10-27-2019, 07:00 PM
(This post was last modified: 04-15-2020, 08:07 PM by Thalia.
Edit Reason: fix link
)
She sat with palm outstretched, patiently watching as Koit tended to her burns. It hurt rather a lot actually, no matter how delicately he applied the salve. Eha sat on the other side of the kitchen table, murmuring words in Estonian that of course Thalia did not understand, but they did not sound particularly happy. Koit’s gaze flickered when she scraped back her chair and stood, frowning a little at the corners of his mouth, but he did not watch her go.
“I’ll leave as soon as you’re done,” Thalia assured. Aylin accused her of being tone-deaf when it came to imposing on the time and generosity of others, but she had not meant to lean on their hospitality twice. Though Koit had offered.
He shook his head. “That’s not what she said, or what she means. She’s superstitious, that’s all.”
Thalia winced as pain lanced, and Koit’s lips compressed. He said so little. And he didn’t ask any of the obvious questions. It made her nervous to wonder at the gears turning in his head unknown, but it wasn’t like she actually had any sensible answers to offer. Not for any of it. So she only peered quietly as he began wrapping a loose bandage, biting her lip quite miserably because none of it was pleasant.
“You can stay here tonight. Eha is making up the bed.” He began methodically packing the first aid kit away, screwing the lid back on the salve, and wiping his hands down on a scrap of kitchen roll. Thalia blinked, testing the mobility of her fingers. They felt stiff. Stay? “And tomorrow,” he continued calmly, finally meeting her eye, “you can show me where that happened.”
That night she tried not to sleep, for the first time wary and a little afraid of what it might bring. Not that she ever remembered the dreams Nox told her she must have, but the itch had been building for days, urgently spilling scribbled sketches each morning. That wasn’t unusual in itself. But she’d always had a sense of its coming, her moods like shifts in weather, and the darkest of them consumed. The last time had been before that girl had died on the tube, when something had stopped the train in the blackness of the tunnels.
Red on her fingers like blood and fire.
She’d ruined the painting before it ever saw the light of day. Like that was an ending.
An ending comes an ending comes an ending comes.
There was a beat in her head like war drums, building as if the memories might crowd whether or not she closed her eyes. Mussed blankets nested around her legs. She was hunched, rocking into the heel of her hand, pressed tight to her forehead. Tears leaked. Her other hand throbbed.
She couldn’t let it happen here, in the home of strangers.
Yet still she fell asleep.
Grey dawn light filtered through the drapes. Thalia woke stiff as a board, as though she had spent the whole night running. Her hair snarled a thorny briar on her shoulders as she pushed herself up, yelping when she laid pressure on her injury. Other hurts joined the first, widening her eyes as she curled up to brush her palm across her calves. Scrapes and bruises stung. Her arms and chest too, prickling with dried blood. There had been injuries upon waking discovered in the past; small things too insignificant to question, and quickly gone. Not like this. She shivered. They’re going to think I’m crazy.
Maybe she was.
She dressed in a hurry, untangling her hair as best she could, hiding what she could of her new wounds. The morning’s urgency was not as she had feared; it still brewed, like the weight in the air before rain, pregnant with promise. A woman’s face grew form in her sketchbook while she ate the kama Eha served. Familiar, but not the one she had shown Nox. A beautiful face, almost too fine to be properly human. The eyes took all the work, like the rest were seen through a white storm, almost insubstantial.
She felt Koit’s shadow behind her. Imagined the frown. He plucked the pencil from her grasp and placed it flat on the table. “Your hand needs rest.”
Thalia grimaced. “It’s complicated.”
He grunted, pulling out a chair to sit, a blue-glazed mug of coffee nursed in his grip. His fingers were blunt and square like a workman’s hands. There was a silver wedding band on one.
Koit was right about the hand, but he didn’t understand the compulsion; how viciously it held her, how jealous it could be of strayed attentions. She hadn’t told Nox about that either. How, denied the right implements, those images would still find a way to be born. Her hand felt doused in flame, swollen and raw, barely able to translate the delicate precision required, but while she drew it had been bearable. The lesser pain.
