(Roma Necklace by Jennifer Parrish of Parrish Relics.)
She runs her fingers along the beads, tap tap like a rosary, pausing to caress the portrait under glass and tug lightly at the tiny bead hanging beneath. It’s her sole nervous habit, the tic that gives her away. Her tell.
And she’s been doing it a lot lately. Fingers slipping along the beads, gaze turned inward. The archaic necklace looks odd against her button-down shirts and labcoat, dangling as she leans in to rexamine the sample under the microscope. I wonder who gave it to her. It’s not the sort of thing she’d buy for herself, not our severe professor. It’s the sort of thing a long-lost lover would give to her. Something that says “us” rather than “me”.
I wonder what happened to the person who gave it to her.
I wonder if that’s the reason she’s so laser-focused on finding a cure.
