CHIONOPHILE - Coriolanus Snow

BRONTIDE

(n.) the low rumble of distant thunder.

"My whole being calls for an act of violence, but I still use velvet gloves." - Anaïs Nin

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Calida stirred awake to an empty space beside her.

She sighed, looking at the spot where Coriolanus had slept, the weight of her drunken antics from the previous night settling heavily upon her.

She cringed at the memory of her behaviour, fearing she had embarrassed herself and had made Coriolanus lose interest in her.

With a groan, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, preparing to face the consequences of drinking too much tequila.

As she moved to search for her clothes, a note caught her eye on the nightstand.

"I had to attend to a few matters. Breakfast is ready courtesy of the maids. I am Uncertain of my return time. I Trust you'll manage your way home."—Coriolanus Snow.

She read the note several times, trying to discern clues about his feelings from the detached words. It lacked the warmth she longed for, but then again, warmth wasn't exactly Snow's forte.

Tracing her fingers over his name, she couldn't help but admire the elegant penmanship that mirrored his demeanour.

Hastily dressing, she couldn't shake off the lingering hangover and the nagging sense of shame from the previous night.

As the note said, he didn't know when he'd be back, and she wasn't ready to face him this early in the morning.

As she stepped into her home, Calida felt the weight of the night wash over her, both physically and mentally.

The warm embrace of the shower offered a reprieve, easing the remnants of the hangover from her system.

It had been a while since she last visited the lab, so she figured she should check on some of her developments.

However, as she reached for her coat to retrieve her keys, panic set in when she realised they were nowhere to be found.

"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, the realisation dawning on her that she must have left them at Coriolanus's place, likely slipping out of her pocket when she undressed.

Slipping on a pair of slippers, she prepared to make the short journey back to his apartment.

Grateful for the proximity of his residence, she arrived in a matter of minutes, greeted by the sight of Coriolanus lounging on the couch, engrossed in reading papers scattered across the coffee table.

"Hey, sorry to bother you, but I think my keys fell out of my pockets here last night," Calida said apologetically, hoping he wouldn't mind her intrusion.

"No worries, I already instructed the maid to place them on the nightstand," he replied calmly, not even looking up from his reading.

"Thanks," she muttered, going to his bedroom to retrieve her keys.

As Calida entered his bedroom, she spotted the keys resting on the nightstand, just as Coriolanus had mentioned.

However, her attention was quickly drawn to something familiar lying on the floor – a blue feather.

Stooping down, she picked it up, recognising it from Fabian's jacket. It must have clung to her clothing during their hug and fallen off when she undressed.

Reflecting on their interaction from the previous night, she felt a pang of guilt for leaving so abruptly, a pattern she had repeated too often with him.