New Year, New Journal (Izmailovsky Market)

[Seren]

Seren didn’t interrupt. It wasn’t instinct; she saw when words needed room, especially when the desire was to be listened to. As Casey talked about her upbringing, the motes around her shifted in a way Seren recognised well. The want there wasn’t for absolution or reassurance; it was the quieter desire to be believed without being corrected. To have pain acknowledged without it being reframed into something else. The gold dulled at the edges as Casey spoke, less tightly wound, as though naming it had loosened something long held in the body.

“That doesn’t sound odd,” Seren said when Casey finished. Her tone carried no judgement, only steadiness. “And I’m glad you’re dealing with it now. Not everyone gets to.”

She let a breath pass, careful not to step into the role people so often tried to give her – the one who understood too much. She rarely had to even say anything for others to ascribe meaning to her attention: their desires reflected back, and they usually misinterpreted Seren as the source of the change in them, though it was only really that she brought such things more easily to the conscious surface. It wasn’t always a bad thing, and often it helped in a quiet way, but equally it was something Seren was always aware of.

When Casey said she was easy to talk to, Seren saw the glimmer warm again, subtle but unmistakable. She felt it pulse like a quiet heartbeat, brushing against her awareness, and she kept herself steady, careful not to let it flare beyond observation. Her shoulders relaxed slightly, though the alertness never fully left. Seren just smiled, soft this time, eyes lingering for a heartbeat longer than before. She took a sip of her tea.

At the question about her interests, Seren tilted her head slightly, considering. “The kind that survives in fragments. Stories people swear aren’t real anymore but still won’t quite let go of.” Her thumb traced the rim of her cup again as she spoke. “I’m interested in patterns, I suppose. The things that repeat across cultures even when there’s no clear reason they should.”

Her gaze met Casey’s again, steady and unguarded. “And you?” Seren added, lightly. “When you’re not on tour, what pulls at you? What do you look for when no one’s asking you to be anything in particular?” The question was open-ended, an invitation without expectation. She kept herself steady, attentive but not invasive, letting Casey fill the space however she chose.