he should have remained still.
the sudden noise causes her to go still, head snapping towards the source of the sound. her gaze narrows immediately at the sight of him– one Kirschtaria Wodime – frozen as if he just got caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar. or like someone who knew their demise was imminent. oh hell no. Olga Marie was intent on leaving him in place, on turning around and leaving just as quickly as she had arrived. but then she remembers that star which manifested out of nowhere and the feeling akin to someone pouring ice cold water on her settles as she connects the pieces.
after five days of having to deal with these stars and their meaning, Olga knows. she has come to understand well their purpose and while she has struggled with believing such a thing, she has not outright refuted it.
it isn’t a secret that she wants nothing to do with Kirschtaria. she’s made it clear with both her words and actions alone. after that incident at the gallery, the former Director has pointedly avoided him. it helped that she lived in a place separate from the main city, making that endeavor as easy as breathing. but it could not go on forever. however, if– if she had to see him once more, why did it have to be now? why did it have to be during this? she could try. try to ignore it and him and all of the implications ( everything that goes against what she’s thought for years ) but when has that ever worked for her…..?
it won’t make the star go away and it won’t change what it means.
she sighs. loud, annoyed, fingers rising to pinch the bridge of her nose. running would do no good. so instead – while cursing everything under the sun, mind you – she approaches the former Crypter. her logic is this: if she asks him right out, if he answers her quickly, then that will be all she needs. she won’t have to stand there and be questioned too deep. she can be on her way home and push the entire encounter to the back of her mind. but plans never really always pan out, do they?
the star floats along behind her though it keeps a distance, mimicking the other mage. when she speaks, it is anything but kind. “ Were you watching me?”
“Watching you?” This is a first. It’s certainly not the kind of accusation he’d expect right off the bat given everything, but. Well. He can almost see Olga’s line of thought to it. Like tracing the trajectory of something right before it burns and crashes. Was their relationship in such a state? Probably. Very likely. Every instance of interaction only made the fire worse, the unfortunate onset more horrifying. And the ending all the more unfixable.
“No. I’ve made it a point in avoiding places I knew you’d frequent, so I wouldn’t upset you.” Which is not an answer, so, “But no, I wasn’t. I come here sometimes, that’s all.” It’s a park, after all. A public space for everyone to enjoy, precarious relationships or not. Trapped in such a precarious place, sealed off from simply leaving, it’s only a matter of time before their paths crossed eventually.
Here is that eventuality, unfortunate though it is. But there’s a simple solution for both of them: simply say ‘sorry’ and leave. That would be easy, would it? An effective retreat from any potential blowouts, any further injuries. Olga would still-- despise him, hate him, loathe him and all of his terrible little secrets and his iron had around them, but it would be better than the alternative, mysterious though it is. Theirs is a fractured relationship, never to be mended, so why try in the first place? He could think of numerous reasons why he should try, how he could, but his respect for Olga and her wishes win out in the end ( and never will she know ).
“I was just...--” He starts, aiming for that tactical retreat, that easy and effective solution to all of their problems. But his eyes wander into the background, a few inches around Olga’s head, and his words trail off into unusual quiet. A star? It shouldn’t be unusual. It isn’t, really. But he finds his attention drawn to its unusual colour, its strange distance as it hangs quietly within Olga’s orbit, trying and failing to trace her path. “Going to...” This is not a form of magecraft he’s aware of. Not a form of gravity as he knows. And curiosity, the grandest killer of them all, gets the better of him. “Hm. Curious.”
He points at the miniature fleck of gold, trailing Olga like something lost, and asks, “Would that be yours, Olga? The star.”
