Velara was a great help, offering Nesta ideas and suggestions for small and delicate dessert pastries. "I hope this doesn't seem as though I'm asking for disloyalty regarding your family's bakery." Nesta spoke gently as she copied measurements down.

The young Illyrian smiled sweetly and shook her head. "Not at all. I actually was speaking to my mother about this business of yours and she thought it was a lovely idea. She said she 'appreciated someone trying to bring culture and a love of literature to this cold and bleak place.' It reminds her of when we lived in Velaris."

"You lived in Velaris?" Nesta couldn't stifle her curiosity, even if she was wary of being overly inquisitive.

Her green eyes played out a myriad of unspoken memories as she smirked to herself. "I was born there. It is where my parents met. My mother loved it so much that it was what inspired her while naming me." Nesta gave her a knowing smile and nod. "We lived there until I was 18."

Again, she prodded, her voice soft. "Why leave when it meant so much?"

Something tense peeked through her eyes and Nesta wondered on what landmine she had carelessly skipped across. "We didn't really choose to. A lot was happening at the time and we went away on holiday but couldn't return."

Nesta watched Velara for a moment, unable to stop herself from just barely chewing on the edge of her bottom lip, not wanting to push, but completely curious to know more. "Why?"

"Because of the Sealing of Velaris." She said with a tone that suggested Nesta, given her company and talk of her earlier residence, might be familiar of the context behind her answer.

"Sealing of Velaris?" Nesta asked, transparently perplexed. "When?"

"Ah, a little more than 50 years ago." She said with a lilt in her voice.

"50 years?" Nesta eyed the young woman, still not able to catch up with the new clock needed to calculate the life span of immortals.

"Do you not know of it?" She eyed her slightly.

"I only became a resident of the Night Court this past year." She slightly explained.

"Well, that'd explain it." She remarked melodically. "It was a little over 50 years ago when Amarantha cursed the Spring Court and held our High Lord in captivity." Nesta listened intently, realizing that she was learning a different side to a story she had heard explained vaguely from its actual characters. "Well, to keep Velaris the grand secret it was and make it untouchable, the High Lord sealed it from discovery." She struggled for the right word. "It was like a barrier enveloped the town, refusing entrance or exit."

"So, your family could not return home?"

Velara shook her head. "We stayed in a much smaller village briefly before eventually settling here."

Nesta could see something clinging to the female's eyes that seemed to stutter shortly. "Do you like it here?"

She nodded without contagious enthusiasm, more a muted contentment. "We've been here so long that I couldn't really picture being anywhere else."

"It seems your family's bakery does well here."

"We do. Folks are civil enough and we are seen as reliable and reputable, which means a great deal here."

"So, you plan to eventually take over the bakery?"

She thought for a second. "I don't often think about it, but I guess it's always an option."

"Your parents don't expect it of you?" Nesta watched Velara's face curious to gauge her relationship with her parents.

She shook her head with an animated grin. "No, they support my interests and don't mind that I like to volunteer myself to the business."

Nesta nodded and smiled fondly. "They seem kind and doting."

Velara became bashful. "They are. I couldn't be more grateful for them."

The younger of the two huffed aggravatedly. "Damn!"

"I'm sorry?" The Illyrian watched the High Fae with tense puzzlement.

Nesta shook her head. "I was entirely ready to try and poach you away from your parents, but you all seem so happy and content that I can't even think about it without feeling guilty and to be frank, I'm sick of that emotion."

Velara laughed. "I'm flattered, but what makes you so sure you'd want me here? Just because you enjoy a sweet breakfast roll I make?"

"It's more than that. I looked into the Hardy berry and it is not easy to work with in the slightest. It needs to be harvested and prepared just so to get that perfect sweetness and you bake it effortlessly into the softest and sweetest bread I've ever had." She shook her head with awe. "In my defense, I'd be a fool if I didn't at least try to steal you from them."

"There's no need for theft. I am free to choose work as I please." Velara answered with a soft voice and certain posture.

