Nina Siwak

[Nina]

Age: 34

Current residence: Moscow

Occupation: Surgeon--trained at the Guardian. Atharim—her parents were Atharim.

Psychological description: Though highly active and engaging in the medical field, she reserves her private thoughts and keeps her intentions quiet, although there have been hints. Although Nina is not mean she is not very nice sometimes, but the odd thing is it usually works out for the other person’s own good. She’s developed a complex about protecting her little sister.

Physical description: Nina’s hands are quick and steady, her fingertips callous’d from surgeries and paperwork. She has a lithe, toned, athletic build. The young surgeon also has colorful tattoos all over her body, her arms, legs, even a tattoo in the small of her back. None on her heart-shaped face, so far.

Hair: black
Eyes: bright green
Height: 5′7″ (weight: 128 lbs)
Voice: musical; Nina sings well.

Born in Italy to a family of roaming Romani merchants, Nina was raised all over Europe, back when it had been a vibrant economic center. Her parents were not only Romani, but also secretly atharim and taught Nina and, later on, her little sister Rena much of their beliefs. Nina kept her parents’ stories quiet as people did not trust Romani outsiders, and any atharim knowledge was sacred. While she liked her parents' mythical stories and warnings about channelers, she never truly believed in either, having no encounters with anything atharim beyond her parents' teachings.

Having to travel constantly while going to school was tough, as Nina was forced to make a new set of friends everywhere her parents traded. Nina felt truly happy when she turned 18. That was when her parents finally opened up shop in the Zamoskvorechye district, despite it being the slums as for the first time they've settled down. Befriending one of her sister Rena's classmate by the name of Bas Volodin, they quickly became close friends. Bas opened her eyes to appreciate tattoos when he inked her first tattoo. She also joined the gang the gopniks Bas was a member of, and for a number of years, Nina and Bas were inseparable. As she ran with the gopniks, she began to level up her medical know-how and patched up those who got injured as they did not want to go to the hospitals and attract the wrong attention. Nina was good at that sort of task and so, when the time came, she signed up for higher learning at the Guardian.

Constantly tested by the doctors that trained her as well as dealing with the punishing schedule of the Guardian wore on her, but Nina persevered strongly so she could make her family proud. So proud were her parents in fact they decided to go to the nearby area for trade and visit her while she was there. Her parents were killed in a car accident a mile from the hospital in her 2nd year.

When Nina received the news, she sent for her little sister immediately and made all the arrangements for the funeral. It was a difficult time as she recovered, with only her friendship with Bas there to keep her strong not only through her grief, but also from the burden of raising Rena on her own. By the time Bas and Nina broke up due to different priorities and ambitions, she was much more disciplined when it came to controlling herself and acting like an adult.

Her parents’ passing created wounds of the mind that would always stay with her… this was to be further compounded by her little sister Rena channeling. Upon returning home from a medical conference, Nina was informed her only family, her precious sister, Rena had been one of the ‘gods’. A pivotal moment in Nina’s life, which only only caused her to seriously question her parents' atharim’s traditions but also led to many friendships including that of Jacinda Cross in future.

In her 4th year as a medical student, Nina embarked on her great project, a thesis on the Guardian that began as a way to try and determine her field but instead became a critique upon the hospital complex as a whole from its traditions to its practices and culture and all the things that needed to change. Earning her some attention, it wasn’t long after that Nina was allowed to take her final test and doctor’s oaths.

Throughout her residency, Nina had not revealed her intentions to anyone but it wasn't a surprise for many when she chose the surgery for her own career, even as she declared her interests and friendships in other fields. Not long after that, she left the hospital, volunteering for doctors without borders; since that time to the current day she had been embroiled in a number of atharim events even as she attempted to lead by example. To show her little sister Rena she loved her despite her nature and that she would do her best not only for her sister, but for all the people in this world who need her help.

After having completed her training, Nina was rumored to have gone many places. Hearsay placed her in America at the oil mines of Texas. Other doctors spoke of a surgeon traveling in secret with a band of natives in India, posing as a singer to earn her keep. But, as with many things in Nina’s present life, they were never confirmed. The possibilities, however, remain.

[Nina]

Nina crossed the ruins cape of the factories, industrial areas that had been levelled on that historical day before the CCD took over. Shattered concrete buildings flanked the lips of craters; ruptured metal sheeting and snapped pipes poked from the pavement dust. Unrecognizable pieces of burnt machinery scattered the ground.

