Filled to the brim solo

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About a week ago, Sabrina had decided that she's had enough. She had tried to be patient. Not proding, not pushing, not hugging, nada. But even after a month and few more rendezvous, she knew exactly as much as she had the day their problem began - correction, that plus the fact that this whole shtick not only didn't work, but made things worse. Every time she surpressed a need to reach out, to peak behind the veil of cold calculativeness @Avis Marlong had put up, she felt them drift further apart, further into indifference. This passiveness ate away at the small raven until she felt like the one meeting her supposed friend was no longer herself at all but a shell, strained and brittle, threatening to soon crack and reveal it's hollowness.

And so, on one sleepless night at the start of May, she finally accepted that something had to change. Avis might've been fine with staying in the shallow waters, being acquintances that joked around and broke rules together, destined to become a distant memory once their time together expired, their connection as thin and fragile as a strained thread, easy to snap without consequence. Sabrina had experinced enough of these "friendships" already, and she'd be damned if she let them go down that path. And if Avis didn't want to provide her with answers, she'd just have to look for them elsewhere. Of course, being a student meant her resources were limited, all the knowladge available to her either hidden between pages of heavy Library books or stored within minds of her professors. Not that she'd resort to utilizing the latter without first exhausting the easier, more familiar option. The first question she'd ask the text simple: what the hell was the mark on her friend's hand.

Determined and driven by her new goal, Sabrina dropped a handful of heavy books - their topics ranging from magical birthmarks to enchanted viking war paints - on one of the tables by the windows, beginning her search.

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