01-19-2018, 05:42 PM
[[Continued from Through the Storm]]
She woke several times that night, panicked in the dark, echoes of its's me, it's me in her ears. Her heart beat erratic until the feeling washed out with consciousness. It wasn't a restful night. By the time fingers of pale light pressed a tentative entry through her windows she unfurled from her blankets and padded into the kitchen on stinging feet to gulp down a glass of water. Sweat slicked the back of her neck, and she still had that headache. Her mood this morning was still. Like a wound still healing, she didn't delve too deep, just coasted around it. Washed. Dressed. Still didn't unpack.
Two days ago she hadn't thought this far ahead, focused solely on answering her father's message and untangling all that festering conflict. Her promises beyond that had been peripheral, the simplest way to secure her flight to Moscow unchallenged. She'd yet to truly consider what registering meant for her future. Not that she could have stopped her family from submitting the paperwork. The secret was already out there; she might as well make use of it.
She took a car into the heart of the city, watching expressionlessly out the window as city-life blurred by. The traffic slowed the closer they crawled to Moscow's heart; Natalie lifted the sleeve of her blouse to check the time, but didn't seem in any hurry to see the bars of the cage snap shut. Perhaps she was being pessimistic. But she could have done this a thousand times in a thousand lives, each time with cold acceptance and little passion. In the distance the Kremlin's red towers thrust from its protective wall like spears, still across the dazzling river. The building itself was brilliant white, and for some reason that settled in her chest like it meant something she couldn't quite grasp.
By the time she was able to get out of the car, her body remembered all last night's aches. She forced herself to walk without a limp, though caught at a wrong angle the pain was enough to force a grimace. So her pace was careful, and the purposeful measure of it did not push her to rush. The driver had directed her where to go when he opened the door for her exit, and for the briefest moment she had the urge to explore beyond the confines of the path before her. She pressed her hand against the ancient stone, but after a moment's stillness denied herself the temptation. It was only delaying the inevitable.
She'd grown up with wealth, but this outweighed anything they'd ever had at home. Government officials hastened to their business, inured to the grandness, but Natalie did pause to draw in her surroundings before giving her name. No fanfare. No escort. Though she was careful to remember that here she was a Northbrook; there was no space for Grey, and it would not do to remind anyone of her father.
After various security measures, she was shown into a room to wait.
She woke several times that night, panicked in the dark, echoes of its's me, it's me in her ears. Her heart beat erratic until the feeling washed out with consciousness. It wasn't a restful night. By the time fingers of pale light pressed a tentative entry through her windows she unfurled from her blankets and padded into the kitchen on stinging feet to gulp down a glass of water. Sweat slicked the back of her neck, and she still had that headache. Her mood this morning was still. Like a wound still healing, she didn't delve too deep, just coasted around it. Washed. Dressed. Still didn't unpack.
Two days ago she hadn't thought this far ahead, focused solely on answering her father's message and untangling all that festering conflict. Her promises beyond that had been peripheral, the simplest way to secure her flight to Moscow unchallenged. She'd yet to truly consider what registering meant for her future. Not that she could have stopped her family from submitting the paperwork. The secret was already out there; she might as well make use of it.
She took a car into the heart of the city, watching expressionlessly out the window as city-life blurred by. The traffic slowed the closer they crawled to Moscow's heart; Natalie lifted the sleeve of her blouse to check the time, but didn't seem in any hurry to see the bars of the cage snap shut. Perhaps she was being pessimistic. But she could have done this a thousand times in a thousand lives, each time with cold acceptance and little passion. In the distance the Kremlin's red towers thrust from its protective wall like spears, still across the dazzling river. The building itself was brilliant white, and for some reason that settled in her chest like it meant something she couldn't quite grasp.
By the time she was able to get out of the car, her body remembered all last night's aches. She forced herself to walk without a limp, though caught at a wrong angle the pain was enough to force a grimace. So her pace was careful, and the purposeful measure of it did not push her to rush. The driver had directed her where to go when he opened the door for her exit, and for the briefest moment she had the urge to explore beyond the confines of the path before her. She pressed her hand against the ancient stone, but after a moment's stillness denied herself the temptation. It was only delaying the inevitable.
She'd grown up with wealth, but this outweighed anything they'd ever had at home. Government officials hastened to their business, inured to the grandness, but Natalie did pause to draw in her surroundings before giving her name. No fanfare. No escort. Though she was careful to remember that here she was a Northbrook; there was no space for Grey, and it would not do to remind anyone of her father.
After various security measures, she was shown into a room to wait.