The room around her spun. The news of Lorrimor's death had shocked Maria, and she had canceled her class for the day to retreat to her office to drink away the pain.
He had kept in touch, of course, but the latest letters sounded most unlike his usual calm and collected self. To a certain extent, his death should not have been as surprising as it was. He was willing to study almost anything for the greater principle of understanding, and curiosity was a dangerous friend in even the safest places, let alone Ustalav.
Leaning back in her chair and wiping away a stray tear, Maria stared up at the ceiling. Her grey eyes studied the wooden slats, but they refused to stand still long enough for her for taste.
"Born half dead and it's the wrong half."
She allowed a small giggle of sadness at her self-pity. Only in her worst fits of depression did she wish she could have been as truly cold and severe as her father, but gods knew this would be a good time to be a heartless undead monstrosity.
Mid-sniff, a knock thudded against the door and a voice asked, "Madam Ostrovella, I was told that you'd be needing an emergency sabbatical?"
Calming herself, Maria answered smoothly, "Yes, and I hired a carriage. It should be here tomorrow morning."
"Very well, madam. Anything else?" the voice responded.
"Important work to be done. History to be dug up and studied. I may not return immediately."
She waited for another response, but the only real answer was the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall.
The Professor was not a young man, but his death bothered her in its suddenness and its oddity. She would attend his funeral, and then she would study what had happened as history held the answers to almost everything. Lorrimor himself had taught her that.
