Nick
A sniffle here, a muffled cough there. Someone was sick in the sci-fi aisle, and it wasn't the dust and the mustiness of old books tickling their nose into the occasional sneeze. 

Akvilė had been confined to her bedroom for what had felt like an eternity but was really only four days, and just those four days spent inside had apparently driven her a little nuts. Dressed in simple clothing, she'd been dragged out of her room and out of the Cradle's dominion by her own restlessness, bones aching and tendons knitting themselves into discontented knots until she could bear it no longer and her sickness found itself overshadowed. So she'd hopped on that bus, and she'd got off at the largest library in Isakstad, taking a minute to smoke half of a cigarette before gently pushing the doors open and shrinking into her own shadow.

She meekly waved at the librarian and made a beeline for the sci-fi section. Maxwell's gift had already been torn through with aplomb as she recovered from the Cradle itself nearly crushing her, and somehow none of the six books that sat on her bedside table waiting to be read beckoned to her. She dwelled on that oddity as she perused the shelves, sniffling and rubbing her nose and sometimes coughing into the crook of her arm, somehow trying to strike a balance between digging through a public library's sci-fi section and not getting anyone sick despite still, by any measure, being sick. Illness clearly hadn't stopped her before.

Her thoughts were running amok after a few moments of digging. Illness tugged at her bones, nervousness tugged at her stomach, and lonesomeness tugged at her heartstrings and the ducts behind her eyes. It didn't help that she caught a glimpse of something (or someone?) she didn't want to be face-to-face with. But she'd already committed herself to the library, and all its thoughts, so she kept on digging.
Teri
Uriel could spend all day in the library. In fact, they often did; traipsing around the shelves of stories with little intent besides the desire to get lost in swaths of words and stories. 

And that is where Akvile had found them. Tucked away in a far away corner, with a pile of books at their side, absentmindedly flipping through each one with a spaced-out expression. She could catch a glimpse of a couple of the spines— all fiction, mostly books aimed towards a younger audience. Glimpses of Narnia and various fairy tales were visible, although there were some in French.

Uriel looked up at the noise. They blink slowly as they meet Akvile's eyes, taking a couple of seconds to register the familar face. 

"Oh," They simply say.
Nick
*"Oh."*

If the snow-haired spectre slumped in the corner felt nothing, it was because Akvilė felt *Everything,* And she felt everything at once: realization, nervousness at a rolling boil, sweat on her forehead, rabbit heart slamming against her ribcage. It was unpleasant, but for a reason she couldn't place her feet weren't budging. Really, it felt like she was frozen in place, mind whirling so fast around her that any step down either end of the aisle felt like stepping off the edge of the world.

But she couldn't just stand there, could she? The aisles were narrow, and she'd already had time plenty to work her way down from the other end. *Could* She just stand there, waiting for Uriel Melançon to leave? She knew very little about them, but she knew just how *Stagnant* They could be. It was an impasse, and the thought that she'd have to force herself towards them and through their line of sight was as terrifying as it seemed unavoidable.

It didn't help that she'd been chewing on forgiveness. Uriel, after all, had nothing to do with the family that'd callously tormented several of her ancestors to death or insanity, and it *Was* Cruel to pin any of that blame on them. But then forgiveness still was exceptionally bitter in the mouth. A crossroads sprawled in front of her, and she gulped at its certainty.
Teri
Akvile continued to stare at them like a deer in headlights. It was not a foreign feeling for Uriel— in fact, they had met many people who, upon seeing them in person for the first time, opted for the same course of action.

And so, Uriel continued to sit in place, blinking slowly at the girl standing over them. 

"Do you..." Uriel asks, the syllables slow out of their mouth. "Need one of these books?" 

Their gloved hands gesture to the various paperbacks scattered around where they've been planted for the past couple of hours. They meet Akvile's eyes and see the wave of emotion tossing the girl this way and that, but Uriel says nothing about it. She was entitled to feel however she did, after all. Uriel did not want to actively try to prove her wrong— hopefully, she would realize it soon, without them pushing it. 

