Private Tales Weathering A Quiet Storm

[Atticus]

There were days he could not bear to surround himself around other people.

It took a lot out of him to keep up his smiles, to talk to his classmates and make a friend of them. It took a lot to even attend his classes, and some days he looked forward to the curfew so that he could retire to his dormitory and pretend to sleep.

Today turned out to be an unlucky day. He had been looking forward to the sun, to finding a quiet spot so that he could do his sketches and have a moment to himself. Being outside meant he was able to find solitude, whereas the dreary rain pattering against the window his head rested upon only reminded him how crowded the Small Library was despite the quiet. It was not true solitude, even if people didn't bother him as he stretched his legs across the window seat.

He had heard the sun would return tomorrow, and waiting for that day felt like the longest hours of his life.

If he got up now and returned to the dorms, that would only catch the attention of his friends. They would ask questions, and he didn't want to show them the dead feeling reflected in his dark eyes.

 

[Svenia Albrecht]

She hated it when it rained.

The near constant solitude was bearable most days, but not when the skies let loose as they did here often enough. The damp in the air made her hip ache where it had been broken. It did not do anything nice to the flesh beneath her scars either; the nerves remembered the flames the most on damp days and during the sharp bite of winter.

At least it was cool.

The tap of her staff on the floor preceded her and once within the Small Library, as it was called, it seemed overly loud amid the quiet stacks. She leaned heavily on it today, her hitching gait relying on its support more than normal.

She pulled the hood of her shawl over her face a little more as she entered. There were people here and she didn't like being stared at as though she were some exhibit on display.

She had come here to find solace in the books, and it was not books of magic that she sought today. Just because it was a school of magic didn't mean that they did not also have regular books. She wanted something she could curl up in a bed or a chair and read - something that would chase the hollowness away. That was buried out of sight, of course. It wouldn't do to show such weakness - not when others already thought that she was the arbiter of her own ruined body.

She never corrected them. They could think that she had been sent her to gain control of the fire within all they liked. The fire hadn't settled in her bones until she had been bathed in its vile heat and light.

Lips compressed in a thin line, an expression of determination writ large, she gamely made her way through the room. After asking one of the many librarians where she could find what she was looking for and retrieving it (without comment on the puzzled expression at the choice of material), she made her way toward the back. There was a fire burning in the mantle and she eyed it warily and went wide round it toward the windows at the back.

There were a few people back here. She ignored them any anything they might say and instead limped to the seat before the window where a single man sat staring out at the cursed rain.

She hesitated a moment. He did not seem to want company and, in fact, seemed wrapped in his own thoughts. She could sense something of the mood in the face reflected from the glass. In fact, she could empathize with it somewhat.

Biting her lip, she gave her head a soft shake. "Excuse me, may I sit here?" The words were quiet and sweet, the accent of Alliria on them with a lilt that was all her own.

 

[Atticus]

Jolted from his thoughts, the voice had pulled his gaze towards the girl lingering by the chairs angled to face the fireplace. With this dreary weather, it had brought some coldness to the day, and thus the presence of a roaring fire was most favoured. Despite no one else occupying those chairs, Atticus was on the verge of up and leaving until he caught sight of just whom he was looking at.

"Svenia." Surprisingly, his long legs fell from the window seat and bid him to stand. It was an awkward gesture, his book still closed and held with both hands as if he had intended on opening it but never got round to it. "Uh, yes! Of... of course you can sit there."

Her burns no longer shocked him. Atticus knew not to stare long, for she was too aware of the many stares she got. His gaze dropped to his book. Holding it up, he gave it a little shake as he chuckled before beginning to speak. "Been trying to read this for the past.... I don't really know how long, actually. I thought sitting by the window would help but..."

He spared her another glance, one that was warmed with a small smile. "Perhaps if you're reading too... I might end up following." Atticus jutted his chin towards the book she held. "What's that book?"

 

[Svenia Albrecht]

She had seen him around, of course. Up close... well, he was quite a specimen. Something in those fair features stirred an ember of a different kind within her. But of course, he was as unattainable as solace and peace were.

Damned if the boy wasn't easy on the eyes, though.

She took the invitation quickly and with a regal dignity that spoke more of her upbringing than it did of her personality. She let a soft sigh of relief pass her lips as she took the weight off her lame leg and stretched it beneath the cream pleats of her skirt with a wince. "Thank you," she said quietly. She was always quiet when anyone was around.

"It looks an entertaining tale," she said softly. She colored a little at the question, crimson staining her cheek on the right side. It vanished beneath the mottled flesh below her left eye - not that he could see much of that. She lowered her head self-consciously to hide it.

"It is..," she started and stopped. Damn her for liking the sweet tale of star-crossed lovers and couples standing against all in pursuit of each other's happiness. She wanted it for herself but could never see it being real. "It's a romance," she admitted after a painfully long second. She seemed to draw in on herself, waiting for the ridicule. "Call me a girl for liking it, but..."

Living vicariously through others filled something of the void inside.

 

[Atticus]

He didn't have the heart to admit the book was something he plucked from the magical arts section, and that it took him the entire length of the Small Library to get to this seat and realise it was not at all a book about magic and art but the artistry of magic in use.

Atticus decided against that and focused on her book. A romance. Odd, he wanted to think, but it was very well a popular genre amongst the women back home in Dornoch. Even his mother had read them, had gossiped in hushed tones with her friends about their readings.

"A romance sounds much more fascinating than whatever I picked out." Atticus smiled. "Have you read it before?"

 

[Svenia Albrecht]

"No," she said. She lifted her head a little, cut her eyes towards the young man. God, but his smile was like the sun that was hidden behind the clouds. Her lips curled faintly into an answering one. Funny how unaccustomed those muscles were to it.

"I didn't often have time to read things like this back home," she added, waving the colorful book vaguely. "Too much time with ledgers and contracts. And since I've been here..."

She took a deep breath and let it out. "Regardless, I can't only study. I like these little stories, so I read one when I can." She lifted her head a little more, a lock of brown hair falling across her blind eye. Her good one traced his face a moment, then fell to the book in his hand. "What have you got there?"

 

[Atticus]

"Nothing important." He replied breezily, still wearing a smile on his face as he kept his gaze forward. "Probably not a brilliant read like a romance novel would be."

Atticus approached Svenia, walking past her on the chair, and went for the fireplace. He grabbed the stoker and moved some logs around to feed the fire. "Perfect day for it. Reading. I... should leave you to it." Atticus stood, a hand raising to push back the long wisps of hair falling into his face and out of the way. "Would hate to disturb your, uh, reading rituals."

His smile turned sheepish. How was he supposed to know if she had any rituals? But it was always better to be on the safer side of this. "I mean to say, when I like to paint, I prefer some quiet... and well..." He should move. Grab his things and finally make a break for it out of the Small Library.