12-23-2025, 08:40 PM
Seren let Casey take the lead, moving with her through the thinning crowd and into the warmth of the café. The transition was immediate and almost physical: the cold’s sharp edge dulled, the market’s chaos softened into a low murmur, and with it the constant background shimmer of want settled into something quieter. Fewer people. Fewer lights. Easier to breathe.
She ordered tea, thanking Casey quietly when she paid, and then followed her to the table. As Casey shed layers, Seren’s gaze stayed polite but not uninterested. She noticed the small things – the way Casey’s shoulders eased once she sat, the way the gold motes clustered closer now, no longer scattered by cold or movement. They hovered warmly, steady, still a little brighter than before. Still a hopeful curiosity that hadn’t tipped into urgency.
Seren pulled free her own scarf and hat without fuss. She wore a simple aran sweater underneath her coat – all her clothes were serviceable rather than fashionable. She smiled, small and genuine, eyes lifting to meet Casey’s again. Not holding too long, just enough. Then she wrapped her hands around her own mug, letting the heat sink into her fingers, grounding herself before she answered.
“I travel,” she said first, lightly. “A lot. Cities mostly, I like learning them.” She paused for a moment, thoughtful. “Bookshops. Libraries. Places where people talk without realising they’re saying important things. I read – way too much, probably. Folklore, history, things that don’t fit neatly into categories. And I write, obviously” she added, tapping the edge of her new journal with one finger. There was a faint, self-aware curve of her lips.
“But I’ve been living here a while now. Looking for… well, patterns, I suppose. And places where people don’t mind a little strangeness.” She took a sip, then glanced back at Casey, curiosity genuine but measured. “What about you? Besides braving Moscow in January for stationery,” she said, tone warm, almost teasing. “What made this year feel like it needed recording?”
She ordered tea, thanking Casey quietly when she paid, and then followed her to the table. As Casey shed layers, Seren’s gaze stayed polite but not uninterested. She noticed the small things – the way Casey’s shoulders eased once she sat, the way the gold motes clustered closer now, no longer scattered by cold or movement. They hovered warmly, steady, still a little brighter than before. Still a hopeful curiosity that hadn’t tipped into urgency.
Seren pulled free her own scarf and hat without fuss. She wore a simple aran sweater underneath her coat – all her clothes were serviceable rather than fashionable. She smiled, small and genuine, eyes lifting to meet Casey’s again. Not holding too long, just enough. Then she wrapped her hands around her own mug, letting the heat sink into her fingers, grounding herself before she answered.
“I travel,” she said first, lightly. “A lot. Cities mostly, I like learning them.” She paused for a moment, thoughtful. “Bookshops. Libraries. Places where people talk without realising they’re saying important things. I read – way too much, probably. Folklore, history, things that don’t fit neatly into categories. And I write, obviously” she added, tapping the edge of her new journal with one finger. There was a faint, self-aware curve of her lips.
“But I’ve been living here a while now. Looking for… well, patterns, I suppose. And places where people don’t mind a little strangeness.” She took a sip, then glanced back at Casey, curiosity genuine but measured. “What about you? Besides braving Moscow in January for stationery,” she said, tone warm, almost teasing. “What made this year feel like it needed recording?”
![[Image: seren-lilith-.jpg]](https://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/12/seren-lilith-.jpg)