Greta didn't think invitations to secret organizations were actually invitations to secret organizations. In the beginning, she'd actually believed the other junior reporters had been playing a trick on her, and had half a mind to stand on the top of her very shaky, very old desk and shout to the room about how she was so thrilled to be selected for this honor... but she couldn't. There was something about it that seemed far too fantastical to be fake.
So when the time came to go to the Hog's Head, Greta jammed on her reporter's hat and braced herself for the truly bizarre.
And it was far, far, far more bizarre than she herself could ever have imagined. Truthfully, Greta didn't know what skills she possessed that could have been of service to these people. She was just a girl. But as she looked around, seeing many face she recognized, Greta realized that the people here were exactly her age, some a few years older. Perhaps it wasn't about special talents; it was just about the right mindset, the right (maybe even inconspicuous) place in society, or something far more complicated Greta could never hope to understand.
One face in particular caught her eye, however, and it had to have been his face, since his hair was black as pitch.
Ralph Merridew.
She couldn't even control her jaw dropping. Instead, her feet took on a mind of her own as they marched towards the previously-redheaded boy, hands latching onto his.
"What the--?" she hissed, thin hands grabbing onto his wrists with surprising force.
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