"I am sorry for hoarding them." Uriel clears their throat. "I find it hard to bear the thought of letting stories be tossed aside, although I know I cannot read them all at once."
Nick
Her facial expression shifts slightly, and without any intent on her part, shepherding her down the apprehensive fork in her life's path that sprawled before her. She gulps– *Deep.*

"I- um... N-no." She finally forces something out after several moments of stuttering and stumbling, apparently deciding how she was going to politely navigate herself out of this most uncomfortable situation as she went along. Clearly she'd been thrown way off by this. "They are, uh... They are for ch– books for children. Not my... Tea cup. So to, um... To speak." She hesitantly marches onward, still rooted in her boots in the aisle as her thoughts whirled about her head like debris in a hurricane. It felt like her legs were going to give out, yet somewhere deep down she couldn't bring herself to move.

She stands there for a few terrible moments instead, eyes darting between the pair of books tucked twixt her right forearm and her chest and Uriel's outline against the wall. Growing up in Šiauriniai lands brought with it an ingrained and hammered distrust of other similarly ancient clans of Blesseds, yet here was one, reading children's books in public and shrinking into their own frame. No malice tinged their words, no feelings of superiority; *Nothing.* In their outline she saw herself a decade prior, curled into the darkest least trodden corners of that library in Vilnius, a watchful eye kept on her by her aunt, a pile of children's literature flanking her on both sides as she couldn't bring herself to pick just one off the shelf. 

-

This moment, brief as it is, seems to jostle something loose inside of her. *Maybe they weren't so different;* But then what the hell did that mean for anything she'd been told about the Melançons? Was it all horseshit? Biased accounts passed down generation after generation, breeding hate and distrust for a group who'd only ever caused trouble for one or two people out of some misinterpretation of ancestor worship? Or was this simply how the others had been lured in, with placid smiles and a gentle demeanour? Maybe the Melançons were misunderstood; maybe they were anglerfish.

She doesn't know, and she knows she won't know today. All she knows is she has one in her sights, and they remind her of herself in years past. It's a difficult situation.

"But I-I understand, I guess. Not wanting to– to toss stories aside."
Teri
It's far from the first time someone has been afraid of Uriel. Despite how often they've been faced with this situation, they still lack the faintest idea on how to respond. Instead, they slowly blink at Akvile as she talks, and wonder if their placid expression is enough to calm her down. 

Uriel turns to place some of the books back in their correct spot as she talks. "Are we not children?" They wonder out loud, grey eyes foggy and dazed. "Even if we are not technically so, I have a hard time feeling we are anything but tall children." 

Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, and The Phantom Tollbooth are all returned to their original snug spots as Uriel begins to clean their pile of books somewhat. 

"I have read most of these already." They reply blankly, deftly slotting in a stubborn book between two companions. "I simply like the company. It is pleasant to see old friends. I wonder if they have changed, and I ask how they are." 

They pause, and turn back to look at Akvile, last book still in hand. "Are you much the same?"
Nick
The slow blink does nothing to allay her fear. Nothing would, except a country of space between her and them; an impossibility in the moment.

She said nothing at first, instead looking once more at the stack of books and reflexively hiding part of herself behind the threshold of the aisle. It was a peculiar set of books for someone not much younger than her, at least by her perception, but it made a little more sense in the context of what Uriel was saying. They spoke of themself and those around the Cradle as children, regardless of their age or worldly experiences, and in this light the pile of children's literature made sense. Somewhat, at least. Unfortunately she has little time to chew on this nugget of thought as they continue to speak.

*"Are you much the same?"*

"Oh!– um... N-not quite." Is all she squeaks out. It's not the full truth, but not a bold-faced lie either. She hums erratically and nervously, opening her mouth to speak and shutting it twice before finally coaxing a bit more out of herself. "I do not cling, I, uh... I guess. To– to characters. It is the, um... The lands, is it called? That fascinates me."

Seemingly having said enough she fell quiet, the rubbing of fabrics against each other the only noise emanating from her direction as she dabbed beads of sweat from her cheeks.