CREATURE

・chapter 30・

Asya woke in an unfamiliar bed the following morning. Shifting onto her back, she rubbed her eyes and blinked sleepily into the dim light. She felt disoriented, her head heavy with a hollow, muddled numbness. It didn't feel quite like exhaustion, just that she was... Drained. Still, as she woke fully she realised she felt more physically rested than she had in ages, and that for once, she didn't start the morning with searing stomach cramps.

Battling the heaviness in her head, she sat up and glanced inquisitively at her surroundings. In the semi-darkness she could just barely tell that the room was adorned in shades of warm taupe and ivory, tastefully accentuated with splashes of blue sage. The far wall consisted of light mahogany cupboards and a built-in dresser, as well as a door to an adjoining marble-furnished bathroom. To her left, a set of heavy curtains were letting in chinks of sunshine at the edges.

Yawning lazily, she sat back on her hands and tried piecing together the events of the previous night. But beyond fainting and sobbing in his lap for what must have been an eternity, she couldn't remember much else, certainly not how she wound up sleeping in what looked to be a guest bedroom.

She shook her head and sniffed sleepily, swinging her legs out from under the covers before tugging open the curtains. Hissing violently as sunshine flooded in through the terrace door, she squinted to the sky and realized it had to be midday already. The knowledge that she'd slept away half the day was a little discomforting, but she quickly reminded herself that she didn't really have a long train of responsibilities anymore.

Out of habit she made the bed and removed any trace that she'd been in the room at all, before opening the door and treading out into the hallway. The apartment was pin-drop quiet, indicating that its resident probably wasn't home. Of course, it was the middle of the day and he was probably at the theatre. She glanced around the passage, remarking that there were two more doors to her right, with the one at the end probably leading to a master bedroom.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she wandered aimlessly into the living area. It was bathed in buttery sunshine, streaks of gold falling over the dark grey couches and ashwood floors. Glancing at the long dining table she noticed the stacks of unopened boxes again, of which there had been some in the passage as well. She wondered why he hadn't unpacked yet.

A tall bookshelf at the end of the dining table caught her eye, and out of sheer curiosity she ran her fingers over the rows of books. Like she'd guessed, they were meticulously arranged by author, and consisted mostly of English and Russian literature. She also found the likes of Nietzche, Kant, Hegel, Homer, Chekov, Dostoevsky, even Machiavelli. Of-course there were dance-related biographies and memoirs in between, lots on Nureyev. 

Despite herself, she couldn't help but be somewhat intrigued by his choice of reading material. All she knew of him was what was available publicly, which was often tainted by a hailstorm of speculation about an otherwise secretive persona in the dance industry. She guessed that having unprecedented access to his private life was a privilege entrusted to few, and she came to find that it was all somewhat... Interesting. 

In the darkness of the night before she hadn't noticed what a lovely view the apartment had. Like hers, it overlooked the Floral Court and London skyline beyond. Although, this one had a proper balcony, with two sets of tall glass doors that led out onto a terrace.

She opened one of the doors and stepped into the wintry air, leaning over the ledge to peek at the treed courtyard below. There were some people passing through the deli and cafe, enjoying the terracotta potted ferns, evergreens, flowering plants, and magnolia trees. The court was a lovely refuge in an otherwise busy part of London, and during the warmer months she and Julian often dined al fresco in the outdoor space.