#*edie

she sees him by accident –– not because he has sought her out, not because she was told, by anyone –– not noah or yaakov or even zanna ––, that he was back. but by accident. because zanna’s house is close to the bakery. the street is wide and stripped bare by the unforgiving sea breeze. edie stands in the middle of it, refusing to step closer. she cradles her brown paper bag, bread warm inside, behind her crossed arms.

her metronome nail, making itself at home in the wooden groove of the table is a small defiance to the solitary silence she has lived with for days, a defiance to the mansion’s static uncertainty about her. 

she taps out a gutted rhythm in a deep groove and makes herself at home where nothing else feels at home. not even those who live here.

max should not have brought her here.

but how could either of them resist this drawn out reunion? 

she digs the wood deeper. she stays in the seat she has sat in for days. her trench. her dugout. she is the kind of woman who likes to stay still and shift the axis of movement so it anchors around her. she watches raven in this way, tracking her like a trench periscope as she moves through the kitchen.