Lucia turned her head. Zara was close—close enough that Lucia could see the tiny scar above her eyebrow, the way her dark eyes had gone soft at the edges. Lucia’s heart did something messy and unpoetic, like dropped dishes.
The library on Elm Street was closing early due to a broken pipe, and Lucia, arms full of research books on semiotics and folklore, bumped into someone just outside the glass doors. Books tumbled. So did a small leather notebook and a single silver earring shaped like a crescent moon. lucia love and zara durose
“That’s me.” Lucia grinned. “You make these?” Lucia turned her head
“I believe in evidence. In things I can test. Repeatable results.” The library on Elm Street was closing early
Lucia Love sat by the window, her gaze drifting out into the evening sky as the sun dipped below the horizon. The world outside seemed to be moving at its usual pace, people rushing to and fro, while she felt stuck, caught in the whirlwind of her thoughts. It was then that she noticed Zara Durose walking down the street, her stride confident, her laughter carrying on the wind.
