New Year, New Journal (Izmailovsky Market)

[Seren]

Moscow in January felt sharper than Seren remembered. Not colder –  Wales had a winter bite all of its own – but brighter, in the way want always sharpened in the dark. People desired more fiercely when the world was frozen: warmth, purpose, distraction, comfort. Everywhere she walked, the golden motes of other people’s longing drifted and pulsed an overlay in the air — sometimes faint as mist, sometimes bright as fireflies.

She’d lived here nearly a year now. Long enough to memorise the metro lines and the late-night cafés where mystics and conspiracy theorists gathered. Long enough to bury herself in libraries, in folklore archives, in scattered academic scraps about magic. Long enough to accept that the announcement revealing channelers to the world didn’t give her answers about herself – only the terrifying possibility that the world was wider, stranger, and closer to her than she ever imagined.

She’d returned to Wales for Christmas, hoping the distance would settle something in her. Her mother hugged her tightly, fed her too much, and did not ask why her daughter spent her days hunting legends like she was chasing ghosts. But even home felt small now. Safe, yes – but small.

And she was done feeling small.

So she’d come back to Moscow for the new year, carrying the same hunger she’d had when she first arrived. Magic could be seen now, and that meant her own seeing wasn’t madness. If nothing else it at least seemed proof there was a world behind the world – one she could finally step into, if she could only find the right door.

At the outdoor market, Seren walked slowly through the rows of brightly covered stalls, letting the crowd move around her. She wandered past steaming food stands, knitted hats, carved toys, incense vendors. Snow drifted sideways like sifted flour, heavy and quiet. It hissed on the stove tops and clung to scarves and eyelashes. Around it all the motes of golden desire danced for her just as thickly in the cold air – bright near lovers, erratic near the anxious, dull around the bored and tired. A man near the entrance burned with the sharp, familiar want for money – quick, easy, now. A woman lingered over a table of scarves, her want soft and steady: warmth, comfort, beauty she believed she didn’t deserve. A teenager wanted to be anywhere but here.

Seren kept her awareness wide but dull. Focusing made everything clearer. Sharper. Harder to ignore. She was only here for something simple. Something grounding. Something she could control.

A new journal.

The stall she stopped at was small and temporary – handmade notebooks laid out in neat rows. Leather, linen, and intricate wood-burned covers. The vendor arranged them with careful optimism; the motes around him flickered with the quiet, steady want of someone hoping for a good sale but expecting nothing. Only a small, sparse drift of gold shifted towards her, barely noticeable unless she looked right at it: a want to be noticed. To be seen as something more than another vendor in another winter.

Seren didn’t meet his eyes. Instead, she reached toward a deep-blue journal with a brass clasp. When she opened it, the paper was thick, soft under her thumb. Enough weight to anchor thoughts that otherwise scattered. Last year I filled half a journal with theories, she thought. Half a journal with dead ends. Maybe this one will be different.

She flipped through the blank sheets, and a snowflake melted on the first page.

The market buzzed around her. A child’s want flared bright and brief – a desire for a sugared bun from a nearby stall. A moment later, an adult’s sharper want collided with it: the want for silence, for cooperation, for a moment of peace. There were other, harmless longings – someone craving mulled wine, someone bargaining too eagerly, someone desperate to get out of the cold. It all drifted like soft sparks in her periphery.

But one presence broke the pattern.

A sudden, bright flare of golden sparks. Sharper than desire. Cleaner than lust. Focused, searching, intentional. Someone nearby wasn’t craving warmth or food or company. Someone was seeking.

The same flavour of want she carried like a heartbeat.

Her body reacted before her mind did, a stillness settling through her spine. She kept her shoulders relaxed, gaze on the journal, senses open just enough to see that flare again when it pulsed – close, close enough that if she turned, she might see the person’s outline haloed in motes. So she did; just slightly, enough to see where the shapes were leading, leaving the glimmer unfocused – safe. The crowd shifted.

Someone stood behind her. Or moved past. Or lingered.

The vendor cleared his throat gently. “You… like that one?” he asked, accent thick. A soft drift of longing unfurled from him – not for her, not romantically, but for connection. For conversation. For a sale. For something small but meaningful in the cold.

She smiled faintly but didn’t look directly at him. “It feels right.”

The answer fed his want harmlessly. A safe interaction. Easy. She set the journal on the counter and reached for her purse.

– and that searching pulse flared again, filling her periphery with precision. Close enough that she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen it. Her hand stilled on her bag. Someone around her wanted what she wanted. Or wanted her because she was searching. Or wanted something she didn’t yet understand.

Any of those possibilities could be dangerous. Or the start of exactly what she came back to Moscow to find. Seren closed her hand around the journal. She let the snow fall, let her breath fog, let the moment stretch like a held note.

