Binah finds you crying. knelt over your books, tears dripping down your cheeks. she blinks. eyes widening before they narrow into slits. those sobs. those faint hiccups, piercing her heart. the Librarian of Philosophy strides across the room, joining your side with lethal grace. her head tilts. reaching out, brushing a few droplets away. a gentle touch, fingertips cool and soft, dotted with scars. Binah frowns, brows pinching. wondering who she might have to subject to her old, sadistic whims and ensure they never speak again.
yet you lean into her touch, gripping the edge of her sleeve. staring, silently pleading for her to stay. her gaze softens, warm as a summer's eve. she cups your cheeks, thumbing beneath your eyes with a hum. each tear glimmering against her skin, jewels scattered over your hands. her forehead presses against yours. murmuring into your ear and tucking her heavy coat around your shoulders. tea, after this. tea and rest- you'll have a headache, soon. it always comes after weeping. the books can wait until tomorrow, until you're bright as starlight once again. until your laughter fills her senses and dances in the air. then she'll ask. it's important to know what did this. who did this.
perhaps they'll be dismembered within the hour, never again dulling your mood. her lips twitch into a faint smirk.
perhaps.