The Final Messenger

18. Fermentation

She was dying in that house. It was like being trapped in limbo, fossilised in amber with no way out. The only respite was Adria. When she got to talk with Adria, Niryn felt as if everything was alright, like the world stopped for an hour or two at a time.

But that doesn't change how everyone gets to move around the chess board, letting others pass intel to one another while Niryn is still stuck glued to a single place.

There is good news however.

Today, Aegean is coming back from the Underwoods, promising groundbreaking information about what their endgame really is. Adria and Aegean were working hard to gather as many details as they could about The Final Solution.

They were like a team. A team that didn't reveal everything to each other — Niryn still hadn't told Adria about using her family to escape to Iceland — but a well-oiled machine nonetheless.

It was the first time in a long while she had so many people surrounding her. It wasn't a problem in the first week, but now it was starting to get to her. It was like having to swallow a mouthful of static, having to interact with so many people in a day. It scraped and itched and chafed. Sure, she only had to interact with Lydia, her brother and the maids sometimes. But it was more the fact that she had to keep up with the lie of being oblivious that was painful.

Now she was sat perusing Adria's mini library of books. Some of them were in Icelandic, some of them poetry, most of them she'd never heard before. Niryn used to be a very prolific reader when she was younger, but was now ashamed to admit most of them had been books for kids or young adults. She never delved into the classics or any dense, esoteric literature.

Instead, the internet had wrapped its claws around her at a young age. Ever since then, she never left those Mongolian basket weaving forums, even years after the site had run its course and was a dead shell of its former self.

One book caught her eye — The Complete Poems of Sappho translated by Willis Barnstone. Sappho? Why would Adria be interested in Sappho? Unless...

Niryn stamped down the thought. Maybe Adria really was interested in Greek lesbian poets of yore and found a clinical interest in them. After all, her collection was full of writers of the non-homosexual persuasion. Still, why did the idea of her friend being interested in anyone other than men spark something inside her?

Anyway, Adria was back from her shower. She had changed into a simple cashmere sweater and a long, navy blue skirt with ugly Christmas patterns. Even at home, she dressed up. Niryn couldn't help but smile at that. She'll have to ask her why the formality some time.

Adria plops down next to her, laughing at the way Niryn makes a face at the sudden sinking of the sofa. Their legs lightly brush against each other, and Niryn has to remind herself to breathe normally as her hands grip her thighs.

In, out.
Púd, tōu.

As Adria goes over her hair with a brush, Niryn studies her friend's appearance. Her hair is so light that it's more white than blonde. It looks so smooth and wispy that it reminds her of dragon's beard candy. She suddenly has the urge to run over it with her fingers, though she would never dare. Her nose is long and sharp like a sparrow's beak, rather than the button nose she always pictured Adria with. Her high cheekbones are offset by her plump lips, fuller at the bottom than at the top. Even without knowing the girl was Icelandic, Niryn can tell she has a European beauty to her.

Then her eyes, oh, her eyes. They're heavily lidded with the faintest smudges of purple-brown underlining them, a sign that she's spent many nights awake. A pearl captured between twin moth wings. It seems she's not the only one who's been staring, because those same eyes are staring right back at her.