She didn’t turn. She waited.

[Casey]

The new year. 2047. It brought with it more. Cadence’s album was coming together. They had even picked their single which would be released soon there was anticipation there. She had figured out how to access her magic and even had a quest of sorts to find this castle. She hadn’t found the bravery yet to go and look for it. 2047 it seemed was going to be a year of new beginnings.

While going through her things she found her old diaries. She had kept them mostly as keepsakes, but had begun reading through some of them. Good memories and bad memories were there alike. She remembered the frightened teenager she had been, thinking that she was a witch and struggling with her attraction to men and women. Being raised that both of those were wrong had made Casey struggle for a long time. The last one she wrote was after their first concert in Chicago. Cadence had been so confident then, and now Cadence’s confidence was increasing quickly when she wasn’t on stage too. It was amazing. New beginnings indeed.

It was a strange thing, but Casey felt a desire to beginning writing things down again like she had before. That’s what brought her here to the open air Izmailovsky Market in the middle of Moscow’s winter. Her southern blood complained at the cold, so she adjusted her hat and scarf to make sure she was covered. The best diaries were here though - the pretty, handmade ones. She wanted something special to hold the words she would write this year. She didn’t know if it was important, but it was what she wanted. She searched the stall and found a deep-blue one with a brass clasp. It was gorgeous, but she set it down as a wind blew causing her to shiver in the cold. She put it down and headed to get something hot to drink, not even thinking someone might take her prize before she could come back. Warmth seemed like an immediate need, and pushed away thoughts of anything else.

She got a drink at a shop near the market and began to head back, making sure she was still bundled up. She had to lower her scarf a bit to take a drink of the hot coffee in her hands, but the beverage warmed her insides. She made her way back through the market to the stall, a desire for the diary now returning to her mind. A woman stood at the stall now. The deep-blue diary in her hands.

Casey had wanted that one, and she still did. She wouldn’t take it from the other woman though. She was pretty too. Something she wouldn’t have thought much about if Cadence hadn’t made puppy dog eyes at Ezvin every time she saw him. It had been awhile since she had spent time with someone in a dating situation. Not that she was going to ask this woman about it off the bat - or ever really. How weird would that be? It wasn’t lust - but there was a desire there to get to know her and maybe see what happened. But she didn’t want to be a creep or anything.

Disappointment moved through her though at the thought of her mistake. She hadn’t bought it when she should have. That was her fault. She gave the woman a smile as she passed. ”Excuse me,” she said, able to really tell how pretty she was close up. ”Happy New Year.” her voice was cheerful and cordial. Casey took a sip of her coffee and began to peruse the diaries left. Hopefully she could find a suitable replacement.

[Seren]

The sharp flare vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Seren watched it recede – not extinguished, not satisfied, just withdrawing. The golden motes that had burned with such focused intent scattered back into the general haze of the market, dissolving into the softer wants of warmth, money, and distraction. Whoever had been searching wasn’t gone, only choosing not to be seen. That was almost worse. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. It could have been nothing, but it wasn’t the only time she’d felt that pressure at the edge of her awareness. The sense of being watched with purpose.

She forced her breathing slow. The market went on. Snow fell. The vendor waited patiently.

A woman beside her spoke.

Seren had been aware, but she hadn’t been paying close attention. The shift when she did was immediate: something warmer, gentler, its light soft as fireflies. Where the earlier presence had burned bright and narrow, this desire was human and diffuse. The golden motes around the woman didn’t surge or climb; they hovered, steady and soft, clustered close to her chest in a way that spoke of beginnings rather than hunger.

“Happy New Year,” Seren replied, voice low and warm, Welsh vowels rounding out the words. Her eyes flicked briefly to the coffee, steam curling into the cold, then up to the woman’s face. The glimmer around her brightened subtly – the kind of attraction that didn’t reach or grab, just noticed. Nothing that made Seren wary, but she softened herself automatically, keeping herself steady in a way that dulled her projection in as much as she could. She’d learned the hard way that attention, once acknowledged too brightly, tended to organise itself around her. The smile she returned was small but genuine, careful not to sharpen the moment into anything more than it was.
 
It wasn't the only thing in the drifting patterns of the woman's wants. Seren glanced down at the deep-blue journal in her grasp, thumb resting against the brass clasp. For a moment, she considered keeping it – the weight, the promise of clean pages, the comfort of something solid in her hands. The vendor watched on quietly, his own modest hope hovering like a candle flame. Then she turned the journal so the woman could see it clearly, an offering without pressure.

“If you were looking at this one,” she said lightly, “I don’t mind letting it go. I haven’t paid yet.”

