"You're Obsidian?" Edith stared at the chat on her phone, then looked up at the girl in front of her, her eyes wide with astonishment.
"I'm sorry, I just… I didn't expect you to be so young?" Now that she'd seen the chat history, Edith was sure—this girl really was Obsidian.
In her mind, anyone who could write a book as profound as *Innocence* had to be, well, at least a middle-aged woman.
The subject matter in *Innocence* was so deep, the kind of thing only someone with a wealth of experience could write. Edith couldn't imagine a teenager pulling it off.
"It's fine," Citrine replied, completely unfazed. She was used to people underestimating her just because of her age—she couldn't really blame them.
"Um, how about we talk somewhere else?" Edith suggested, a bit uncertain.
She'd picked a traditional tea shop for their meeting, assuming Obsidian would be older. Now that she was sitting across from a high schooler, a different place seemed more appropriate.
"Sure," Citrine agreed easily. She never cared much for tea anyway—would've just been a waste of good leaves.
A few minutes later, they found themselves in the café next door.
Edith had felt nervous before, expecting to meet someone twice her age. Now, with a teenager sitting opposite her, most of that tension had faded.
"Obsidian, would you sign something for me?" Edith asked eagerly, pulling a plain white T-shirt from her backpack and laying it out on the table.
Citrine nodded. "My name's Citrine Carmichael. You can just call me Citrine."
Being called "Miss" anything made her uncomfortable.
"Thank you, Miss Citrine!" Edith said, grinning as she handed over a pen with both hands.
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