Piano keys were her childhood, but the grasp of a pistol was her reality. Polish SOE Agent, Natia Filipska, has lurked among the rubble and the shadows of her occupied-Warsaw for years, ever since the war started and ripped her from the life that ha...
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"I don't know how to be anyone but who I already am. This is how I've always been. It's not much, but I do the best I can with what I have."
― T.J. Klune, The House on the Cerulean Sea
｡↷ ✧*̥₊˚‧☆ﾐ
Pollards Park, England
October 8th, 1940
0500
The coffee cup was cold.
The coffee, made from ground up beans with hot water added to it, was now nothing but a cold reflection that stared back up at her. The rain on the window pane to her right was like tiny knives slicing at her skin, even as she sat inside the warm kitchen with the wet hair that lay pressed against her neck and then the blue towel wrapped around her figure, which seemed to remain cold and stiff against her skin, despite whatever purpose the thin piece of blanket seemed to hold in that moment.
" Enjoying your coffee?" she heard a voice ask and she glanced up to find Agent Mortem there in the doorway, his own hair wet and pressed against his face, the cane he usually adorned, lain against the wall of the threshold beside him, abandoned. Agent Mortem watched Natia for a moment, watched as she glanced up towards him with a cold fronted gaze like a winter storm, her white knuckled grip on the coffee mug more apparent than normal suddenly.
" I am." she said quietly - almost too quiet in a way that was suspicious. The room fell quiet there again and it seemed the pestering gaze that Agent Mortem was nailing into the side of her head was enough for her icy gaze to meet his again.
" You have questions." Agent Mortem told her, sipping his own coffee bound to have a shot or two of cognac or brandy in it," I have answers. Talk." Natia almost laughed at his dry command posed towards her and shook her head.
" You would not want to answer them. You never do." she said softly, her tone tender but rough around the edges, spiked and jagged. She heard Agent Mortem chuckle and a pit formed deep inside her stomach, enough to make it ache the slightest bit - it was almost like guilt. Like it were some sort of guilt to even speak something as much as the truth. Because it was more than true. He never answered her questions fully.
" I can make a promise to answer them now." he told her. She chuckled dryly, sipping the cold coffee in her grasp.
" At 5 am?" she questioned staring forward towards the darkened hallway where the door would be left open on warm days.
" You have your opening." he told her. Make your move, her mind said.
" When will I see my brother and sister again?" The room seemed to still at that and her heart skipped a bit at the sudden coldness of the room.
" Your silence tells me that you will not tell me when." she said turning to look at him with downcast eyes. Agent Mortem watched her, clenching his jaw for a moment before staring past her out the window where rain pounded the glass that stood in there holding the outside world from the inside.