It wasn’t generosity born of politeness. It was instinct – a choice to step sideways rather than forward, to see what would happen if she didn’t take up all the space she so often seemed to occupy. Her gaze lingered, not invasive, just attentive; seeing without pushing. Inside, she stayed alert, watching the gold, waiting to see whether it flared or reshaped into something sharper. For now, the attraction remained what it was – awareness, not claim – and that allowed her shoulders to relax just a fraction.

“They have a way of choosing their people,” she added, almost as an aside, lips curving faintly. “Journals, I mean.”

[Casey]

The woman responded to her Happy New Year with one of her own, and Casey’s own smile broadened at the attention. It was such a simple thing, but it was always nice to have. There were several diaries here, a Casey was sure she could find one that she liked.

The woman though offered the blue journal to her. She held it so Casey could see it clearly, her offer a generous one in the new year. Casey adjusted her scarf as the woman continued.

”Do they?” she said, her Tennessee accent circling the words were amusement, but she wasn’t mocking. Casey understood what the woman was saying very well. You just knew when you picked it up that the journal was the right one, but the offer of the journal had been endearing to Casey. This woman had a pretty face as well as a pretty personality. The warmth the words had brought to her was almost as comforting as the coffee in her hands.

Casey’s eyes went to the journal in her hands. She felt the offer and it was what she had needed to let go. Casey agreed they seemed to pick the right person, and although Casey had liked it, she had walked away. ”I think this one picked you,” she said, the smile not diminishing as her own desire for the journal changed. She wanted this woman to have it.

Casey turned back to look at the other journals, but not so far as to turn her back on the woman. She looked at a couple, but her eyes seemed to glance over them as she worked on the courage to say one of the most nerve wracking things you could say to a stranger that you thought was attractive: an introduction. Casey faced her as she did, her mouth smiling around the words. ”I’m Casey,”

[Seren]

The glimmer around the other woman settled softly, like embers being banked instead of fed. Her desire for the journal loosened and changed direction, the motes around her chest drifting outward and thinning, no longer clustered around the blue cover but warming instead toward Seren herself. It wasn’t anything which sharpened or sparked unnaturally, just a gentle choosing.

She smiled a little and closed her fingers properly around the journal, grounding herself in its weight. The vendor’s small hope flickered brighter in her peripheral – a sale now assured – but Seren’s attention stayed with the woman in front of her.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said.

She slipped the journal back toward herself, then finally met the woman’s eyes fully. Up close, the warmth she’d sensed translated easily: open expression, nerves threaded with courage, attraction present but self-contained. Seren noted it with the same careful respect she always did – acknowledging without amplifying, seeing without pulling.

“Seren,” she replied, her smile a little more open now, still careful but unmistakably genuine. Her confidence was easy, as well it might be given the unfair advantage she had of certainty. For a beat she stayed there, letting the moment exist without rushing it, a small act of defiance against the way things usually escalated around her. Snow brushed against her coat sleeve. Somewhere nearby someone laughed. The market around them breathed.

Then, lightly, as if testing the shape of the interaction rather than steering it, she added, “Were you looking for something specific, Casey? Or just… seeing what turns up?” It wasn’t a flirtation, exactly, but it was an invitation – one carefully offered and easily withdrawn if the gold began to shift into something sharper. She tapped the stall with a finger, indicating the arrangement of journals. She wouldn’t ask outright what it was for, such things were often personal.

[Casey]

Seren. Even her name was pretty. Seren seemed pleased at Casey's response to the journal, and that, in turn, pleased Casey. Casey was all too glad for it. The momentary disappointment she had felt before the woman had made her offer was gone, replaced with only contentment and curiosity. For now, Casey was curious. Seren's responses weren't cold, but she was opening up more. Seren met her gaze for the first time, a gesture that broadened Casey's own smile. Seren's own smile was genuine as well, something Casey always found endearing. There was a moment then after Seren's introduction that felt good - a moment in time that simply existed. A moment like that always felt rare.

Casey turned back to the journals as Seren finished her question. There was an invitation there and Casey was receptive to it. "My southern blood is not a fan of this cold. I can assure you, if I'm out in it, I'm looking for something specific," she said, her smile bright and a light laugh coating her words in the intended humor.

She turned back to the journals and let her gloved hand run across the covers of several of them as she wondered how much to share. "I used to write in them all the time as I was growing up. The thoughts of a young adolescent girl trying to figure out how to maneuver in this strange world," her hand settled on one with a burgundy cover with a brass clasp. She picked it up as she continued and turned to face Seren. "It's been a long time since I have done that. A lot has changed since then. Mostly for the good. This year though, really feels like a new beginning - like it's something that I want to record. Maybe that's weird," she smiled and shrugged amiably. If it was weird it didn't really matter. "What do you think?" she asked Seren, genuinely interested in her response.

