#bergen_county

Dagmar knows her desk well—every scratch, every dog-eared notebook, every pen she’s chewed the cap off in absent thought. A comic book sits atop the textbooks she should be studying, left open to a splash page of capes and action. But amid the clutter, something feels slightly off.

A heavy anatomy textbook rests near the edge, bought used to begin with, and now even more rough from even gentle use. Not hers. Symon’s. Even though he’s been renting a room from the King's, he’s been little more than a ghost in their home—perhaps out of conscientiousness, or his own introversion, or both. It’s unusual for one of his valued books to be left out, even though Dagmar’s workspace is generally safe from CJ’s sticky toddler fingers.

Unusual, but not unwelcome.

She moves it slightly, making sure it's securely placed.

As she shifts it, her fingers brush against the paper, and she notices the faint crease at the top corner—a subtle, but deliberate, dog-ear.

A textbook is hardly secret, is it? Her fingertip catches the dog-ear, sliding between the pages to open the book.

The diagram is stark, all clean lines and precise labels. The human heart laid bare. The ventricles, the atria, the fragile webbing of veins and chambers, each part carefully named, each function accounted for. And there, slipped between the pages, a folded slip of parchment.

A light brow-furrow, and she opens the parchment.

She recognizes the handwriting - it's a bit hard to read for some, it may look sloppy, but Dagmar knows it's a deliberate affectation. And, of course, after all this time, she can read it fine.

"I loved you as the shadows do—
A hush upon the candle light—
Too near to touch, too faint to burn,
Yet bound to follow into night.

And if you wane, as embers must,
To cinders cold, to ashen rest—
Then I shall drift where darkness calls,
And lay my head upon your chest.

But you shall wake when dawn returns,
A spark rekindled, soft, yet bright—
And I shall know you, as I have—
A whisper sworn beyond the night."

S.

And a date at the top, 2/14

A soft hitch in her breath, heart swelling and cheeks going purple.

The little bird on her shoulder hops preens, chest proud (for all that it lacks but a few ragged feathers). As pleased as if it wrote the lines itself.

"Yeah, agreed. It's perfect."

"I may have fallen short on the romance department."

Her ear is preened in a way that seems to indicate no hard feelings on that, from the bird at least.

She rubs the little bird's head. "I'm gonna miss him. I know he has rotations, so he's gonna be busy, too. But still."

The chimera rubs against her finger, then tilts forward, looking in a specific direction - towards Symon's room, it seems.

She has realized that the creature has the uncanny ability to know where Symon is - or it seems that way at least, though she hasn't really tested it yet.

"Mm." She rises and heads down the hall.

The room was an expanded walk-in, half under a staircase that the trolls found it awkward to store items under (if they wanted to get them out again without much stooping. While surely room for him in a more proper area might have been found, when Symon spotted Tove putting boxes in there to try to open up a larger space for Symon, he insisted on claiming it for his own. Though, it does have the downside that it doesn't fit guests easily, unless they are a bit... snug.

Dagmar's room doesn't have that problem - and sluagh require snug, right? They seem to. She thinks.

She CAN fit in there, if she spindles a bit or sits on the bed. If she didn't know Symon as she does, she might actually think he may have planned that. Alas, THAT method of mischief is more befitting a Satyr

The thing is, Symon fits very neatly on her lap....

A soft chortle chirp from the bird, heard only by Dagmar

...and by Symon, it seems, as the closet - er- room door creaks open

"Hey." A doofy smile.

On seeing the familiar shape outlined in the doorway, he pushes the entry open all the way. A tiny smile on his wan lips. "Hi." His eyes flick past her, down the hall towards her room - perhaps wondering if she found the note.

"I.. uh.. I left you a gift, too?"

"I really like mine. It's lovely." She blurts.

"...I may have said that in the wrong order."

The ghost of a smile turns into an actual wraith. "I found it. Before Lovecraft did, thankfully." He looks up at her, and the smile widens a touch more. "It's perfect. There are the mice from the lab, but... it's not the same. I know they serve a purpose, and they're treated well and humanely, but it's still not like they have a..." He searches for words. " ...natural end. Uh, If that makes sense?"

"Oski is not exactly natural. But they were... uh.. honorable tributes?"

“Cats are natural… I mean, they’re following their instincts. Oski, well… “ a hiss of laughter, and a shrug, helpless. “Lovecraft still refuses to explain to me.”

"Lovecraft is, like, the most cat cat. So of course she won't."