That was where the gangs lived, the pale-skinned, dark-haired ones with their funny costumes and colorful tattoos. Nina wondered if the tats were badges or marks of rank. They, lean and ragged—like her, she supposed—haunted the trash slopes, scavenging what they could from the rubble, though unlike the gangs, she drew the line at feeding off the rich; to scrounge and steal was not only wrong but dangerous.

There was a stagnant, rotten smell to the place and sickness lingered. Hundreds like her family, mostly poor or the dispossessed from the outer areas, had made their place temporary home. But her parents never thought to ask any for help. Everyone in their family was on their own.

Nina, like many of the locals, avoided the shelters, for though they offered food and medical help, they also represented authority and prejudice. The CCD controlled most refugees brutally.

She saw others prowling the ruins. Adults mostly, a few children, all thin and dark with filth, their clothes wretched and torn. Some stared at her as she passed; some ignored her. None spoke.

She passed a store block where parts of the windows were actually intact and she saw her own reflection. It shocked her. A straggly, pale thing with dirty clothes and sunken eyes looked back at her. She’d expected to see the bright-eyed, cocky girl with flashy hair and snarky smile.

Seeing the leaness of her own face, she realized how hungry she was. She’d been blocking the feeling. Her empty belly knotted and ached with such sudden fury she dropped to the ground for a moment, sitting on a rubble stack until the pain eased enough for her to stand without cramps or wooziness.

She took the pills from her shoulder-slung pack and took a single, precious tablet from the bottle. Half full, it was the last of a box of vitamin bottles she’d recovered from the pharmacy attached to the Guardian complex. She dreamed of their food. There was a banquet fit for kings secured down there in the cafeterias. But you had to pay. She was sure these vitamins were the main reason she’d kept herself and her family disease free for the last month.

She slid down the rubble and moved towards the compound. Above, looking across the ruined landscape and half a mile away, lay the fenced and razor-wired facility of the monumental hospital. She’d been to a few times and had stood in the glass hall of the main lobby, now newly renovated, watching the snooty people move to-and-fro from platforms. Her parents had run a vendor-stall there, and she’d also been volunteering as a part of the Guardian's dispensary team for a few months.

The Guardian had awed her, even as she worked. It seemed to her a doorway to anywhere. If she’d had the money, she’d have jumped a train south to the tropical inland of Italy, to the greek archipelago, maybe even to Istanbul where, so they said, it was possible to buy a route to anywhere, including off-continent to the Americas… America had always seemed to her a way out. A possible future. A promise.

She knew it was up to her now. Her sister Rena was sullen and quiet, and she ran with this gang most of the time. Rena had been running with the wrong crowds and known a boy or two from school who’d been gang-inducted, but she’d never been properly blooded into any gang to speak of… and Nina wasn’t sure what to do.

The one thing Nina Siwak had always known, ever since her childhood friend had died of stab wounds in an unlit, dirty sewer many years ago, was that gang life was dumb and pointless and short. She’d make her own way in life, be her own mistress, or get nowhere at all.

[Sebastian]

2035

Fuck! Just breathing hurt. He had to take shallow breaths and everything just so he didn't pass out. Cocksuckers had jumped him. He gave as good as he got. Northsiders knew who he was. But he wasn't Superman.

Felt like a few knuckles- hell, maybe a few fingers- were broken. His left eye was definitely hard to see out of. Lip split in a few places too. And his ribs? Yeah. At least a fracture or two, if not more.

Not to mention the bruises in his shins and thighs, chest and arms. The taste of blood was still on his tongue. Not just his own blood.

He smiled at that. Bitches. Igor would miss that chunk of ear

But, fuck, walking home was rough. He stood straight. He was sure any number of those pricks might have been waiting. Hint of weakness was all they needed. So standing tall was important.

Not that the rebar clutched in his hand didn't have something to do with it either. That stuff was near deadly. Break a bone. Crack a skull. Rip your skin or muscle away. Stab you in the gut. "Rebar" was a dumb name. The "fuck you up bar" was more like it.

All show, of course. His right hand was fractured somewhere. One swing and it would probably fly away. But as long as they didn't know....

And of course. Please, Holy Mother. No one of the crew was around. His apartment was a couple blocks away. But he was too hurt to consider it.

He sat on a stoop. Just to get his breath. Ma would freak out. She always freaked out. He was 17. Shit happened. He'd live.

