Ly tilted her head, it felt like Vas was deflecting, but that was his right. She took a closer look at his nose; the bandage the dentist had placed there was clean and neat, but its presence was enough to indicate some kind of altercation, and truthfully, Vas looked a little sore.
Then he indicated his cigarette.
“Did you want one?” He offered the nun.
She pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. Ten years of denying the allure of the world around her, of concentrating on the transcendant was easy enough when surrounded by high walls against the outside. This internal dilemma was only present in the real world, outside of the monastery, away from the safety of tradition and abstinence. To Lyen, life seemed like a mysterious winding labrynth; the right path was never clear, the wrong path was never obvious. Trusting the Verse was its own challenge.
She nodded and offered two fingers to Vas, her eyes glittering.
He placed the slender clove in her hand and she leaned forward, her lips to the cigarette. With a burst of light in their little corner of the bay, the tip of her clove burned bright and she inhaled. The sweet spice filled her throat and lungs, curling its way into her life once again. It unearthed a life back on Athens. A life full of tender naiveté and bitter regrets. A life she at once feared and longed for again.
A jet of smoke wound its way upward as the nun exhaled; thick plumes like censers rose to the heavens.