Back inside the library, I sat across from her, trying to locate the humanity within the eternal.
Elyra. I tried to focus, staring at her closed eyes. Liquid gold hiding behind those eyelids.
"The sentence structure is forward-moving. Simpler than I expected," I muttered, setting down the pen.
Elyra stood, her steps producing no sound. "Do not be mistaken. That is merely the common tongue. Every race possesses the sound of their own soul."
She walked away. Her back straight, elegant, yet feeling so distant.
"Where are you going?"
"Follow me."
We navigated the labyrinth of bookshelves. The second floor, the third, the fourth. The wooden stairs creaked beneath my weight, yet remained completely silent under hers. We stopped at a desk in the corner of the fifth floor. Dusty. Forgotten.
A book lay resting there.
"Lisa's," she said, handing the book to me. "An outsider. Like you."
I opened the pages. Neat handwriting, filled with marginalia. In the top left corner of every page, a date was written. The temporal footprints of someone who had once lived, breathed, and studied here. Someone who was likely nothing more than ashes now.
"Thank you."
Silence enveloped us once more. The only sound was the rustle of the pages I turned.
"Miss..." I pointed at an incomplete anatomical drawing. "There is no word for this here."
Elyra tilted her head. "What is it?"
Unconsciously, I stood up. The distance between us vanished. I raised my hand, my fingertip grazing the tip of her nose. Cold. Her skin was as smooth as porcelain.
"Hidung."
She did not pull away. The corners of her lips lifted slightly—a smile so faint it was nearly imperceptible, yet it shifted the temperature of the room entirely.
"That is a nose to humans. Näsa to us."
That night, the air turned sharp. The rain had just stopped, leaving behind the scent of wet earth that slipped through the cracks of the library windows. I was still awake, writing beneath the flickering candlelight. Quiet. A silence so dense I could hear the beating of my own heart.
Footsteps. Slow. Measured.
Elyra emerged from the shadows of the shelves, a thick blanket wrapped around her slender frame. Thin steam rose from the two cups in her hands.
"It is cold," she said simply, placing a cup on my desk.
"Thank you." I took a sip. Sweet. "I actually prefer coffee."
"That bitter black liquid?" She sat across from me, pulling her blanket tighter.
"Not entirely bitter. There's sweetness, there's milk."
She fell silent, watching the steam rising from her tea. Her golden eyes flickered with something unreadable.
"Next time," she whispered, "I would like to try it."