FLORIAN
34 Searing 122 AoS
It took even longer for him to realize it was him, though it was only after he had left Brenner's hospitality and accepted Lyra's. In the manor she had purchased, recently vacated with the coup, her own magic permeated the atmosphere. Florian had been originally allowed into her laboratory, but even she quickly noticed that it was now not just his blood that could prevent the manipulation of Aether. It was him. It was perhaps only due to Lyra's special installation of his arm that allowed it to function naturally, like an extension of himself, rather than to malfunction from his very presence. Now he found he could no longer stand near the window, whether he was simply watching or not; the degradation of the wards was both suspicious and a security risk. Regardless of his permit for Aether Siphoning, he did not need to give anyone more reasons to Other him.
Florian abruptly left his office, and his two bodyguards followed him from where they stood outside the door. He didn't let them into the office. At Brenner's insistence, they followed him most everywhere, and he allowed it. But he hated it. He rarely spoke to them; he was not friendly, he did not care about their lives or their families or their interests besides.
Florian did not stop until he had exited the Presidium. The sky above was choked grey with rain, and no sooner had he stepped outside did it begin pouring. He ignored the rain, even as it drenched him and the bodyguards. One complained to the other about the rain, but Florian kept walking until he was sitting in a hansom cab. Only one other person could fit; the one who did not complain was dismissed, allowed to go home. Florian did not speak a word through the ride, but he was thankful for movement providing a breeze. It was a thankful escape from the storm-sourced humidity, but as they crossed the river and approached the Knob it just seemed to get stickier, even as the rain let up.
Now the Lysanrin walked. He wasn't sure what he was walking to, at first, until he was standing face to face with the door of his mother's apartment. He still had a key, acquired from the investigators with some string-pulling. The building was barren, and it had never been so barren in his life. His childhood home, empty, was a gut-wrenching experience. It had been cleaned, once upon a time, but a thick layer of dust settled on the windowsills, the counters, the stove and the floor.
He started to cry, but unlike some of his usual sobs, it was only the quiet, wet tears that fell down his face. As he walked through, he could see where her blood had stained the wooden floor. Florian had no idea how much the guard knew of him, his past, or what had happened here; he did not expect him to know, and he did not expect him to care.
Florian had not returned to this place since his mother's death, and it had been nearly a year. It was silly, maybe, that as he had returned before the rooms had been relinquished to the landlord, he had continued to pay for it. It was his, after all, and other than some of her possessions, it was most all he had left. He stepped into the bathroom, some light pouring from the window and illuminating his reflection in the mirror.
He leaned against the sink and studied himself, his face puffy from crying and his hair and skin and clothing soaked from sweat and rain. His shirt clung to him and his curly hair was stuck to his face. It had been some time since he had met the light-prince Talon in his runed prison — the feather he had been gifted was left at home, at Lyra's. But he did not want to hold it and feel hope and forgiveness. Even the expectations he had placed on himself felt like they strangled him. Nothing felt correct.
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