A noise caught his attention. He looked up- only one eye working, sadly- and saw a vision of beauty. Despite himself, he smiled. "Well well. Didn't know we had angels around here." Ok. The smile hurt. Maybe there was a trickle of blood too. But she was cute. You always smile at the cute girls. Even if they are older than you.

Especially if they are older than you. Heh. He'd write that one down. Sounded deep.

[Nina]

Nina looked up at Bas. She held his gaze for several seconds. You could almost see her mind working through possibilities, necessities, and maybe’s. She sat for a moment, thinking, remembering…

She was amazed she knew him. This was Bas, a local boy Rena had spent months talking about. Younger; true. Cleaner than now. But he didn’t recognize Nina, face to face.

But, when she came to think of it, she realized of course he wouldn’t have recognized her. She only knew it was Bas because Rena had told her so. Rena ran towards the mobbing, clamoring concentration of gangsters in the center of the hangout. Bas was at the heart of it, laughing and chatting, answering the barrage of excited questions as best as he could.

Every now and then, Nina hid herself, looking around, hungry for the sight of Rena’s face. There was a little ache in the back of her heart that some of the faces wouldn’t be there…

The weight of the vitamin bottle in her hand made her remember it was there. She looked at it for a moment, and stuffed it down inside her pack for safety.

She rose, pulling her pack off the concrete and smoothing her short, bob-cut hair away from her heart-shaped face. She could feel the smile on her face. It wouldn’t go. Angel. Angel! She was expecting all sorts of names. That foreigner. Gypsy. Romani scum. It was exactly the same as every day in the Guardian, simple routine. Only this person — Rena’s friend, Nina thought — was different.

Even now, beaten and bruised, Bas called her an angel, as if she could ward him against the entirely luck free doom that awaited all of them.

“Angel?” she admonished. “Is that how your mama taught you to greet a stranger? I am Nina. Call me that if you must call me anything.”

She got down on one knee and rested the weight of the heavy pack on her right shoulder. Recent experience had taught her it hurts like a bastard when she cleaned out wounds...

Morphine. Morphine. She was now digging through her pack. Everything was so neat and precise, everything bottled and folded. Her boss would hate her for the mess she was making. There was no sign of the morphine vial. She up-ended the pack and spilled its contents out onto the ground. Frowning.

[Sebastian]

A few of the guys came out of the woodwork, to see what was going on. When they saw him, of course there was commotion. Bas dropped the rebar, the loud clank echoing over their voices. He wasn't alone now.

"Relax relax. Looks worse than it hurts." He winced. Actually the other way around. They didn't need to know. He waved off most of them. "Go see if any Northsiders followed or are lurking around." He smiled at the angel in front of him. He wanted to talk.

He laughed at her tone and then hissed at the stab of pain from his ribs, suddenly breathing in jerks. Oh Yeah. Broken, definitely. Sucky thing, too, was unless they were out of line and needed to be reset- or worse, had broken back or forward to stab into lungs or through skin-wasn't a whole lot you could do but wait and deal. Not like they had fancy meds or growers or whatever richies got when they broke their legs skiing.

But she still had his attention. Smiling weakly, he said through shallow breaths, "My mama always told me a man should make a woman feel how beautiful she is. And you, well..."

Cheesy. But it was supposed to sound cheesy. He winked his good eye. "If I wasn't currently dying at the moment, I'd ask you to dance." He painfully tapped a foot to a rhythm in his head. "Hell, it'd be worth it even so."

Bravado spent, he dropped to a block to seat. "Fuck!!!" Goddamn ribs!! Oh yeah, those pricks were gonna pay. Not just losing an ear, he promised that.

She knelt beside him fumbling with her bag, eventually pulling things out. He watched fascinated at the task, as well as the way her hair kept falling in front of her eyes.

She seemed to find what she needed and held it up as she reached for his broken hand. He didn't pull away. She gently put a patch over his wrist and the throbbing in his hand started to lessen until it disappeared completely.

He was a mass of pain, of course, so that one single less source was only a drop in the bucket. All the same it was nice as he watched her work. At one point she gestured for him to pull off his shirt. Yeah, like he could do that by himself. "You're gonna have to help me, Nina Angel." His grin said it was a compromise. He liked it.

His voice was quieter. "I'm Bas."

[Nina modded w permission]

[Nina]

Her frown had not faded.

