hermionediangeloâ:
          [ @delilahsbello ] 08/04/19. TWELFTH NIGHT.
Harriet had emerged from her office finding the museum a vastly different place than it had been when she had entered, dissonance of conversation pierced through the veil of calm that enshrouded the building during working hours. Shouldering her handbag, the DâAngelo womanâs gaze sweeps the room once, making a brief note of the familiar faces that littered the crowd, advantageous to be amicable with regular clients (but from a distance).Â
âBuona notte,â bidding farewell to the security guard at the front desk, she returns the smile offered to her as a parting gift, the sound of someone walking behind her amplified in the otherwise silent foyer. Hand on the long metal handle, Harriet steps back, waiting to see if the person behind her would, too, be exiting the building. The corner of her mouth tightens for a moment in what she hopes is a kind expression, that the long work day didnât impact her features.
âGetting some air?â The question is poised, it always paid to be nice, an attempt at small talk in relation to a gesture that could have been taken from her own playbook.
Delilah knew she should be taking it easy. She had only been out of the hospital for about a week now, but she needed to get back into her routine. She felt stifled just sitting back at her house. She had to practically beg her supervisor to allow her to cover an event, but after much reluctance, she had given her the go-ahead to report on an event happening at the Twelfth Night. It wasnât the hard-hitting news that she had been working towards, but it at least made her feel useful in her line of work.Â
She had underestimated the size of the event. Crowds of people surround her as they mingle around the museum. A camera dangles around her neck as she tries to write down notes on the exhibit and the attendees, but the ambiance of the event pulls her focus away from her work. Delilah found it too hard to concentrate, so she tucked her pen behind her ear and attempted to slip away to a deserted part of the museum.
Her attention was focused on her camera, but she glanced up at the womanâs comment. A soft smile played on her lips as she nodded. âItâs a bit too loud for my tastes. Hard to concentrate with so many conversations happening at once.â Delilah grew up used to the quiet, especially since she had spent the past week in a quiet hospital room. Adjusting back to the present would take some time. âDid you enjoy the exhibit?â










