₊ 𖦹﹕𝗢𝗙𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗦！(🐤)

⩩ ┊❝ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ❞

序幕 . . . 000
@/mxtsuro | AO3 & Wattpad
Myrddin Emrys © 2025

﹒  ◠  OFF THE RAILS    ⊹    ﹒
— “ to berserk ” !
If your train’s on the wrong track, every station you come to is the wrong station.
★ . Bernard Malamud » +

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ⠀ᰋ
── ★ ˙ where the steel groans and the wheels sing, the train becomes a tomb for a waking dream  ̟ !!

Yerushalayim
1st of February 2018, 18:00 PM

           The evening had already settled into its familiar rhythm by the time Galateya arrived at the bustling platform of Tahanat Ha-Rakevet Yitzhak Navon, her steps syncing with the steady pulse of the city. The usual hum of the station, filled with the constant flow of human movement, was a comfort in its predictability. The golden light of the setting sun cast long shadows that intertwined with the bright fluorescent lighting of the platform, creating an odd contrast between day and night. The air smelled of hot pavement, diesel fumes, and the occasional waft of someone’s hastily grabbed falafel or coffee, blending together into the scent of the city she had grown accustomed to.

           The scene was chaotic, yet contained, a microcosm of the world outside. Strangers brushed past each other without so much as a glance, their lives converging briefly in this transit space before they diverged again at their respective destinations. There were students with backpacks, government employees with briefcases, and tourists clutching oversized maps and luggage. All of them were locked in their own bubbles of purpose, and for a moment, Galateya paused, observing it all with a quiet detachment. The city had a pulse of its own, a living, breathing organism, and she was just another cell moving through its veins.

          Galateya had done this countless times before---boarding this train at the end of the day, watching the city give way to the countryside as she headed toward her apartment in Hevron. Yet tonight, something felt off, a small flutter of unease that had lodged itself in the pit of her stomach. It was not anything tangible; nothing was out of place. The train was where it always was, the familiar steel beast waiting to swallow its passengers and whisk them away. Yet, as she approached the doors, that nagging feeling persisted, as if something unseen was observing her from the edges of the platform, just out of sight.

           Galateya shook it off as fatigue, convincing herself it was just the weariness of the day catching up with her. Researching ancient texts, diving into dense manuscripts, and translating forgotten languages had a way of blurring reality, especially when her focus had been so deep. There was always something about her studies that left her with a strange aftertaste in her mind, like lingering smoke from a candle that had been extinguished but still smoldered faintly in the air. But the train would ground her, it always did. The rhythmic thrum of the wheels on the tracks, the gentle rocking motion as it sped toward her apartment---these were the constants that kept her tethered to the present.

          Boarding the train, Galateya found her usual seat by the window, the one she had claimed as her own over the past months. The world outside the glass was still drenched in the deep hues of sunset, the fading light painting the landscape in streaks of orange and purple. She watched as the other passengers filtered into the carriage, none of them particularly noteworthy. A woman with a floral scarf seated herself a few rows ahead, a man with a newspaper folded under his arm settled across the aisle, and an elderly couple murmured softly to one another near the back. These were the players in the quiet theater of everyday life, all of them part of the same scene, but none of them connected.