The Sentinels how terrible it is, to love something that death can touch

deirdre smiled at rowan's words, at her commendation. she was greatly appreciative of it, and gladder still to know that the mayfair beside her knew other mayfairs whom had healed. deirdre knew of her mother, and of her sister, and that her father knew a measure of things himself. still, to heal was as much a part of her as was the magic within and around her. i aspire to be, she admitted, and went on to share with the woman who was family to her, i aspire to be many things. she smiled at that, wondering what her relative might think. she had confided her hopes and dreams to aria, to constantine--what would rowan think of her ambition?

she was willfully supportive of rowan's weight upon her. since the famine had come to an end, deirdre had fallen into her voluptuous, full form. girl she still might be, but she had looked the part of a woman for some time now and being fed accentuated her development further. she was soft and supple and attractive, and her eyes had found the luster they had lost.

deirdre regarded rowan's words in thoughtful silence for but a moment. she felt her father beside her in a gentle wind that buffeted the words that carried to her fellow mayfair. what could you possibly say, that would upset me? for she had suffered the greatest hurt of her life when her mother had gone to travel and had not yet returned [though she hoped, still, that she would]; when her father had departed them all; when emaleth had decided she needed to leave this place for a time and, like her mother, had not found her way back. no thing could hurt her more than this, other than the dying of those she loved, but to her knowledge all was well. she worried for a moment, but did not presume this was the news the other carried.