Liars (Lake Baikal | Siberia)

[Thalia]

Her attention lifted from the bedraggled drawing. Curious grey eyes ran another inspection over the woman, head slightly tilted like she took the question seriously. She would have remembered drawing a face like that, for certain. Anything else was unlikely; people rarely recognised an artist even if they enjoyed the work, and Thalia was not memorable in any case. Her brows knit soft with the contemplation before her expression opened up like sunrise, and her lips formed an, “Oh.” A bright smile followed, and she sat down cross-legged in the sand without invitation. The paper she draped over one knee to dry.

Emily had explained a lot the day she’d taught the fundamentals, and Thalia had not internalised it all -- given her general state at the time. Even in Moscow, the heart of strange, she had not encountered much in the way of kindred souls. Except she felt it now, that little flutter like bubbles, speaking of comfort and familiarity -- the same awareness that had stopped Emily in her tracks that day at the park with Calvin, and prompted her to intrude upon Thalia’s clear distress at the time.  “No, I don’t think so. It’s probably the other, ah… the other thing, you know?” There were lots of names for it, and she’d never settled on one. The Pope’s warnings were still somewhat at the forefront of her mind. And she wasn’t sure how quickly she could draw upon that sense of light for an example anyway.

“I haven’t met many others. Well, only the woman who taught me how to do it safely. I’m Thalia, by the way. Are you travelling alone too?”