bronze-colored light

Evie

There's no greater vengeance
Than learning to enjoy again

Busy, yes. The type of busy, however, is debatable.

Indisputably because of the recent wave of news instead of in spite of it, Evie has chosen to put her files and paperwork away in favor of something distracting, something lighthearted and (arguably) mindless. So as she hears the porch creak with Deimos’ arrival, her heartbeat increases and she considers stuff her book under the blanket covering her lap, an old instinct she has yet to fully bury. Despite that, she triumphs in the end, forcefully settling herself and lifting her head to aim a loving smile at Deimos as he enters and calls out. It has become such a reliable part of her daily routine, but she has yet to stop feeling those little butterflies of warmth in her chest when she hears him call out his return. “Welcome home love,” she calls in return, not far given she’s in her favorite cushy armchair by the hearth, wrapped up in one of their many throw blankets with Zuriel basking nearby and Micah in her lap.

The cheesy, low-brow romance book in her hands is the only thing uncommon on the main floor. She usually keeps them in her private bookcase in the very back of the library upstairs, away from the eyes of any visitors.

If she’s expecting anything, it’s not the premise of drama. Deimos only ever shares the most ridiculous of the lot, so her eyes widen as she sits up straighter, already absentmindedly placing her bookmark and setting her novel aside. He may be wandering away from her, but Micah grumbles when she prods him so she’ll have to wait for the Sword to venture back her way. “Of course, especially if it’s enough to have you willing to share it.” Deimos is certainly no idle gossiper. Evie had been in her younger years, but her life had been so rigid, every inch of herself and her habits a shallow facade that she’d abandoned in her ensuing years of solitude. That doesn’t mean she isn’t curious.

Therapy is tiring
But so is hiding how you feel