Nesta nodded and tried to ease her verbalization of the question swirling around her thoughts. "Have you ever thought of taking on employment elsewhere? And is there any chance you might be tempted?"

Velara looked at the roughly drafted menu for a brief moment. "You waste no time."

Nesta shrugged. "I possess the shortcoming of being unstoppably decisive. Rarely, do I find the need to change my mind." She looked up at the front door and sighed quietly. "The truth is that I could do this well enough on my own, but I could do it better with your help."

"When were you wanting to open?"

She thought for a moment and calculated the time it should take to finalize details, making sure to afford room for the Shadowsinger's return to Velaris so that he might catch her sister and her mate up on the recent venture of the eldest Archeron. "Less than a fortnight, but longer than a week."

Velara seemed to consider the proposition for a moment. "I'd like to see this vision of yours come true."

It was a simple statement, but it spiked Nesta's anticipation. She knew that Velara would come to mean great deal to Haven and suspected that she would become a kind friend to her. "I'm grateful it has piqued your interest if it means persuading you to join the effort."

Velara laughed and they continued to go over specifics. Only falling from their groove at the sound of the door opening. Azriel stepped inside carrying two large sacks of ingredients. Nesta thanked him for running the errand and began to unpack. "No need to worry, Shadowsinger." She smirked. "I have finally filled the vacancy under my employ."

His eyes commented comically though his words answered simply enough. "A wise choice, Miss Archeron." He nodded. "And may I say the first predictable one you have made since your arrival?"

She shrugged, a playful smile invading her eyes. "I'll try not to make a habit of it." Nesta searched through the bag, wearing a puzzled expression. "Did you get cinna-" Her question was interrupted as Azriel handed her a large container of cinnamon from the other sack. Having reminded him twice, she had sworn that she didn't have enough of the spice; though after watching her add it to just about everything, he wondered if she ever could. Nesta shook her head with a quiet, self-reflective smirk. "I'm not off to a great start."

Velara's quiet voice offered an apologetic tone as she questioned Nesta. "Are the groceries for a dry run?"

Nesta nodded. "I see now that you might have no use for the practice, but I figured I should play around with the process."

Velara shook her head. "Either way, I always prefer more practice and truthfully I could stand to test my versatility in the kitchen."

"Perhaps the Shadowsinger will be kind enough to sample our selections?" Nesta asked in a loaded cadence, looking at him with hopeful anticipation.

Azriel glanced at both females and a crooked smirk adorned his face as he noted the effortless and congenial attitude between the two who were no more than strangers the night before. "I can be easily persuaded today. Beside it might help my credibility if I know just what the Haven has to offer."

Nesta wanted to laugh. It was so unusual to see him working in any environment softer than war; he was supportive, reliable and amusingly pragmatic in a way she had never suspected before her re-location. "Am I entitled to peruse the menu?" He asked as he sat down.

Nesta set it down in front of him. "It's much better than my original draft."

"Progress is promising." He offered lightly, unaware at the way his remark captured her attention for its double meaning.

The progress since leaving Velaris had truly been promising and the fool in her chest wanted to be overcome with optimism even if her past experiences warned against becoming too comfortable. It didn't stop her from taking in the moment and reflecting on how fortunate she felt. "Indeed, it is."

Azriel couldn't deny that things had been truly pleasant as of late. A piece of him felt almost sour to return to Velaris so soon before the opening, but an even larger part of him (literally) was thankful for the excuse to escape, feeling his body being further weighed down as he played guinea pig for every item on the menu, including countless variations they had been curious to try. He was meant to be absent for only a few days and felt relieved to think that Nesta had come to find a friend to work beside while he was gone. Though he knew she didn't need someone to push her into staying motivated, he breathed easier knowing that she wasn't sitting quietly by herself with no contact in her foreign new home.

With time being of the essence, Azriel decided to winnow home, hoping to get an audience with Rhys and Feyre alone to discuss her sister's business. He found it to be calming, the slow trek up the House of Wind. It was a beautiful day and though he usually preferred to fly, his slight stall gave him just the precise amount of time before returning to his old comrades.

