The Dancing Ghost ★ Edward Cullen

viii. Ink on snow

Anastasia thanked James once again as he stopped the car in front of the library, grabbing the books that didn't fit into her bag as she walked to the large entrance.

She scanned the cars parked near the building, Edward's parked car reminding her that he's not just a figment of her imagination, because she weirdly felt like she needed something to prove that.

The Brunette held onto her books tighter as she walked in the calm building, searching the polished, wooden tables for Edward.

She found him sitting on the table closest to the shelves, his beauty not fitting in with the rest of the people in the library. He raised his head from the book he was reading when he heard the approaching footsteps, his gaze meeting her gray eyes, the silence he heard from her mind making him feel he was alone in the world with her.

"Hey," Anastasia smiled, placing her bag on the table and sitting in the seat across of him.

He smiled at the brunette and greeted her, admiring the strands of hair that stood in front of her face that was slightly red from the cold. He looked at her hand, holding the small pile of books and noticed that she was wearing a different watch than last time.

For an hour or two, they sat on the table, surrounded by books about 18th century literature, scribbling on paper whenever they had an idea for the project.

Anastasia forgot she was sitting in the library and instead felt as though she was in a time machine as she listened to Edward speak about past decades, as though he was familiar with a time so far away.

He didn't talk like those tour guides at museums, reciting history books and facts. Instead, the words left his mouth like he was simply talking about last Tuesday night, approaching a subject that's normally only touchable through books and imagination to the palm of her hand.

"It's really amazing," Anastasia complimented, making Edward's eyes rise from the papers, "How you're able to talk about history like that."

"Thank you, i read a lot," Edward said, "More than what is considered a sane amount." He laughed, putting aside the book after he finished taking notes from it.

Anastasia shook her head, smiling as she moved her fountain pen against the paper, the sound oddly satisfying.

There was a peaceful atmosphere between the two. As much as Edward wanted to hear her speak, he also couldn't help but appreciate her calmness as she was scribbling on the notepad, a small drop of ink dribbling onto her pale fingers like ink on snow.

A new conversation popped up every once in a while, discussions about literature turning more and more personal.

"-Though russian literature is focused on darker themes," Edward pointed, his eyes flickering to the window in slight worry to make sure the clouds weren't clearing away.

"That's because Russia is gloomy." Anastasia noted, memories flashing in her head about her gloomy but regardlessly beloved country.

"You've been there?" Edward asked curiously, pausing his writing.

Anastasia hesitated for a bit but found the words leaving her lips like they were trying to escape, "I was born there, but we moved to France, then to Germany and then i traveled alone back to Russia and started my first year of university, then i came to live here after my parents passed away."

"I apologize, i didn't know that." Edward said sympathetically making Anastasia shrug.

"It's fine, sometimes even i forget that they passed, it was very unexpected after all." Anastasia said, feeling a weight drop of her shoulders since it was the first time since their deaths that she actually talked about it out loud.