Somehow, Bas kept upright until they were alone. It was a brave thing to do for the others. There was something about Bas, something remarkable, something surprisingly good that had driven the others to seek him out. He smiled brightly at the others, urging the other kids to check on "the Northsiders", trying it make it sound like a game. All the while his chat with them was assuring; answered their queries, complimented them, told them a joke that made them laugh so loud it drew a disapproving stare from Nina.

Quickly, beautifully timing his interjection between the others' nervous laughter, Bas looked over at her with his big smile and clean-cut features, and Nina was lost for words. He’d never seen her before in his life, but he knew her. As if he’d always known her... To her, he was smart mouthed, cock sure, roguish but utterly cool under fire; if there was a hot center in any fight, Bas would most likely be in it. If there was a joke in the hangout, Bas would be in that too. The thick of it all. Earning respect on sheer merit and being loved by all. This idea appealed to Nina immensely. But she could tell from Bas’ manner, his breathing, his wounds were actually bothering him.

“Bas?” he swayed. His face was pale and unhealthy.

“Bas!” Nina cried, hurrying to him. He was whispering something stupid about asking her to dance. But there was nothing stupid about the expression on his face as soundlessly he pitched forward.

She stooped beside her fallen companion, felt for a pulse and started to dab at the blood streaming from his arm.

“Why did you get hurt, stupid?” Nina asked, fierce concern on her dust-smudged face. Her glossy black hair was now tied away from her face.

She reached out a hand and grabbed Bas’ tight. “Shhhh,” Nina assured him. Almost immediately, she let go. Something thrilled through her skin, like an electric charge. Like needles. She gasped sharply and stared back at him, confused. More mystified than anything else.

Nina shook herself to clear the distraction from her mind. Even Bas’ appeal became academic in face of his injuries. She cleared her mind of what’s in her head right now. Fear. Fear of pain and death, fear of failure. The weight of her new responsibilities. The sick feeling she’ll f— up and let people down. And Bas was not helping her nerves with his stupidly attractive face and his winking.

She focused on his injured hand. Her study of Bas was now a more workmanlike approach; her gaze intense as if cutting into him; mind full of gauze and disinfection. She was firm. Resolved.

She took out her first aid dressings and started to patch up Bas’s hand, smacking a one-shot vial of morphine into the flesh above his wrist first.

With her other hand, she stroked his hair, matted with blood, and then dragged a finger carefully down the slope of his exposed cheek. Blood from a head wound dribbled down his cheek. This is it. His head must be pulsing and—

“I’ll try not to hurt you," Nina said gently. Her voice was just a soft murmur. Her breathing dropped to a very low rate.

“Easy does it and—"

Nina broke off. She had bent down and helped Bas, stripping off his constricting shirt. At the sight of his battered torso—tattoo’d and starting to stretch out with the bulk of a man—her guts tightened. She knew, long before she actually saw his body, that his ribs were broken; ruptured and collapsed; luckily not puncturing his lungs. He was miraculously alive but definitely, not intact... Was he scared? She would be!

And his chest… his arms… a fight had not done that. He had made those fearful, lifetime marks. Given that, from the rate of infections on ink’d patients at the Guardian, most tattoo shops in the district had difficultly differentiating its ass from its elbows, these were rather professionally and nicely done in Nina’s opinion.

“So tell me,” she said quietly, lining up her next shot of morphine. “Who did your tattoos?” she smiled and nodded. “We need to re-set your ribs so they heal. I’m sure you’ll agree."

She saw the look in his eyes and added sweetly. “Hold still, Bas angel.”

See! She could flirt, too.

[Sebastian]

Yeah, so Bas wasn't sure how, but he had ended up on his back between one moment and the next. Nina Angel hovered over him, alternating between his wounds and her tools. And he felt himself a little out of it.

You know, just a little, is all. High and suddenly you realized you were on the ground and it kinda felt nice. And how long, anyway, had you been down. Hours? Nope. It was seconds. Always just seconds.

He felt something touch his face and he opened his eyes. I thought my eyes were open? Would explain it. Sorta. Memories seemed to stir, songs floating in the air, hovering over him high above the pews, flying among the vaulted ceilings and windows, raining down like the warm arms of the Holy Mother embracing him.

And the pain seemed to melt away. Well okay, not exactly. But like the sheltering warmth was overwhelming the agony. Of course, she was an angel! A dream of the Sacred Heart.

