September 7th, 1894 — Professor Griffith's office
This year, in this summer, it did not often rain; but raindrops, first soft and now pouring, had been falling for the last half hour. Samuel left the big window of his office and walked to the stone table. Stacks of paper resided on it, covering the circle that was engraved there. He moved some of them to the side, then he looked towards the door.
He felt something that could be anticipation, or it could be nervousness; it seemed to be on the move. Sitting and leaning back in the office chair, he closed his eyes for a second to let it subside. Despite the quieting of his body in relation to the space around him, something else was already in motion, he knew. He had set it in motion last week, or perhaps she had truly done so, one month ago, by walking into this room.
And now the time had come to take another turn together; to what end he was scarcely certain, but he had premonitions. They had followed him around all week — now there were footsteps at his door, and so he rose and made his way there: "Good evening, Themis. Please, come in."
He felt something that could be anticipation, or it could be nervousness; it seemed to be on the move. Sitting and leaning back in the office chair, he closed his eyes for a second to let it subside. Despite the quieting of his body in relation to the space around him, something else was already in motion, he knew. He had set it in motion last week, or perhaps she had truly done so, one month ago, by walking into this room.
And now the time had come to take another turn together; to what end he was scarcely certain, but he had premonitions. They had followed him around all week — now there were footsteps at his door, and so he rose and made his way there: "Good evening, Themis. Please, come in."
---Themis Lyra---