Cassian found him immediately upon his entrance. He patted him affectionately on the shoulder and offered him a sincere apology for Azriel assuming his responsibility. Just as Azriel was about to remark on the ease of his past week and a half in the eldest Archeron's company, Mor and Amren entered the large foyer.

The latter seemed as content to see the Shadowsinger as he figured was possible for her; while the former beamed and approached as if she might open her arms. Something about the prospect seemed unpleasant and had ever since the Solstice. He quickly turned his attention back to Cassian. "Were you and Rhys able to come to a conclusion over the contract?"

He shrugged. "There has still been some debate. Rhys is wary of some of the language being used, especially around the fine print. He fears the camps are seeking out too much authority in their terms."

"An adequate concern for him to have now." Azriel confirmed with a nod.

"I agree, but until we can settle on precise wording and get it authorized, we could very well be looking at a stalemate."

"Valid point." He nodded. "I need to speak with Rhys."

Cassian pointed him in the direction of the royal brother. "How is… everything?"

Azriel looked at him closely before answering. "Everything is as good as we could have hoped."

"Good." He nodded. "That's good."

The inflection in his tone made his words seem like a question, but Azriel was set to the task of finding Rhys and Feyre, so he refused the bait.

On his way to Rhys, he passed Elain in a wide hallway. She smiled brightly at him. "Azriel, you're finally back."

"Yes, Miss Archeron. I am returned for the moment."

"The moment?" She asked with lifted brow.

"I'm overseeing an important project and might have sparse attendance in the House of Wind beginning this upcoming week."

She nodded. "You must come see the garden. Some of the hardier plants are in full bloom."

He bobbed his head politely. "I imagine it resembles a rustic treasure trove."

"A fine description." She confirmed.

After a minute of inconsequential small talk, Azriel excused himself to continue in his quest to find Rhys and once he had, a raw and nagging realization bombarded him with sour surprise. Elain had not mentioned her banished older sister once, not even to see how she had settled into the new home that had been forced upon her. The sweetness of her smile felt false to him with such obvious discernment.

Explaining Nesta's proposition to Rhys and Feyre had been difficult as they were both utterly baffled at the prospect. He didn't push against their concerns, merely doing his best to make his confidence in the eldest Archeron's abilities to be known as he attested for the determination and dedication she had already put into the task. The two seemed to require a moment of deliberation, but he could see in their eyes, that it was mostly meant to give them a second to process the new information. It wasn't long before they provided him with the answer he had expected and hoped for.

As dinner was being prepared, Azriel chose to walk around and familiarize himself with hallways and rooms he once knew all too well. Staying in constant motion kept him from the audience of others and though it felt odd, he was thankful to allow himself more time to mentally transition to the vastly different atmosphere.

It was an hour or so later when the entire group gathered around and began to feast at the dining table. He had hardly begun to savor the food when an arrogant voice snickered just prior to speaking. "Nesta, a tavern wench?" Cassian asked in a baffled humor as several expressions around the table shifted, some shock, others snarky amusement.

Azriel felt some unavoidable tension begin clenching his gut as he stopped himself from glaring at Rhys for what he couldn't help but suspect to be petty and purposeful misinformation. "Hardly." He replied, trying to mute his irritation. "Her residence had once been a successful business. She figured with the extra space and her abundance of time she might be in the perfect position to introduce a new enterprise to the stagnant economy." He finished with a flowery flourish before hungrily devouring a large bite.

"In the form of?" There was no mistaking the arrogance in Rhys's voice as he sipped his wine, behaving as though he didn't comprehend the proposition that he had already agreed to.

"Something akin to a café, I believe." Azriel replied pointedly before taking a drink from his glass.

Cassian snorted obnoxiously. "She seeks to dress up the Illyrian existence with fancy pastries and the entirely wrong kind of brew. It won't return her to the human world."

Azriel shook his head, deciding to place his focus on his barely touched plate.

