Imagining anything but Feywood and the shop felt futile. Except sometimes… Sometimes I wanted more. In those brief moments of solitude, those stolen breaths between the expected and ordinary. I wanted freedom. Freedom from the past that weighed me down like an anchor. Freedom from the shadowed reputation I couldn’t seem to run from. I wanted purpose. I wanted my work, my magic, my voice, to mean something, even if it was just to myself. And perhaps…I wanted him, too.