Beside her, Koit reached to twist the page, looking at the rushed image. “They say the Boatman of Viljandi met a woman on the lake with eyes like that. He searches for her still, an old man now.”
Half a smile quirked, despite the deflation of her mood. “I don’t know who she is either.”
“I’ll leave as soon as you’re done,” Thalia assured. Aylin accused her of being tone-deaf when it came to imposing on the time and generosity of others, but she had not meant to lean on their hospitality twice. Though Koit had offered.
He shook his head. “That’s not what she said, or what she means. She’s superstitious, that’s all.”
Thalia winced as pain lanced, and Koit’s lips compressed. He said so little. And he didn’t ask any of the obvious questions. It made her nervous to wonder at the gears turning in his head unknown, but it wasn’t like she actually had any sensible answers to offer. Not for any of it. So she only peered quietly as he began wrapping a loose bandage, biting her lip quite miserably because none of it was pleasant.
“You can stay here tonight. Eha is making up the bed.” He began methodically packing the first aid kit away, screwing the lid back on the salve, and wiping his hands down on a scrap of kitchen roll. Thalia blinked, testing the mobility of her fingers. They felt stiff. Stay? “And tomorrow,” he continued calmly, finally meeting her eye, “you can show me where that happened.”
That night she tried not to sleep, for the first time wary and a little afraid of what it might bring. Not that she ever remembered the dreams Nox told her she must have, but the itch had been building for days, urgently spilling scribbled sketches each morning. That wasn’t unusual in itself. But she’d always had a sense of its coming, her moods like shifts in weather, and the darkest of them consumed. The last time had been before that girl had died on the tube, when something had stopped the train in the blackness of the tunnels.
Red on her fingers like blood and fire.
She’d ruined the painting before it ever saw the light of day. Like that was an ending.
An ending comes an ending comes an ending comes.
There was a beat in her head like war drums, building as if the memories might crowd whether or not she closed her eyes. Mussed blankets nested around her legs. She was hunched, rocking into the heel of her hand, pressed tight to her forehead. Tears leaked. Her other hand throbbed.
She couldn’t let it happen here, in the home of strangers.
Yet still she fell asleep.
[[An interlude]]
Grey dawn light filtered through the drapes. Thalia woke stiff as a board, as though she had spent the whole night running. Her hair snarled a thorny briar on her shoulders as she pushed herself up, yelping when she laid pressure on her injury. Other hurts joined the first, widening her eyes as she curled up to brush her palm across her calves. Scrapes and bruises stung. Her arms and chest too, prickling with dried blood. There had been injuries upon waking discovered in the past; small things too insignificant to question, and quickly gone. Not like this. She shivered. They’re going to think I’m crazy.
Maybe she was.
She dressed in a hurry, untangling her hair as best she could, hiding what she could of her new wounds. The morning’s urgency was not as she had feared; it still brewed, like the weight in the air before rain, pregnant with promise. A woman’s face grew form in her sketchbook while she ate the kama Eha served. Familiar, but not the one she had shown Nox. A beautiful face, almost too fine to be properly human. The eyes took all the work, like the rest were seen through a white storm, almost insubstantial.
She felt Koit’s shadow behind her. Imagined the frown. He plucked the pencil from her grasp and placed it flat on the table. “Your hand needs rest.”
Thalia grimaced. “It’s complicated.”
He grunted, pulling out a chair to sit, a blue-glazed mug of coffee nursed in his grip. His fingers were blunt and square like a workman’s hands. There was a silver wedding band on one.
Koit was right about the hand, but he didn’t understand the compulsion; how viciously it held her, how jealous it could be of strayed attentions. She hadn’t told Nox about that either. How, denied the right implements, those images would still find a way to be born. Her hand felt doused in flame, swollen and raw, barely able to translate the delicate precision required, but while she drew it had been bearable. The lesser pain.
Beside her, Koit reached to twist the page, looking at the rushed image. “They say the Boatman of Viljandi met a woman on the lake with eyes like that. He searches for her still, an old man now.”
Half a smile quirked, despite the deflation of her mood. “I don’t know who she is either.”