[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.”

[Casey]

Seren’s laugh woke something up in her. Casey had been curious to see where this would go, and the fact that Seren was still here made Casey feel happy. But the laugh was when she realized that she really wanted to get to know Seren better. Casey’s smile broadened at the realization. It had been a long time since she’d really allowed herself this kind of thought process.

Casey listened intently as Seren spoke, feeling the journal in her hands. She opened in and looked at the pages. Pages ready to be filled. This one was it. Casey pulled it to her chest - a claim. Seren’s words were what she had always thought too. She imagined that was th way most people who wrote in them felt. A safe place where you could be honest with yourself.

She turned to face Seren, her smile and eyes bright. A thought passed through her mind that she didn’t voice. I think I like you… It seemed a bit fast, but Caseybfelt like she had found a sort of kindred spirit. She could even see herself writing the first entry in her new journal. Dear Diary, I met a pretty woman today and we looked at journals together. Then I asked her to coffee and…

There was a moment of silence after she turned and before she spoke, her mind processing the thoughts as she gathered her courage. ”This is the one!” she said, squeezing the burgundy covered journal a little more. ”Since it is cold and we’re trying to avoid me turning into a snowman, how would you feel about getting a coffee or something after we finish our purchases?” the words came out and the butterflies in her stomach began to churn. She wasn’t really asking her on a date - or was she? All Casey knew was she wanted her to say yes and would be disappointed if she said no.

[Seren]

Seren watched Casey’s smile broaden as she clutched the burgundy journal, and something in the periphery of her awareness stirred. The golden motes around the other woman pulsed, clustering softly near her chest; warm, curious, and carrying the faint thrill of wanting connection – of wanting to be seen. Seren recognised the pattern immediately. It was sweet, ethereal movement; the kind that made her smile.

“Coffee sounds good,” she said, voice carrying the warmth of agreement without fanfare. Her eyes lingered on Casey for just a moment longer, noting the way the glimmer brightened faintly as her attention settled on her: curious, tentative, alive. It made Seren’s chest tighten, a quiet pulse of something like anticipation, but she let it pass, holding her centre, keeping herself steady.

The shimmer told her Casey’s interest was genuine. She wanted this – or at least the sense of being seen, mirrored, acknowledged – and it was just Seren’s presence drawing it out. Not manipulation, she reminded herself. Observation. Witnessing. There was a difference. Still, she made a mental note: she would have to keep this in mind. Her attention was a spark; sometimes a guide, sometimes a wildfire.

She leaned to finally pay for her purchase. The vendor’s glimmer retreated from her almost immediately, his desire moving on once the sale was finalised.

“Lead the way,” Seren added, lifting her new journal lightly in her hand. Her lips curved in a small, genuine smile. It was careful, but it let Casey feel the warmth of acceptance without pressing the moment further.

[Casey]

Casey couldn’t help but smile at the simple acceptance of the other woman. Her heart leapt at the attention. It wasn’t just that Seren was paying attention to her though. At least so far, Seren hadn’t recognized her. Casey didn’t draw the recognition that Cadence did, but she was still a familiar face to many. It likely meant Seren didn’t listen to Cadence’s music, but that wasn’t an issue. Being a fan wasn’t a requirement for friendship (or more). It was nice though. Seren had no preconceived notions about who Casey might be. She didn’t want to spend time with her because she was a celebrity.

The women paid for their journals and Casey led her through the crowd to the small shop she had bought her first coffee from, resisting the urge to take the woman’s hand in hers as she did. It was a quaint little place. The shop near the market was meant for people to rest a bit or, in their case, find some warmth. The open air market didn’t see as much traffic in the winter, so the shop wasn’t extremely full, but a few customers sat at tables. Casey ordered a black coffee and let Seren order what she wished.

Casey paid, and led them to a table where she set her beverage down and began to take off her cold weather gear. The gloves came off first and then the hat and scarf. She ran her hand through her blonde hair to calm down the hat hair as much as possible. Then the coat came off to reveal a black shirt covered by a burgundy cardigan. It hadn’t been planned, but it was kind of fun that her cardigan matched her new journal.

Casey sat down and wrapped her hands around her coffee, allowing the warmth to spread to her. She took a sip of her coffee and smiled at Seren sweetly. Casey hadn’t expected this today. Perhaps that was the reason why she had met the woman. Her heart still fluttered a bit and the butterflies in her stomach were still there, but for now, she just wanted to get to know Seren. Maybe this would just be a friendship, even if Casey thought she wanted more. She felt she should calm herself a bit. Seren might not even like women like that. Still it tickled Casey that Seren was paying attention to her.

”So,” she said, a smirk coloring her words. ”Tell me about Seren. What is it you like to do when you’re not searching for a new journal?”