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“Ms Beecost.”
The voice isn’t loud, but it doesn’t need to be. The speaker knows exactly where to stand to make the acoustics of the corridor work for her, giving a casual call the sort of ringing doom of a clap of thunder. Of course, that could just be Liliana projecting. She knows that it’s Professor Curie standing behind her and she knows that whatever expression is currently boring into her back is unlikely to be a good one.
Liliana also knows it says a lot of things about her that she can recognise all of those details from just an utterance of her name, but she long ago vowed that she wouldn't analyse any of them.
Liliana takes a deep breath in and turns around. Professor Curie is even using the lighting to her advantage, standing just beside one of the torch sconces. Her face is thrown into sharp shadow and bright light. It’s particularly effective in the indistinct gloom of the Illusions corridor.
“Professor Curie,” she squeaks. She doesn’t mean to, but it’s definitely a squeak. She had all the time to prepare and she still squeaks when she meets Curie’s eyes. “I didn’t - hello.”
Curie steps towards her, her skirts rustling along the stone floors and Liliana tries not to think of a snake, slithering stealthily in pursuit of prey.
“Hello,” Curie smiles, torchlight flickering in her eyes. “I heard that Professor Kafka chose you as his research assistant this term.” There’s a long pause in which Liliana wills herself not to gulp. “Congratulations.”
“T-thank you, professor.” Liliana even manages a smile of her own even as she curses herself inwardly. She’s not Marie Curie’s pupil anymore - she’s on a different path. All her wide-eyed adoration belongs to a different girl and there’s no reason she shouldn’t meet Professor Curie’s eye with confidence and detachment.
Curie looks at her like she might at one of her experiments - searching, cataloguing, dissecting and reassembling. Curie had told her once that this was how she saw the world - broken down to its constituent parts then reassembled to a coherent whole. It’s difficult now not to feel that same scrutiny, like Curie has somehow stripped her down to every base impulse and want and dispassionately judged them all.
Not all that long ago, Liliana would have fought to get this attention, would have ached to be worthy of this scrutiny. Even now she feels her skin heat a little in the pause before Curie speaks again.
(Then, as now, she gets the distinct impression that Curie finds her wanting.)
“I was disappointed when I didn’t get an application from you.” Curie’s voice is gentle and her smile almost maternal. “But my loss is Professor Kafka’s gain, I’m sure.”
“I’m sorry, professor.” Liliana isn’t, she tells herself. Curie has no right to interrogate her choices - she’s the one who failed Liliana, not the other way around. Liliana was stifled in her time in the School of Transmutation and supressing a talent like hers is a crime against the world. She’s meant for much more than a sedate tenure track into academia and it’s not her fault that Curie didn’t recognise that in time to stop her leaving. Professor Kafka is brilliant - he’s pushed the boundaries of magic further in five years than Curie has in all her time as head of Transformation.
Maybe there’s a reason for that , says a voice that sounds like Curie’s in her head. Perhaps there are some boundaries that are not meant to be broken .
“Don’t be sorry, Ms Beecost - I’m sure you made the best decision for yourself.” Curie’s kindly tone just curdles the mix of anger and shame in Liliana’s gut further. How dare she? How dare she be kind and understanding now, like Liliana is just a wayward child who’ll realise her folly later? But the smile drops away from Curie’s eyes and Liliana’s petulant pique cools in the gaze now pinning her where she stands. “I will keep a close eye on your career henceforth - I’m sure we’ll see great things from you.”
One corner of Curie’s mouth curls up and Liliana has the disorienting feeling that she’s lost, although at what and how, she’s not sure.
“Thank you, professor.” Liliana tries for brightness and cheer, a natural reaction to a compliment. Curie simply hums and nods before turning away and walking back towards the stairs. Liliana watches her go before hurrying on her way, attempting to tell herself that she isn’t fleeing and that it’s impossible for Curie to be watching her still.
Her shoulder blades won't listen, tingling as though every breath of a draft down behind her was a rustle of skirts and itching as though a pair of bright clear eyes still watch each move she makes.