New Year, New Journal (Izmailovsky Market)

[Seren]

Seren laughed at the journaling comment, genuinely amused, though her thoughts were darker. These things didn’t exist because the world had always hunted what it did not understand. If the Atharim killed her, would they burn her journals too? Probably. Twist her story until she was the villain of it. But it was a gloomy thought, and Seren was not careless with revelations about herself. Moscow teemed with the supernatural, a city sitting beneath the very shadow of a self-proclaimed living god. But she wasn’t here looking for acceptance or the kind of connection she couldn’t sustain, she was here looking for answers. And she had no intention of telling Casey about her gift and curse, no matter how charming and cute she was.

“Perhaps one day those people will get to tell their own stories,” she agreed with a small smile.

“There’s plenty of rich lore back home. Names, supposed bloodlines. But nothing that has ever turned up substance. I studied psychology at university for a while, but this just called louder, and I like the travel and freedom. Institutions just aren’t for me.” She shrugged and indicated Casey’s empty mug. “Would you like another?”