The Girl Who Stopped Time

The torches

"Are you sure I should drink this? I'm not even 21 yet." I question as Atlas hands me a glass of "finely aged wine".

"I'm sure one glass won't be the end of the world, Avianna."

"Says the man who really did almost end the world." I mumble under my breath and grab the glass from his hand. I swirl the shimmering liquid. It dances around in the clear glass and small drops cumulate then drip down its walls. Creating different designs with the alcoholic drink. "Can I see the bottle really quick?" I don't want to drink this before doing my research. I don't think he would poison me but you can never be too careful.

Atlas silently takes my glass from my hand and picks up the bottle. He places it in my grip and let's go but not before making sure I have it firmly. The bottle is rustic, with an aged label covering its front. The rest of the bottle and its contents are seemingly the color of dying grass; almost green but has nowhere near enough water to actually be considered as the color. There are words in what looks to be French on the label, making me curious as to if I could pronounce it or not.

"Chateayoo de la fon-phone-fawnvielle ree-serve doo theeulet 1939." I wince at my pronunciation of the words and make a glance to Atlas. I guess that's a no on pronunciation. His eyes hold a large amount of amusement and from the way he's biting his lip and cheek I can tell he's trying not to laugh.

"It's pronounced Château de la Fonvielle Réserve du Theulet." The words roll off of his tongue with such ease I barley associate that what he's said are actually words. All I know is that the first word definitely had a shh sound and not a ch. If that's not embarrassing, I don't know what is.

I cross my legs over one another, hoping it will conceal the tapping I can feel coming on. I hand the bottle back to him with a grimace at my own suspense and then lean forward and grab my glass from the table where he put it.

"Um so..." I clear my throat." 1939. Seems like a pretty good year." I remember watching a movie once -I think it was parent trap- where they drank wine. How much different could this be? I twirl the glass lightly in my hand and sniff it just like I saw in the movie. Yuck, it smells disgusting. I wonder if this really is alright to drink? It smells like a bunch of moldy grapes were thrown into a just harvested corn field.

"It was. Other than the impending wars of course." He jokes and takes a small sip. "It's a bit flat from age, but that can easily be fixed." He raises his hand over the glass and I watch as the green and gold mixture transforms into a sunset haze. He takes a sip and lets out a noise of satisfaction, then repeats the gesture over my glass.

"I thought aged wine was better?" I ask confused. Has everything I have ever been told been a lie?

"Not all wines are made to be aged for long periods. This wine doesn't contain enough acid to be good for age. It is a fine mixture though. It's a white Bordeaux blend; made with three classic white wine grapes. That is why it smells of citrus and grassy aromas. Which is also the reason for its pale gold color; very rare and very expensive if you get the right bottle."

"Oh." Is my only answer before I bring the cup to my lips. I take a small sip and let the sour liquid slide down my throat. I thought it would taste like grape juice but it definitely does not. More like rotted grapes with a hint of something tropical. My face scrunches together and I instantly give the glass back to Atlas. Ew, the after taste is worse than the actual taste. If nothing had a bitter taste, this would be it.

"Not a fan then, I'm guessing?"

"No, not at all."

He chuckles then gulps down the rest of his glass, setting it down with a thud in front of him. Once he places everything back on the coffee table it all disappears into a cloud of smoke, leaving nothing sitting on it but a small basket of fake fruit. Atlas places his elbow on his knees in front of him and drops his head into his hands. Rubbing his face and eyes. I've come to realize that this is something he does when he's truly tired.