New Year, New Journal (Izmailovsky Market)

[Seren]

Seren's smile bubbled into laughter. “Well then I guess we’d best figure out which one suits you before you turn into a snowman.” She watched Casey’s hands drift over the journals, noting the gentle pull of her attention across them, soft and unhurried. Her glimmer’s warmth was tidy and safe: no flare, no uncontrolled burn, just the natural motion of a person’s smallest desires. For a moment, Seren allowed herself to enjoy the simple pleasure of connection that didn’t burn, didn’t demand, didn’t require control.

“That’s not weird at all,” she said, tilting her head in thoughtful acknowledgement. “Journals… they’re like little safe spaces. Places where you can see yourself clearly, without anyone else reshaping it.” Her words were measured, just reflection offered freely. She noticed the subtle glimmer in Casey’s eyes as she paused, the way her motes hovered softly as she looked at the burgundy journal. Seren’s own gaze softened further, careful to stay grounded, to not accidentally nudge anything - even so simple a choice as that. “Recording beginnings,” she added, “or changes, or just the messy in-between moments. It makes sense to me. Writing for yourself is the best kind of honesty.”