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Interactions: Loni (@FernStone)
Elena took the scrap of paper, glancing at the red crayon scribble with an amused quirk of her lips before carefully tucking it into her jacket pocket. It was endearingly archaic, the kind of thing that felt ripped from a time when things were simpler—before numbers were mindlessly exchanged through screens, forgotten just as fast. But there was something about this, about its sincerity, that struck a chord. Loni wasn’t the kind to scrawl her number on napkins for just anyone. That much was obvious. And that made the gesture feel... significant.
“Guess I should start thinking about what kind of tea suits the occasion, huh? Something tells me you’re not the chamomile type.” Her voice held a teasing lilt, though there was an underlying honesty in her acceptance of the offer.
Her gaze wandered as Loni turned her attention to Luciana, the small girl wrapped in the folds of her mother’s presence. Luciana’s fingers clenched around Loni’s hand as if letting go might send her spiralling into something too vast to face alone. The ghosts of the day still clung to her, coiling in the soft tremors of her shoulders and the barely-there sniffles that punctuated the space surrounding them.
Elena wasn’t great with kids. Not that she disliked them—she just wasn’t used to them. But she could recognize what Luciana had gone through. And, for the second time that day, she found herself glad she had been there.
“Take your time with her. Days like this don’t fade fast,” she said, her voice softer now, lacking its usual humour. “But I’ll hold you to that. Next time, I expect to meet the real Luciana, not the curled-up burrito version.”
Her eyes flicked to the glisten of raw skin peeking beneath the folds of Loni’s adjusted blanket, the wound’s recent history written in shades of red and pink. Healing, but not forgotten. She’d heard stories of Adepts who wielded Green Lux, but witnessing its effects firsthand was something else entirely. It was something both miraculous and unsettling, like watching time itself be rewound.
Her fingers drifted back to the folded note in her pocket, brushing against the edges as if to confirm it was still there. Then, with a slow shift of weight, she angled toward the door. “I should probably get going soon, let you both rest,” she said, though there was no real rush in her tone. “But I’ll keep this.” She patted her jacket where Loni’s number was tucked away. “And I’ll be in touch.”
She meant it. Even if she wasn’t sure yet where this would all lead.
“Guess I should start thinking about what kind of tea suits the occasion, huh? Something tells me you’re not the chamomile type.” Her voice held a teasing lilt, though there was an underlying honesty in her acceptance of the offer.
Her gaze wandered as Loni turned her attention to Luciana, the small girl wrapped in the folds of her mother’s presence. Luciana’s fingers clenched around Loni’s hand as if letting go might send her spiralling into something too vast to face alone. The ghosts of the day still clung to her, coiling in the soft tremors of her shoulders and the barely-there sniffles that punctuated the space surrounding them.
Elena wasn’t great with kids. Not that she disliked them—she just wasn’t used to them. But she could recognize what Luciana had gone through. And, for the second time that day, she found herself glad she had been there.
“Take your time with her. Days like this don’t fade fast,” she said, her voice softer now, lacking its usual humour. “But I’ll hold you to that. Next time, I expect to meet the real Luciana, not the curled-up burrito version.”
Her eyes flicked to the glisten of raw skin peeking beneath the folds of Loni’s adjusted blanket, the wound’s recent history written in shades of red and pink. Healing, but not forgotten. She’d heard stories of Adepts who wielded Green Lux, but witnessing its effects firsthand was something else entirely. It was something both miraculous and unsettling, like watching time itself be rewound.
Her fingers drifted back to the folded note in her pocket, brushing against the edges as if to confirm it was still there. Then, with a slow shift of weight, she angled toward the door. “I should probably get going soon, let you both rest,” she said, though there was no real rush in her tone. “But I’ll keep this.” She patted her jacket where Loni’s number was tucked away. “And I’ll be in touch.”
She meant it. Even if she wasn’t sure yet where this would all lead.
