A sleepless night found Pinky Ponsonby as dreamy and distracted as Petal Mara on one of her less energetic days and the two were found on a bench at morning break, heads together snoring softly in the shade of an evergreen oak.

"You two are starting to look like those twins in Dorm Flare," Danique scoffed as she prodded them awake. "We shall dye your hair blonde, weave pigtails as best we can, and present you as the latest in mass produced samples of the best Miss Plazenby has to offer."

The two girls looked at each other and burst out laughing in such a precisely identical way the usually unflappable Danique was thoroughly creeped out by the sight.

One thing did bring Pinky fully awake and that was the familiar voice and merry laugh of the Golden Girl whenever she happened to pass her in a corridor. All through the morning Pinky's brain was in a ferment of ideas as to how she should present the rose to Zephany. Considering the blossom was purloined against all authority she could not publicly bring it out to view, thus she needed to catch the second year alone, but how was this to be managed when she was always surrounded by admirers? Her criminality deepened when she feigned sickness during Classical Studies, an era when Winkels were fewer and more at war with each other, and literature was duly heightened in image and poetry. Pinky thought nothing of that, for a line of shoes with crystal inlays seemed poetic enough for her Perfecta sensibilities.

Instead she sought a sporting period, outdoors, far from the prying eyes of the main school, where a number of second years played ball in an oval field with but one mistress on hand. Weaving in and out of hedge rows and tree trunks, Pinky somehow managed to catch the eye of one of the girls and her distinctive hair served its purpose.

"Your fan club has made an unexpected appearance," Beverley Starwood nudged Zephany as they fought for possession of the ball a moment and there was a quick glance across to where Pinky hovered uncertainly. How the Golden Girl shone amid the other players, the devoted spectator thought as she watched the game a moment, and how she thrilled when she heard Zephany tell the mistress she needed a brief break as she felt a twinge in her lower back and would rest up a bit. Thus she grabbed her things and made for the exit from the playing field where a breathless Pinky Ponsonby awaited her, dancing from one foot to the other, eyes shining. Confronted with this somewhat comical figure the second year dabbed herself with a towel to hide the smile on her face.

"You seem a little agitated," she eventually said by way of asking an explanation for her being there.

"I needed to see you."

This response made Zephany pause and she searched the girl's face seriously a moment.

"Is anything wrong?" she frowned.

"I wanted to give you this," and she reached into her bag.

Zephany sighed. How often had some girl performed this little trick of handing her a bundle of love verses or an inscribed book, or even an intimacy card with personal contact details upon its gilt-edged surface.

"Really?" she huffed. "Must you?" Then her expression changed as she saw glowing petals emerge from the clutch bag of the first year and heard a brief melodic sigh as the wind caught the blossom in its airy grasp.

"I couldn't help overhearing you mention a desire for a Golden Rose of Winter Vale," Pinky continued, oblivious of the reaction of the recipient, so lost in the thrill of giving as she was, until she placed the soft, golden rose in the trembling hands of the girl herself.

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Zephany Ildorim just stood there, both hands cradling the priceless beauty, her blue eyes huge with shock and lit by reflected glow. Her very being seemed suddenly a statue of solid gold, as if the rose was the final piece wanting to transform her into a living metallic sculpture.

"Where did you get this?" she whispered rapidly, disbelieving.

"By chance the botany mistress mentioned these roses had bloomed in Miss Plazenby's garden," Pinky proudly said, enjoying this moment immensely. "A simple matter to select one for you, knowing how much you love them. Are you all right?"

Zephany fell to her knees and her eyes filled with tears. Speechless she looked up at the girl before her, still posed with the rose nestled among trembling fingers. Then slowly she placed the blossom in her own capacious bag, glancing at it several times to be sure it was there and that it was safe, but mostly to confirm it was real.

"Thank you!" she gasped in that same choked voice as before, throwing her arms around the pink-haired girl in a tight embrace. "You cannot imagine how much this means to me, I am so happy!" she sobbed and all that dignity of her Perfecta upbringing, all that superiority of manner, fell from her as she clung to the younger girl with the joy of the moment.

Pinky was simply amazed. Her plan had worked better than she hoped. Zephany Ildorim was singing her praises and delighting in her gesture. She wanted the hug to continue forever but after several minutes the second year shuddered and recovered herself somewhat. The embrace was broken and the two girls separated.

"I am eternally grateful for this gift," Zephany said, eyes glancing this way and that with embarrassment. "Please," she continued earnestly, "tell no one of this. You are a very special friend to me. We Perfectines stick together, no matter where we are." One brief final hug and the girl was gone.

Pinky stood there in the shady arbour where this magical moment had played out unobserved by profane eyes. She stood there, replaying the words of the Golden Girl, breathing in her personal scent that still lingered on the air, and thinking herself the luckiest, happiest girl in the whole school.

"Oh, there you are," came a voice that floated to her indistinctly, so entranced was she. "I understood you were unwell and sought you in the infirmary." It was a mistress who spoke, but Pinky saw her not. "Well, never mind. I am to bring you to Miss Plazenby immediately on a matter of some importance."

"Sorry?" the girl finally said as she felt her hand grasped and a vigorous pull compelled her to follow the mistress towards the main school. She was too dazed to question further and only vaguely noticed her surroundings transform from the sunlit shrubbery of outside to a shady polished hallway indoors. Then came the great panelled door with gilt lettering emblazoned upon it announcing the identity of the exalted occupant within as she was led across the threshold.

"Please take that seat Pinky," a firm but sympathetic voice, rich in tone, indicated the cushioned chair next to a small corner table. Beyond was a tall window that overlooked the grounds of the school. Pinky obeyed, settling herself into the plush seat unquestioningly. The mistress who had brought her departed leaving her alone with the head mistress. She sat herself on the opposite side of the table, the window behind her so she was more a silhouette than a living figure. Her eyes were visible though. Soft, searching eyes, sad too in a way that made Pinky shake her head in confusion.

"I am sorry to say an incident occurred last night which has been brought to my attention, a serious incident of vandalism in my private garden."

"An incident?" Pinky stuttered.

"I was hoping you might be able to explain what happened."

"Me?"

Miss Plazenby remained silent a moment, giving the girl a chance to come clean over the matter but Pinky, still very much glowing inside with the remembrance of that embrace from the Golden Girl, was not fully aware of where she was or who she was speaking to. Thus she just sat there, silent and trembling. The head mistress sighed.

"Perhaps then you might explain why your hat was lying upon the grass right next to the Golden Roses, one of which had been clearly cut?" she said, displaying the soft item accusingly.

It was then Pinky Ponsonby burst into tears.