A murmur, a voice, seemed to come from somewhere outside. He opened his eyes. Wait!? Again? They felt stuck. But they finally opened.

Angel Nina was over him, just like his dream. And she was applying something. Her hands on his chest and ribs were soft. And she asked about his work. He whispered, "Buddy of mine has a shop. Keeps it clean. Knows what he's doing." He looked into her eyes. "You should give it a shot, Angel. Be nice on you..." His voice drifted off, too weak to continue. Not so bad, he thought. I can get used to this. Gorgeous Angel over him, touching him. Only thing better woulda been her hair falling into his face, tickling him as he kissed her.

Yeah. You know how dumb people can be, right? Because suddenly he felt as if someone has stabbed him everywhere. Blackness took him.

[Nina]

The air was cool with the promise of a hot day ahead. A smell of antiseptic wafted in. Nina worked—here and there, she nodded to herself and moved onto the next broken part. His injuries were clean, surprisingly clean. And lucky. A fracture had missed his lungs by the most remarkably slim margin. Even so, it was pretty bad. Nina worried his injuries might have left a glancing blow across the heart muscle, a weakness that might rupture if Bas exerted himself too soon. He should be banned from even getting out of bed.

But they didn’t have a bed for Bas. She was cautiously nursing Bas’s wounded body flat on the ground below the stoop where he sat. He was pale from blood loss and trauma and his face was pinched. She was afraid Bas wasn’t going to last long, despite her care. He’d lost so much blood…

“Don’t you go dying on me, Bas,” she growled. She wanted to keep him talking. About anything, any old nonsense. She was worried what might happen if Bas fell asleep.

“Yeah, a tattoo? Hmm... I’d like that,” she lied to him, and kneeling down to apply a tourniquet to Bas’ thigh.

Series of sutures; heavily bandaged ribs; some time later.

“All done,” she reassured the boy, but Bas had blacked out.

“Are you all right, Bas?” asked Nina. There was concern in her green eyes. She felt an immeasurable sympathy for the wounded boy. Taking any deep breathes must be agony.

There came no immediate reply, and he was very pale. Bas was too far gone from pain and damage to register her.

Mmmh… Perhaps, yes. She might have overdone things...

She had some trouble getting the right dose. Her morphine supply felt light now. Had she been giving Bas too many? Seriously, it was no joke. These were powerful drugs. If she was abusing the dose…

It scared her. Doubts were in her head and they wouldn’t leave her alone. Nina frowned as she worked; through these nagging fears; through her strange sense of unreality; through the smells of blood and disinfectant.

Through an answering mumble from Bas.

Her eyes opened wide as she wheeled round at Bas sharply. Reading Bas’s expression.

“What did you say…?” Nina asked quietly.

The silence between them returned.

She didn’t get these religious types, too intense for her liking. And ever since their family settled here she’d heard people rambling on and on about faith and miracles. So what?

Nina didn’t hold with that sort of stuff much. You lived, you died, end of story. Sometimes you were lucky and lived well. Sometimes you got unlucky and died badly. Gods and saints and angels and stuff was the sort of nonsense her parents filled her and her sister’s heads with whenever bad luck came calling. Mom and dad mooned about visions and monsters, clearly bought into the whole atharim “gods” fixation...

But for Nina, the memories were not pleasant. She decided she wanted to be out of here someday, on a train and far away. There was nothing here now she wanted to stay for, or needed to stay for.

She wiped her hands on a rag, and began putting tools and supplies back into her pack. This mob of gangsters was a crazy lot. Nina was sure Bas only ended up wounded because he’d been going balls-out in the fight against “northsiders". And Nina was only here because Rena had the hots for some local boy or classmate, who was incidentally a liability in Nina’s humble opinion. Bas was the only one who seemed remotely okay.

“Bas?” asked Nina, getting to her feet, a tired half-smile on her lips. “How are you feeling, Bas?"

[Sebastian]

Bas woke wondering where he was. The air was cool on his face and chest, though there was a tightness in certain places. Come to think of it, parts stung too. And itched. And....what the fuck? Now he hurt. Breathing was painful. A groan escaped his lips and his eyes fluttered open to an angel hovering over him, emerald green eyes gazing down at him with concern.

Holy Mother, she was gorgeous! He smiled up at her, his voice a croak. "My God, woman." His mind swam, a name coming to him. "Nina? Nina..." The name felt sweet on his tongue. More memory came to him.

