The night breathed softly over Calvere. Lanterns glowed along the streets, their light shivering across the cobblestones like spilled honey.
Selene stepped out from the West Studio, the air cool against her flushed skin. She drew her shawl tighter, her mind still half inside the walls she'd just left. The conversation lingered, not the words themselves, but the quiet between them.
She had expected gullibility, perhaps unsophisticated. Yet Adrian's unease had startled her, the way he hid behind his cynicism like an unfinished sketch, all edges and doubt.
Her steps carried her through the artist's quarter, past shuttered shops and the scent of varnish that always clung to the air after sunset. The city was different at this hour:slower, unguarded. She passed a café where laughter spilled through the window and for a moment, her reflection merged with those inside.
It made her smile faintly, unknowingly.
She didn't know why today felt refreshing.Was it due to Adrian's questions, or his approach?The more she remembered about their meeting, the wider the smile on her face grew.
As she reached the bridge near Varnel Square, she paused. Below, the river caught the reflection of a thousand gaslights, bending them into threads of trembling gold. Her heart softened; the night seemed to hold its breath with her.
What makes love special? His words returned, the skepticism in his voice brushing against her thoughts like a shadow she couldn't quite shake.
"Maybe because it doesn't stay the same," she whispered to herself.
The clock tower struck six. Selene lingered one more moment before turning toward the narrow street that led home. The rhythm of her steps faded into the murmur of the city.
---
Across the same night, at Turner's gate, Adrian sat by the window of his small apartment.
The night outside, a mixture of music and chattering, that carried a melody performed by the night itself.
He'd meant to sketch. The paper was ready; the pencil lay waiting. But he hadn't drawn a single line.
Her voice still threaded through him, calm, composed, certain. Her words had carved something new in him, something that both resisted and reached for meaning.
He leaned back, rubbing a thumb over his ink-stained fingers. A way of seeing, she'd said.
Outside, a carriage passed, its wheel splash echoing faintly up the street. Someone laughed, a distant, easy sound and he wondered if she was still walking somewhere below, caught in the same air.
For the first time in a long while, Adrian didn't feel entirely alone.
He rose, stepped towards the desk. And wrote in his diary.
"Perceiving it not as an act, but something more"
His hand moved more freely than it had in the last four weeks.
The melody carried on, as the sounds of carriages filled the streets. For some it signalled closure for the night while others, it was the beginning for them.
The sound of hooves scratched against the ground, as a dark carriage stopped beside the curb, its door opening with a dull click. Three figures stepped out, two young men both in a scholar's coat and a woman in a deep burgundy evening gown with black lace sleeves. They spoke quietly, almost conspiratorially, before vanishing through the gates of a mansion lit like a stage.