𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐞. | "oh, how you ache for gentle hands and the smooth waves of calming voices. i am no messiah of these things but perhaps my warmth will be the soothing medicine you have yearned for in the illusions of familiar faces."
一 in which...
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AT TIMES, THE GRAND CITY OF BUCHAREST could be too much for anyone to bear. It was filled to the brim with all things sophisticated at its center; buildings that reached with both hands towards the sky, statues that posed with the purest essence of grace, and cathedrals that shimmered in golden bricks laced with just the right touch of flaw. There was almost no room for those with dull colors. Even the imperfections that scattered around the cultural streets could make someone shift self-consciously and flicker their gaze to anything that could allow them to breathe.
It took time for newcomers to grow accustomed to the blinding hue of this European treasure. And perhaps even forever to be able to walk its graceful streets with the same comfort.
While the centers of Bucharest were littered with an overpowering resonance of elegance and melody, its outskirts were a different story. They were, in comparison, more like the forgotten pages of a book that were worn and torn, its edges frayed and crumbling apart from its bindings. More shadows hid behind the buildings here, and there was more gray than the regal gold and silver. There was no embodiment of strength with the cracked asphalt and bricks, but rather defeat and sadness that seemed to seep into the souls that dwelled amongst it for too long.
It took more than determination to live within these walls. Perhaps even a desperation.
A soft breeze sighed gently and whispered its way past a stray tree, teasing at the leaves with a ghostly touch before falling between the narrow streets with a purr. The soft wind twirled once, twice, then sunk lower towards the petite figure of a young woman. It glided past her chocolate locks, seemed to pause slightly at her striking blue eyes, and once again flowed fluidly off from the gentle slope of her nose. There was something about her that made even the breeze halt in its steady motion and hum past her for a few seconds longer. There was something beautifully lovely about her. Tragic. Almost unsettling.
But she was unaware of the aura that surrounded her. The 26-year-old inhaled softly, her pace brisk and steady, mind seemingly only focused on putting one heel in front of the other.
It was late August in Romania and there was no longer an unbearable heat hanging in the air. The cool autumn tug was finally showing its effects, and every organism was letting out a breath of relief.
Aurora Eden continued to walk past the buildings of Bucharest, every step holding some sort of certainty. Slowly, the magnificent displays of the golden bricks gave way to duller, more concrete worlds around her. Still, Aurora's paces remained sure, unfaltering and never pausing in its rhythm. The bag digging into one of her shoulders slipped slightly and she adjusted its position in a fluid motion, still walking on.
