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With every tap, Irina's anxiety grew. She remembered the feeling. Polished, fresh, beautiful, new. Cuba had hit her like an invisible, silent knife. She never looked into it. How hadn't she seen it? How was she so foolish to tangle herself with a man like Erik Lehnsherr? He's a wildfire and Irina can't stop him. Perhaps one day she'll just let him burn her.
Sometimes, a metal noose wraps around her neck. She imagined herself in a dark silver room. A glossy steel table is the only thing separating him and her. Hands grip a tan folder with a sticker on the top in courier font: ERIK LEHNSHERR. Hands aren't hers. They're masculine, veiny, and thick. A black band sits on a ring finger. She never sees Erik, she feels his presence.
Her eyes- Cillian's eyes are trained on his wedding ring. It keeps enlarging, and he can't do anything about it. He can't think about feelings. Irina can't teleport him away. They're both stuck.
Until they tilt their head back to look at the halo made out of metal. Their face is calm. They can't help but think of each other. It's the only comfort they're offered as the halo lowers around their head and tightens on their neck.
In the end, they both die as each other- heavy with love.
The sound of the jet tumbled with her unsteady nerves. She watched Gaia sleeping from the corner of her eye. Irina wondered if Gaia knew. Knew how much Irina cared. But, she didn't. No one knows anything about something bigger than themselves.
Was the burn of Irina's heart what Gaia felt with a crowded room- whether it be of heartbeats or ghosts? If it was, Irina would feel millions of heart attacks, go through countless deaths, so she could take all her pain away.
She then glanced at Charles. He massaged his numb leg covered by brown trousers. He looked decent. He looked like Charles. It brought nice comfort to the Russian.
"We should shave your beard once we get home," she said.
He pulled his hand away from his thigh, running it through his chin. "I quite like it."
"I quite think it makes you look dirty, Professor."
"Fine."
"A haircut too."
"No."
"Yes. It seems like you have become barefoot."
"Barefoot?"
"Yes."
"Barefoot?"
"Yes. The tall, hairy monster which roams the woods. It is supposed to have bare feet."
Charles chuckled. "Do you mean bigfoot?"
"It's bigfoot, Aunt Rina," quipped Gaia, groggily, before snoring once more.
"Fine. Bigfoot."
He plucked a book out of Irina's hands. "Awful book."
