"She is an idea."
Those words echoed in Averie's head, bouncing around his skull like a rubber ball.
It was a memory from a few months ago—of a conversation held between him and Director Groux.
"That's what Mr. Cao said."
His neck felt heavier as he turned his head.
"She is whatever one wants her to be, is how I interpret it."
Enjoying the warm, windy sunset, he refilled the director's teacup.
"Is that why you haven't given her any direction?"
The good director observed as the warm liquid spilled into his cup with the beauty of a waterfall.
He picked up the cup, observed the heat, and took a scalding sip.
His tongue burned, but he remained unfazed.
"What direction would I give her?"
That question was thrown more at himself than at Averie.
Beads of sweat trickled down the bridge of his nose like condensation on a chilled bottle of packaged water.
