"I pray to Antheia because that's who my mother prayed to. I didn't know my mum, but maybe Antheia did." - Pansy, age 18, to her bodyguard Gerry.

Pansy worked all morning before turning on the attic fan in her workshop with copper stained fingers. But her current project was nearly finished and she thought the client would be satisfied with the final result.

She opened the door to let the room air out, surprised to see the clock read much later in the afternoon than she expected. Making stained glass was a dirty business, but good art required getting a little messy. Required the time and effort.

Using magic to cut the glass and frame didn't produce the same results as doing it by hand, she found. When she started her craft, she used her wand to mix the paint, to cut the glass, to outfit the frame. But something always seemed missing, something she assumed came with experience she didn't have yet.

So she tried again, and again. Until her school friend Daphne Greengrass suggested it would be easier to get the little details Pansy wanted if she used her hands instead of magic. Sure it might take longer, way longer.

But Pansy had always been a real loser at witchcraft. There were a few charms she mastered during school, enough to get by, enough to prove she was born a witch. But anything tougher than 3rd year? Forget about it.

Over the years she realized it wasn't the inexperience that messed up the details of her art, but her pathetic magic. Well, what had magic ever done for her? Nothing but cause trouble and get her into trouble. So she chose art.

She did it by hand.

And when the work was completed, she used a simple Animation Spell to bring it to life.

At her work sink, she used a scrubber and hot water to wash her hands before taking off her apron, curious to what she would make for dinner. Crafting and cooking for the guards were the only things that occupied her days.

Lately, her main goal was perfecting her saffron sauce. Too much lime ruined the flavor of the saffron. Not enough made it imbalanced. But a lick of confidence had her feeling like she would figure it out soon enough.

With visions of limes and stained glass dancing in her head, she made her way to the kitchen to refill her water and somehow missed Gerry completely. "Ms. Parkinson?"

She startled. "Oh my Goddess, you scared me Ger."

"Apologies, you had a package arrive this morning," he told her using his professional voice. Like always. He was never not professional around her.

She swallowed, and attempted to find breath. A package. She wasn't expecting any supplies, but it had been exactly six weeks and three days since the last attempt to mess up her life. "I see," she followed him out of the kitchen after smoothing out her rumpled and stained floral printed dress. Looking for calmness. "Is it safe?"

"I believe so," Gerry led her into the front foyer where a simple brown package waited. "Was waiting for you to finish your work to open it."

"Very well, let's have a look then."

Unexpected packages always sent her into a bit of a tizzy, and why wouldn't they? More than half the time they were sent to her detriment, poisoned trinkets and cursed objects the usual. Twice there were creatures. Deadly creatures.

She scratched at her scar nervously.

But this package, when Gerry led her to the entryway table, looked too small to hold the Fire Spitting Beetle that had been illegally mailed to her last time. "I ran all the usual tests, nothing so far."

"Go ahead and open it if you feel it's safe to do so," she told him standing as far back as possible. She didn't want to be scared, hiding behind her big, burly bodyguard, but some things are just ingrained.

He pulled out his wand and used magic to slowly lift the lip of the plain white box. "It's a necklace," he told her after a tense moment. "And a note."

Wand waving through the air with an expert skill she distinctly lacked, he performed several tests before taking the note into his hand first. Slowly unfolding the paper with great caution and then... "I believe it's safe, Ms. Parkinson."

He handed her the parchment with a nod and she quickly read the cursive script. "Oh, it's from Mrs. Grant," she breathed a sigh of relief.

A client. A satisfied client. She looked up and watched the necklace-no it was a bracelet-float mid air as Gerry examined it for curses.

"She wanted to show her appreciation for the window I did," Pansy found herself smiling wide. She adored working on the intricate design of swans on a pond for Mrs. Grant's massive living room window, even if it took nearly a month of work.

But once completed, the swans lazily floated across the pond, the glass shifting as if a breeze blew across the calm water surface. It was one of her best pieces.

More she could get used to packages like this. The bracelet, now that she had the confidence to touch it, wasn't beautiful in the standard sense. But the gold and silver links had a shine that caught the eye.

"May I?" Gerry asked, and again she heard that warmth in his voice, though his face remained passive. He meant to hook the bracelet for her.

What a sweetheart.

"Please, then I'll make us dinner," Pansy held out her wrist and allowed him to place the dangling jewelry around her delicate wrist even though she still had copper and paint dusted into her skin.

"Nothing array?" he asked. Protecting her, as she paid him to do.

"Feels like a normal bracelet," she held it up to the light and tried to recapture the shine. "It's pretty."