Fics like I have loved the stars too fondly (to be fearful of the night)

Rumi takes notes in careful Greek, the letters flowing from her pen with the ease of muscle memory millennia deep. She's been auditing Dr. Park's "Greek Mythology and Society" course for three weeks now. Before that, it was a semester of Medieval Literature at a college in Maine. Before that, Introduction to Archaeology in Ohio. Before that, a blur of lecture halls and libraries and temporary apartments where she never unpacked all her boxes because what was the point? She'd been doing this longer than Vermont had been a state—longer than the language these students speak had settled into its current form. She'd watched the printing press change everything, watched the Industrial Revolution remake the landscape, watched the Internet arrive and make the world simultaneously larger and smaller. She's good at watching. It's staying that she's never mastered. OR Rumi can see every possible future. She still didn't see Mira coming.

Fics like I have loved the stars too fondly (to be fearful of the night)

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