A/N: I'm not Eoin Colfer. Hah.

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Holly sat at her computer desk, intently watching her clock. It ticked the minutes away and drove her crazy- so she tossed a red pillow over it.

"Hah. Silenced," She murmured lightly, fiddling absently with an old champagne-colored silken blanket, lined with intricate lace. She breathed in the smell, light and minty, and tossed it over her shoulders. The sensation of having silk wrapped about her shoulders was almost a regal one, and stood and hopped over to her mirror.

She beheld herself, casually dressed in a worn LEP t-shirt and black sweatpants, her short auburn hair mussed from sweat and dirt. Her coffee- toned skin glowed in the dim lamplight of her room, and her hazel eyes looked bright. But tired. Always just a little haggard, from another passing day.

She let the grip on her thin blanket loosen. It had been her grandmother's, Jabrielle Short. Her grandmother had died around the time her father had, and the delicate blanket was faintly stained with hidden tears. Delicate. She ran her fingers through her hair and frowned at her reflection.

Holly Short was by no means to be labeled 'delicate'. She was a Recon elf, for Frond's sake. But her resolve had weakened and corroded in the past week. She had pulled this blanket from her tiny closet and tossed it onto her futon, replacing the old, pale blue cotton throw that usually occupied her tousled sheets. They gave her whole bedroom, with it's simple white walls bedecked with photos, her shabby but polished computer and desk, and her rather small television a new sense of dusty elegance. She looked at herself in the mirror and suddenly stood rigid and ramrod straight, smiling as though she were a queen. No, she decided. This isn't very queen-like. Simple silk and lace. Ancient lace.

The desire to be elegant and beautiful and... well-mannered had overcome her lately. She connected elegance and good manners with Artemis, so she had shaken that desire roughly and tossed it in the trash bin. She had exercised madly at the gym, and made sure she got extra dirty at work. But as she sharply calculated her reflection, she looked prettier than before, silhouetted by the silk and the dim lamplight. She violently flung the blanket onto her mattress, suddenly a reminder of things of old that weren't allowed to be thought of in the way she thought of them. The passionate, rough affair with danger had ended this January violently, and the silent meetings were things she couldn't shake from her mind.

She always would think of it. Always, what could have been.

Touchy subjects like these were... well, touchy subjects with Holly. She felt that they were forbidden to talk about, and just plain sinful to think about. She didn't mind the sin, of course, because sinning gave a strange sort of thrill. But after awhile, the thrill gets old and worn, and those involved want commitment. A commitment that can't happen, lest one lose everything.

Holly flopped onto her mattress, mentally beating herself. She didn't want to spend another singular moment thinking of him. It was a waste, but then... was it? She hadn't wanted to spend another night thinking of Artemis, but it always ended up being that way. She just silently, at that moment, resolved to give up and give in. And with that unspoken promise, she pulled the silk blanket over her shoulders and fell asleep.