"You disagree, Az?" Cassian nagged at his brother.

"With such a baseless, bordering on vapid assumption?" He felt surprised by his own words, expecting to rely on the filter he often used to soften his thoughts. There was no curbing the table full of shocked expressions, so he continued. "Yes, I do disagree."

"You think she's capable of turning hardened Illyrians into hoighty-toighty gentlemen?"

"I think that I have no way of calculating just what the eldest Miss Archeron is fully capable of, but I would say that it is a flawed line of questioning to begin with as it is not her intention in the slightest."

"You claim to understand her intention?" Azriel nodded as Cassian continued. "Please enlighten us. I'd argue our High Lord and Lady deserve to know just what kind of business venture they are invested in." There was a sharp look shared between the two brothers as Cassian continued. "What is her aim then?"

"To provide a place that offers and promotes peace, civility and knowledge." It seemed a rehearsed mission statement, but in truth it was simply how he thought to describe her intended setting.

"So, she pities us poor, brutish Illyrian folk? Somehow, I'm left thoroughly unsurprised."

"On the contrary, I'd wager she expects more of us."

"Well, she's bound to be disappointed on that front if she refuses to sell ale."

"Something she has already been told by a few locals."

"She should listen."

Azriel refused to silence his objection this time around. "I disagree."

"You do?" An edge infiltrated Cassian's voice, an air so familiar that Azriel knew it to be meant for intimidation, but he was unaffected by his brother's claim for dominance.

"I think it's a noble aspiration, especially for an outsider."

"To not sell libations?" He nearly mocked.

"To seek to prove that there is more to the Illyrian race than belligerence, willful ignorance and violence."

"You seem to have a low opinion of our own kind." Rhys's voice broke through the duo's conversation.

Azriel kept his snort at bay, nearly impossible when facing such blatant hypocrisy from Illyrian soldiers who dined on delicacies with no shortage of resources at the tip of their fingers, always within their reach. "I think it has been a long time since our natives have been graced by your presence, Rhys and almost as long since your neighbors have caught sight of you, Cassian. Perhaps once you remedy such absence, you'll see that I do not speak from opinion, but observation." His tone and words were simple enough to inspire stunned silence amongst his dinner companions.

Luckily, it wasn't too long until Mor began to launch into some vapid verbal tirade, all of which Azriel easily blocked out. He ate his food and tried to not wear his distress across his face and found the task to be truly difficult. It made him sick to remember how the banished sister had spoken with absolute certainty that day of arrival, knowing that she was being taken away, conveniently pushed out of the path of her only kin and acquaintances to better suit their own agendas. Yet, he had refused to believe it, had wanted to think her cruel and self-pitying though her family had made the hard choice to help her.

Only now could he see that she had been right. She was hundreds of miles away with nothing beyond his positive word to vouch for her growth and they all sought to tease and ridicule the path she had chosen, the turnaround that he could recognize as the first real progress she had made since her father's death. How could the argument be possibly made again that this had all been done to help her, when it seemed that those who chose her fate were now ultimately rooting for her failure?

Azriel felt as if he was being dragged around by the Inner Circle. In truth, he had been hoping to return to more work; however, it seemed everyone else was more determined to dabble in leisure as they took a stroll about Velaris.

It was, of course, beautiful and mild, but it was far too familiar for him to take any pleasure in the evening. Mor wanted to drag the females along the fashion district and while Feyre put in a token's show of effort to decline, she was persuaded otherwise by Amren; Elain did not attempt to resist in the slightest.

Azriel walked side-by-side with his brothers, almost feeling too warm in the mild, temperate climate. He allowed the two other males to occupy the majority of the conversation, still experiencing the bitter taste in his throat. It wasn't as if he was suddenly sick of his loved ones, but the painful reality was that he was disappointed in them. For so long, it had been easy to take pride in these connections; they were always distinct souls that had grown and served with one another, fighting for those who needed help, until it was inconvenient or it meant bruising one's pride, so it now seemed.