A playful smile, with a twinkle in his good eye. Good eye?! Damn!. Laughing even a little hurt. "i guess I must have really hurt you, angel, that you had to beat me up so badly. I won't that again, I promise," he whispered mock seriously. He grunted and struggled to get up. "Please let make it up to you. My apartment is just over there."

So....fuck, but it hurt to walk,  But she was tall and strong and he could lean on her. Hehehe....maybe he leaned a bit too much. She did feel nice against him, Very nice. His shirt dangled from his other hand.

The walk up the stairs was seriously rough and he had to take breaks pretty regularly. But they made it eventually. He pounded on the door. Nothing. He tried to get his hand in his pocket for the keys and winced. Nope. And his other hand couldn't reach. He looked at her, a sheepish smile on his face. "So Ma and Arkady are out. And I can't get my keys. Um...You mind helping....?" He shrugged helplessly.

[Nina]

Nina got her arm around Bas, and supported him. She was surprisingly strong despite being smaller and lighter. He was warmth to the touch. It felt right walking him this way.

She had been very much enjoying her journey into the slums with Bas. It was a welcome change for her to spend time in the company of an appealing, smiling young(er) man, good looking even with his one eye swollen shut as though he were constantly winking; but now she felt some alarm. She was out of her depth. Bas was so much more worldly than she was. He knew such things. He  knew of hitting on people and calling girls angels. He probably knew of dating and its mysteries. He spoke of them matter of factly, as if the knowledge was commonplace.

Oh, but what I would give, not to be romani or atharim, but to live and love like a normal girl?

The full, dizzying burden of that confession silenced the young woman for some time. On the stairs as they moved up together, she scolded herself inwardly for being so silly. So what if Bas flirted with other girls, or dated? It was just that she had never considered the idea before.

She wasn’t sure what to expect, though she anticipated feelings of excitement. Nina smiled at the warmth in his laughter; his gentle voice and saw how he naturally directed his attention toward her. Muscle memory, old systems, still ticking over. He was good with the others; it was like Bas could seen straight to her heart. How come?

The day was warm and light, and it was time they stopped and rested by some nearby sunflowers in the path’s undergrowth. The plan to walk Bas home met with Nina’s approval.

Leaking blood, Bas was getting slower all the time. His strength had held up well, but he was flagging now, slowed by the returning pain of his wound. She stopped him.

“Oof! You’re heavy!” Smilingly.

Hovering beside Bas, she checked the state of her dressings carefully and she hoped, calmly. Nina ripped off her sleeve, and tied it around the wound opening. Even so, the part she stitched still continued bleeding and in a blink of an eye, dyed the cloth in a deep red.

He should go to the ER, or so she thought but upon seeing the look on his face, Nina kept quiet and kept walking together; pausing rather often for breaks.

They finally arrived at the top of the stairs. The door to it was locked. Nina had to wait for Bas to pound on the door for several minutes. Then a minute longer while he found the key.

At his fairly simple request, Nina hesitated. Spent a minute deciding it would be most appropriate. She was a woman of process; of letters; but—

… Why was there a tight sadness in her heart?

She was pleased he’d been even slightly relying on her all this way. Inside, once again, she didn’t believe a word of his remarks. She had misjudged him—Bas was not only drugged off his head, but most likely flirted with all the girls.

“Sure,” she turned away from him and wished desperately that her voice wasn’t so tenuous. Why couldn’t she say it calmly! Why?

A blush slowly covered her heart shaped face, as she settled on leaning over—c a r e f u l l y!— and nervously reached in for the key… A simple, key fob, edged in brass.

She took the small key out of Bas’s pocket, wiped the blood from it, and a final red-faced look at Bas before she took the key and fitted it into the reader.

There was a click as the key locked into the panel, then a silence, then a low groan coming from the door. It swung open with a drawn out, lethargic creak, allowing warm air to escape.

There, the hot air had blown out a curious smell of food cooking. It came to her on the air as they stumbled forward into the flat. She couldn’t place it. The day before, she’d run past the hospital cafeteria in the morning while they baked the bread. It was like that, but not quite.

Waiting just inside, Nina studied the stylized, painted figures, hands clasped, eyes lowered as if to pray. It was all nonsense, she thought of her dad’s coiled snake motif signet ring at home. She backed away slowly, slightly alarmed by the door shutting behind her with another lingering creak in the air. 

Forgetting Bas was still supported by her.