young men and women who had reached the age of majority in the previous year would gather in the town square--the common ground between the districts of those born to labor, born to service, and born to rule. Adele had always assumed that she would be a laborer, like her mother, laying fresh stones in the city streets. It was a hard but happy way of life, free from the responsibility of the higher classes who asked so very much of them. It was only last year that it was suggested she may not be selected as a laborer.

            "El, you're beautiful!" Fitz had argued with her. Fitz had been born the same week as she in the house next door. His father was a bricklayer with her mother, and they had grown up together at the construction site. She had been in love with him for as long as she could remember. She blushed.

            "That doesn't have anything to do with anything, you imbecile," she retorted, punching him lightly in the shoulder.

            "Are you mad? Haven't you noticed a pattern in the girls that don't come back? All the prettiest girls were born for service, and I hate to tell you El, but you're a knockout."

It was true, she was. Her long black hair curled perfectly into the small of her back, framing her pale face and accentuating eyes so green it was almost unnatural. Even through her bricklayers tunic, Fitz had noticed her figure more than once -- perfectly rounded breasts straining against the thin weave, small, pert nipples standing erect in the morning cold. He had imagined running his hands the length of her slender waist, over her perfectly voluptuous ass, her taught thighs... He had started wearing a hat to hide his prominent erection when he spent long nights talking with his old friend. Fitz wasn't the only one. Adele was the object of many a man's hungry stare, but she had never seemed to notice.

            Remembering that conversation now, she missed Fitz terribly. He had been chosen to Rule, she to Serve. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

            I should be grateful for my future, she thought, not dwelling on the past. Everyone always said the lucky ladies were born to Serve, the lucky men born to Rule -- the rest have a lot of labor. I've avoided the common lot! I only hope I can Serve as well as the Magistrate hopes.

            Suddenly she saw something rising over the hill. A castle! Well, more like a castle than any of the buildings she had ever seen. All of the girls on the train were pressing their faces against the windows trying to get a better look, giggling among themselves. The whistle of the train blew three times in succession, and Adele could scarcely make out the cast iron sign over the gates to the manor: Blackthorn School for the Upper-class.