Blair & Viola | Bonfire, Evening
It was dark, and all the naughty thrill of coming to the Turning festival had dissipated when Tucker had wandered off somewhere or another, leaving Blair suddenly alone. When they had arrived, the strange spectacle of the locals had been almost interesting, in the way that two children might feel viewing something the adults didn't want them to see. Strange and bizarre, certainly, but still fun. When standing alone, in the dark, only bathed in the light of the great fire they'd made out of their pretty bouquets, all Blair felt was the disquiet of being a stranger in a place where she didn't belong and didn't want to belong.
The locals, to their credit, had given her space. She had entertained in her bitterest moments the idea that some barbaric person would visit some kind of harm on her (that would show Tuck for leaving her alone), but as time went on and she was left alone, the idea that she'd have to take the Ellevra in her pocket for protection seemed more and more unlikely. Maybe the terrorists would come again? Maybe they'd be angry she was here, a Clove, disturbing their sacred filth with her mere presence? Blair recalled there'd been a picture like that her father's studio had made, and how it'd been popular, the idea of a good girl being spirited away to the Aurellian wilds.
In the real world, though, she supposed it wouldn't be very glamorous to live among the trees and eat, goodness. Who knows? Grubs? She made herself dry heave and let the thought pass.
So she stood in a bare space in the crowd, staring at the fire, feeling sorry for herself. It had felt like too much time had passed when she glanced up and noticed someone familiar nearby: "Viola Rosier?" She asked into the dark, loudly, and not with the airy enmity that she'd normally give before a tea or luncheon, but with the startled vulnerability of someone who didn't realize how much they wanted something known to hold onto.