He started to feel guilt for such judgment of his family and nearly villainized himself at the thought, but as they traversed further throughout the city, he remembered the last time he'd seen it. He'd been overhead, carrying the eldest Archeron in his arms as if she weighed little more than the breath in his lungs; he remembered the shrunken, wilted creature as she laid there quietly, nothing in those piercing blue eyes but exhaustion and resignation.

They had let it happen to her, all of it (in some form or another): the betrayal of information that led to her capture, her violent and cruel rebirth and the blatant and lonely decline of her spirit at the loss of her father. He wondered if that was why she had actually been sent away? In nearly every regard their negligence had led to her detriment; was it possible that they couldn't stand looking at the reminder of their inarguable failure?

"…Az?"

Azriel popped his head up and looked at Cassian, having completely lost track of the conversation they'd been having. "What?"

Rhys watched him for a moment and Azriel immediately fortified the wall guarding his thoughts in response. "Mor had said before dinner that she wanted us all to have a 'night on the town', which is why she kidnapped the ladies, no doubt, for a costume change."

Nothing about the proposition was tempting, the activity, the dress code or frankly, even the company. Azriel knew he couldn't stomach such an evening, not with how he was currently feeling, so he opted for a fraction of the truth. "I don't think I'm capable of that tonight." The High Lord's face faltered, but Cassian's expression conveyed his dismay more noticeably. "I'm just feeling too tired for one of our nights out. I should probably get some rest."

"Are you sure?" Cassian asked in concern.

He nodded. "Don't worry, I'll be fully refreshed in the morning."

The brothers accepted his dismissal and wished him goodnight before arguing over who would have to break the news to the Night Court's third in command, but Azriel was entirely unbothered with the result of such debate as he headed back in the direction of the House of Wind. Just before he was about to take to the wind, a distinct and delectable smell yanked his attention and he went in search for it.

He was led to a small bakery that seemed to be preparing to close for the night. He made his way in and offered the short and bald male behind the counter an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I just had to follow that smell. It's incredible."

The shop owner seemed to brighten at the compliment. "Ah, that'd be the sweet braids." He looked at a small pan that appeared to have just come from the oven. "I always like to bake a small batch before close to take home for my neighbor, though I mainly do it because it leaves such a delicious fragrance."

"Cinnamon." Azriel replied with a soft smirk.

He nodded. "Most important ingredient."

He let out a hushed laugh. "I have a friend who believes as much."

"Wise they be." He moved to the pan and began glazing the four braided pastries. "Would you like to have one for your friend?"

"I'd actually like to purchase two if you don't mind."

The man shook his head. "These are my nightly scraps. I wasn't going to get paid for 'em an hour ago and I won't be getting paid for 'em now."

"What about the inconvenience to your neighbor?"

He waved the concern away. "My neighbor could stand to downsize his nightly indulgence to merely two."

The corner of Azriel's mouth tugged into a smirk. "Well, my friend will greatly appreciate this." He marveled over the dark-speckled and oval braided bread, noticing the perfect roast on the thinly sliced almonds that adorned the top.

"I daresay they'd be a fool not to." He laughed. "I hope your friend is nearby; they're best when warm."

Azriel shrugged off the slight inquiry. "May I ask what the glaze is?"

"Mainly brown sugar." He popped the pan back into the oven. "Afterwards I throw 'em in for another couple minutes so the glaze will harden just enough for the best texture."

"And that's all, cinnamon, dough, almonds and brown sugar?" It seemed deceptively simple for the heaven scent that was wafting his way.

The shop keeper looked at him with an almost playful tension. "I don't share my recipe so easily."

Azriel remembered himself and shook his head. "Of course not, my apologies."

"Why are you so keen to know?"

"My friend is about to open up her own establishment and this seems like the exact thing she'd love to put on her menu."

The man watched him curiously. "Well surely you can understand that I can't be giving out recipes to a competitor."

Azriel shook his head. "There's no competition."

