The tenderness of the morning has long since melted, and noon now lingers on the horizon.
tainted rays of sunlight
lingered, glimmering softly against the walls.
as The air shifted under a warm, listless breeze.
Xanthe dashed into the halls
and in moments covered the distance from the door of her room to the staircase. She carelessly abandoned the rails, while skidding down the stairs two at a time.
With two words relentlessly leaving her mouth,"I'm late, I'm late"
"Mistress Guinevere would be Furious." She voiced, as if they was someone present at the pallor. She picked up her bag that she recently abandoned by the coat rack the day of her previous lesson. an eyesore ,It bore the marks of long neglect, letting anyone guess the last time it was washed. The sight didn't skip her eyes and her browns frowned in discuss, but time was not in her side to react.
Hurriedly, she shoved her dance shoes into the bag, and ran out the door. With a quickened pace she walked down the path.
Although she was in a rush she didn't fail to greet everyone she encountered on her way. Normally, some might try starting up conversation. but she knew the exact words to indirectly avoid them. especially her mother's friends,who have nothing to do but go around looking for a gossip or rumour to fuel.
"Xanthe!" a middle aged woman familler enough a friend of her mother, called cheerfully
"Were are you off to in such a hurry ?" She asked already falling into steps beside her .
"Dance class," she said already picking up her pace."I'll let my mother know you asked after her."She added to make sure the conversation was over. Xanthe always saw this ability of hers as a
Supernatural power and she could get enough of it. She was Almost to class, her technique had already spared her the trouble of fifteen different conversations.
The building stood right in front of her, full of life full of energy.
Some students were outside having their own classes, further showing the extent of her lateness.
As she was about to approach the building, a voice called out to her.
A masculine voice.
For a heartbeat, she considered pretending she hadn't heard it. If she kept walking, if she ignored him, perhaps the moment would dissolve on its own. But she knew better. Not answering would only make things worse-silence, in this place, was its own kind of defiance.
Irritation tightened her features. It settled into her shoulders, stiffened her spine, sharpened the line of her jaw. Everything about her betrayed her anger at his sudden appearance, at the way he had intruded upon what little peace she had managed to claim.
Still, she answered the only way she could.
Slowly, deliberately, she stopped.
She turned.
And there he was.
Marios stood a few steps away, exactly where she had known he would be. Hands loose at his sides, weight shifted casually onto one leg, as if this were a chance meeting and not something he had clearly planned. His expression hovered somewhere between concern and defiance-like he wasn't sure whether he had the right to stop her, but had done it anyway.
"I thought you didn't hear me," he said.
"I did," she replied, already glancing back toward the building. "I'm late."
"I won't take long," he promised quickly, stepping no closer than was proper. "I just... I needed to ask you something."
That made her pause.
She studied him then-really studied him-and noticed the faint crease between his brows, the restless way his hands moved as if he didn't quite know where to put them.
"This is about Ouriania," she said, more statement than question.
His shoulders eased a fraction. "Yes."
Xanthe sighed again, softer this time. "You could have just said so."
"I haven't seen her since the festival," Marios continued, lowering his voice. "She hasn't sent word. No message. Nothing. I thought maybe-" He hesitated. "I thought maybe you'd know if she was well."
"She is," Xanthe said. "Busy, but well."
That seemed to settle something in him, though the worry didn't leave entirely. He reached into his cloak and drew out a folded piece of parchment, holding it out carefully, as if unsure whether she would take it.
"I wrote to her," he said. "I was hoping... if you see her before I do, maybe you could give her this. And-" He cleared his throat. "If she's willing, I asked if we could meet."
Xanthe took the letter, tucking it safely into her bag."I'll give it to her."
"Thank you," he said, genuinely relieved.
She shifted her weight, already preparing to leave. "I really do have to go now."
"I know," he said, stepping back to clear her path. "Sorry for stopping you."
"It's fine," she replied, and this time she meant it.
As she turned and hurried toward the building, she heard him call after her, quieter now.
"Xanthe?"
She glanced back.
"Thank you," he said again.
She nodded once and disappeared inside, the letter warm against her side and the clock very much against her.