Page 53 of The Cannibal

“I can’t believe this.”

“It’s not important.” Phoebe played with a strand of her strawberry hair.

“Did you speak with Silas today?” Alina pressed. “What do we do now?”

“He hasn’t been seen today. Avoiding everyone.” She lifted a shoulder. “I suppose that keeps the fear factor alive.”

“Will this not affect people’s trust in him?”

“You would be surprised.” She perked up. “The only people affected were myself and Luka. He rewarded Rebecca. As far as people see it—few bad eggs going against authority, those who stayed in line have nothing to fear.”

“Did the rest not know I was hiding?”

She shook her head. “They knew of you, and that you were turning. They didn’t necessarily know who you are to him until now.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I interjected, “everything is out in the open now. He knows you’re awake, they know exactly who you are, and most importantly, they know you are in a protected position.”

Alina crossed her arms tightly as she leaned against the cabinet. If you looked closely, you’d see her tremor. Her anger will dissipate once she has a minute to process the entire ordeal, but I was relieved that there was no more moving pieces around or strict choreography.

17

THE SOCIALITE

Was it selfish to think she looked pretty, even when she was slouched over like a wet croissant?

Fixation was her vice, there was a distinct shift when it happened. Pupils wide, open to the possibilities of her mind. She latches on to something as little as an idea and never lets go until it is hers and hers alone. No enigma was safe in her path, no puzzle had too many pieces for her.

The parlor was quiet with not much to do. But sometimes leisure aside from sleeping was best. The mind can still be exercised and the spirits enriched by doing next to nothing physically. For Alina, this would be her studies or designing her experiments. While I preferred lighter reading or stitching.

She lay across the sofa with her knees up, the skirt tented and draped down to the floor. Her stocking-covered toes poked from under the fabric. The silk made a faint scrooping noise as her legs shifted side to side in thought.

She was curled up with a new journal, already a quarter of the way through filling the pages with her experimental designs. For what, exactly, she was experimenting was a mystery to me for now; all I knew is it was about her feeding dysfunction. She was getting in her head far too much. If she just relaxed, maybe she could keep something down.

As long as she was occupied and resting. I suppose I should have suggested something science-y to begin with. That usually kept her focus long enough.

Even in a state such as this, she was the most incredible creature I’d ever known. She was sort of hunched on the sofa, her chin nearly touching her chest as she propped the journal against her pulled-up thighs. Her pen moved as fast as a sparrow, except the bird that embodies her penmanship would be something like a chicken, in the most charming way. To this day, I cannot read it.

Her skin didn’t have much color to it, same with her eyes and her patch of poliosis. Wearing black made her look more like a corpse than she had to, but I suppose she liked that. Sometimes I wondered if it was less about her chosen career, and more about making herself less desirable. To protect herself.

Her lip twitched, just like it always did when she started to talk to herself in her head.

“We could do dinner out somewhere? A Guild maybe? You might just need a live Host—” I suggested, but I lost my words when I caught her flinching at the thought.

“I’d rather stay here,” she mumbled, her writing slowing as she split her focus.

“We could at least get some air.”

She shook her head and sat up, the mess of black waves cascading over her shoulder, yet to be tied up properly for the day.

Alina was never one who could easily relax. I suppose that’s the issue with work being your escape—your relaxation hours overlap with your working ones.

“Where are you off to?”

“I need to chew on ice.” She discarded her journal in the seat before she stretched. Her long arms shook as they strained, her tall form wavering before it relaxed again. Alina gathered her hair over her shoulder as she approached the staff door.

“Can you ask the kitchen staff to bring more tea while you’re down there?”

She sluggishly nodded as the outline of the door was given away by the shadow as it opened. Her black hair disappeared behind the wallpaper shortly after.