"You don't appear to believe in your friend all that much." He judged.

He was just barely able to bite back a laugh but couldn't stop himself from smirking as he shook his head. "It's more a matter of geography. Her business is in the Illyrian Mountains, not far from Windhaven Camp."

He let out an impressed whistle. "I'd say we're definitely not competing for the same customers then." Azriel nodded. "I guess there's not too much harm in it, her business being so far and all. It's no easy feat, thriving up there." He thought for a moment. "Come back in the morning. I might be willing to give you a copy."

"Thank you." He offered his sincere gratitude as the male pulled the pan from the oven for the final time. Once they were no longer scalding to the touch, he bagged up two of them for Azriel.

"Make sure your friend gets 'em while they're still hot."

He nodded, looking at the two white paper packages. "May I borrow your pen?" It was offered immediately and Azriel began to scribble quickly atop one of them. "Thank you." He handed the pen back. "I'll be back in the morning."

"Tell me how you like 'em then."

"Something tells me I won't be able to stop myself from doing just that."

"Good." He laughed. "There's no such thing as too much praise for a baker."

He thanked him again before leaving. Azriel's feet had only just grazed the cobblestone street before he winnowed into thin air.

The transition into the biting cold was callously quick and he fought off the need to shiver as he loudly rapped on her door. Once he was sure it had been heard, Azriel whisked himself back, aware that if he hadn't been exhausted before, he certainly would be now, still it seemed entirely worth it to him.

The long-stretching silence was broken by a rapping at the door, catching Nesta entirely off-guard. She hesitantly approached the door and opened it to find no one. She looked around in confusion and noticed a white package waiting on her doorstep. Grabbing it, she began to read a small note scribbled on the packaging:

I came across this small bakery in Velaris because of the smell of their 'sweet braids.' I thought you might enjoy one. Hopefully, I can return soon with the recipe.

Nesta smirked as she went back inside, not needing his name signed on the note to know just who the gift had come from. She understood how such a smell could direct him through town as it began to fill the entrance of her home as soon as she shut her door. Sitting at one of the small empty tables, she pulled the pastry out of the bag and had to actively stop her mouth from watering.

The 'sweet braid', as it was so accurately named, was a braided and coiled golden oval with almonds and a textured glaze. She could smell and see the cinnamon as it was peppered heavily throughout the pastry. After the first bite, she prayed to the Mother that he was successful in obtaining the recipe, for even if she could not sell it in her shoppe, she would surely enjoy it on her own. It seemed unjust for such a delectable treat to remain solely in Velaris.

She finished it as slowly as she could, the warm sweetness soothing her chest as she savored every bite. Afterwards, she continued putting more books out on shelf. It was easy to see the place beginning to come together, one facet at a time. She tried to picture exactly how she wanted to adorn the open dining room and decided to set herself to the task the next day.

As she lay down for sleep the comforting taste of cinnamon lingered on her tongue and pleasantly flavored her dreams.

Nesta awoke early and quickly got ready to meander through the market for anything that might catch her attention. True to recently established tradition, she first frequented her favorite bakery.

Velara's mother, Clea was pulling loaves of bread from the oven when she entered. "Ah, Miss Nesta." She smiled brightly. "Up early this morning?"

She nodded congenially, still feeling stiff and awkward around the female, especially after poaching her daughter. "I'm setting to decoration today, but don't know where to begin. An early start simply felt like it might give me an advantage."

Her charcoal eyes, vibrant and kind, shined with amusement. "It'll come to you." Nesta nodded as Clea grabbed a Hardy Roll on instinct. The younger female reached into her coin purse but was gently stopped by the baker.

Nesta tried to argue, but Clea interrupted her with a steady tone. "I was actually hoping to speak with you."

