O is for Origami

Her fingers twisted the paper as I sat and watched.  It was the same thing every day; she’d come into the library and sit at the table furthest from the door, and she would make her creatures.

That day was different; she bypassed the usual birds and turtles and made other things instead; darker things.

One by one, the table became filled with dragons and slayers and such.

Her eyes rose to meet mine. Without looking down, she reached for sheet after sheet of colorful paper, folding and pressing them together. When she was done, she covered what she’d made with both of her hands.

Her chair scrapped across the floor as she stood and crossed the room, stopping when she came to my table. She placed the colorful phoenix on the seat next to mine and I knew it for what it was; an introduction and a warning.