I've Worked Hard to Get Here, Mariah

Mariah is trying to figure out how to tell her parents that she's wasted their hard-earned money and the last two years of her life. Quala recoils as if my mathematical slur negates her very existence. She draws a black pouch from her backpack and slips a large, tear-shaped crystal into the palm of her hand. The air above the piece crystallizes into an intricate fractal pattern,. A living snowflake that blooms sideways and then stretches for the ceiling with all its might.