She felt her stomach clench as her thoughts assured her that Clea hated her for convincing Velara to work for her. She exhaled and tried to think of the best way to begin as not to offend the kind female. "About my hiring Velara?" She guessed and quickly continued, not allowing a moments silence for a reply. "I regret that I did not speak with you in person. It must've been jarring news, but I had to try and-"

Clea cut her off with a soft pat to her hand. "You are right as to what I wanted to speak about, but not why." Nesta waited in silence. "I'm excited about Velara's new employment. I can see how enthusiastic she is about this shoppe of yours and it has made her a great deal happier than I've seen her since she was very young. For that, I am truly thankful. Mother knows my girl deserves some happiness, but I can't leave it simply at that." The younger female nodded and Clea took it as a sign that she was listening intently.

"Velara is talented and incredibly bright. I know in the right environment she could excel beyond even my own expectations." Nesta smiled softly to hear the mother's unabashed love for her daughter. "But she's not entirely well. I'm sure you've noticed how disoriented she can become, clumsy." Nesta nodded. "That's not something she can just overcome." She sighed. "A long time ago she was hurt, badly." The High Fae moved to open her mouth, but Clea continued. "I won't speak of the details, as it is Velara's life and entirely her choice to share the story or not. But I will say that her injury affected her entire sense of equilibrium, resulting in a horrible case of Vertigo. Despite how hard she tries she can never just return to the way she was. Some days it can be so bad, that she won't get out of bed." Clea's voice broke and the emotion in it tore at Nesta's chest. "She says it's like the world is spinning beyond control, moving too fast around her. On those days, merely walking to the kitchen is enough to make her sick or sometimes even pass out."

Nesta shook her head in solemn surprise. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea it was so bad."

"And that is my point." Clea offered gently. "I need you to understand just how difficult her condition can be in the future, especially if you are going to rely on her. She'll work hard, I don't doubt it for a second, but some days she might not be able to work at all and I won't have her push herself, not for anybody."

"I understand."

Her eyes crinkled as she smirked at the young female. "I can see that you do, which is why I'm not hurt or angry that you hired her. I just want to make sure that she is working for someone who knows her struggle and doesn't mind needing to work around her bad days every once in a while. It's been a bit too easy having her here and not only because I could keep my eye on her." She laughed. "But because she is kind, hard-working and determined. To be honest, I think you lucked out when you snagged her away."

"Oh, I know. That's why I wasted no time." She laughed and Clea joined her. "Thank you, Clea, for sharing this with me. Your daughter is the first friend I've made here and if I can make her life a bit easier merely by being understanding and accommodating, then I will do just that."

"Bless you, Miss Nesta." Clea beamed with the brightest smile, the slightest trace of tears staying in her eyes.

"And you." Nesta bobbed her head in reverence. Looking back up, she gestured to the roll in her hands. "Thank you."

Clea nodded. "Now find something out there to get that shoppe of yours all nice and pretty for when Orman and I stop by for the Grand Opening."

She smiled as she left and couldn't help but think that it wasn't every child's dream to be visited at their new job by their parents, yet for the way Velara spoke of them, Nesta couldn't help but wonder if she was the exception to the rule.

An hour later Nesta returned home, climbing up the stairs to her room, she smirked as she looked at her favorite spoil from the market. A kind woodworker who wore a youthful smile sold her a beautiful mahogany clock. The deep amber face was carved into a large and lush tree, its roots spreading and circling back to its canopy of leaves. She found herself comforted by the uniquely rustic timepiece. Immediately, she felt inspired with how she wanted to style Haven. She appreciated the financial frugality and simplicity of a more minimalistic appearance for her soft and quiet shoppe. The male seemed to enjoy the work more than its profit Nesta noticed, as her mention of bookshelves captured his attention and he quoted her a surprisingly low price for a possible commission.

A knock sounded at her door and she quickly opened to find a red-cheeked Velara. Nesta watched her for a second before stepping aside to allow her entrance. The Illyrian female made her way to the kitchen to begin recreating a pie recipe she had mentioned earlier. Nesta looked over the instructions as Velara slowly collected the ingredients.

Nesta remembered the clock upstairs and excused herself to retrieve it to show her friend. She grabbed the clock and carried it down the stairs with her.

Halfway down, a large crash sounded in the kitchen and Nesta hurried faster towards the source. Velara was on the floor, a mess of ingredients spilled around her. "Damn the Cauldron!" Anger and frustration filled her voice.

"I couldn't agree more." Nesta approached, setting the clock on the counter. When Velara looked up at her, she could see tears filling the Illyrian's green eyes. "Velara, are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

The older female looked lost, her eyes exhausted and pained. "She's right."

"What?" Nesta offered her hand.

Velara only looked at it, unable to admit that she wasn't quite able to stand yet. "My mother." She sighed sadly. "She's right. I'm never going to go back to the way I used to be. I'm stuck like this, forever." Nesta's mouth tightened as she realized that Velara had overheard some, if not all, of her conversation with Clea. The High Fae could see that she wasn't hurt by her mother's words, but by the truth in them.

The sentiment hit Nesta with a painful clarity and she dropped her hand and sat herself down beside her, firmly in the mess on the floor. Velara's eyes widened, but Nesta didn't even acknowledge the movement. "Are you okay?" She asked gently.

The sincerity in her voice coaxed truth from Velara. "No, I'm not." She began to cry, soft sobs shaking off her. "It's not fair. I didn't deserve this. They had no right." She sobbed even harder, burying her face in her hands.

Nesta watched while a tension took grip of her gut, as she anxiously wondered how to comfort a friend. Hesitantly, she reached out and patted her soft, dark hair gently. Velara looked up at her and Nesta couldn't silence her own question, seeing honesty on the other side of troubled green eyes. "Who?" She prodded tenderly.

Velara shook her head. "I don't know who they were." Nesta wanted to ask what happened but bit her lip for the kind of invasive question it was. She turned her gaze downward as she continued. "When we couldn't return home to Velaris, we stopped in some town not far from the border for nearly a week. My parents were worried and scared, so they went searching for answers. Once they were away, some males broke in-" Her voice cut off as another sob shook her whole being. "They called me brazen and awful names for having the audacity to walk around unclipped and they-" She forced herself to exhale. "They cut me." Her wings twitched as she remembered the jagged, burning pain. "It broke my parents when they returned, even then they could see beyond what was done, to the crude method in which it was done."

"I don't understand." Nesta said softly, her heart tearing to see her friend's pain.

"It's never safe, but the tools they used and their inaccuracy." She shook her head. "They cut too close and deep." The damage to the spine of her wings was extensive, doing more than restricting her ability to fly. "It ruined my equilibrium and now I'm this broken thing."

"Don't say that!" Nesta's edged voice demanded as she removed her hand from Velara's head. She looked up in response. "You are only broken once you give up on yourself." Inhaling, she tried to push the red-hot anger from her voice. "Those monsters had no right to hurt you. You should've never had to endure that; I'm sorry. I can't imagine how horrifying that experience was for you and your family, but you are more than that day and that terrible act committed against you."

Velara's vacant eyes met Nesta's and for the first time in her life, affection came effortlessly to the eldest Archeron. Still sitting in the mess, she deftly pulled her friend into her arms and held her while she cried. Nesta's heart broke with each sob, filling her with a sour taste of injustice for the gruesome attack her friend endured and all the pain she had continued to experience in the aftermath. Velara was right, it wasn't fair and it infuriated Nesta that it couldn't be fixed or undone. The worst pain was always permanent.

*A/N: Velara's backstory was really important to me because of the parallels between clipping female Illyrian wings and our real-world equivalent of FGC (Female Genital Cutting). Not to bring the mood down, but it is a real issue that I learned quite a bit about in college. In an article I once read, a young lady was in a foreign land with her missionary parents and while they were out to town, some locals broke into their home and performed FGC on their daughter to 'normalize' her according to their society. Last year, when I knew I wanted to create Nesta's close friend, I realized how such a wound could shed light on the metaphor of how a female can be forced to quell their own spirit and passion because others seek to control them. When I remembered that story, it immediately resonated with Velara's tragedy.