It was not lost on Amalia that her former student had suffered a great deal in the events of the day before. What she was less certain of was what, if anything, she could or should do about it. To say that the Qunari was not an emotional person was an understatement, to say the least, and she had some difficulty coming to grips with situations in which a lot of feeling was present. To be sure, she knew of suffering, but her own was something that she still had not quite made her peace with, and the situations were different enough that the path to that recovery was unlikely to resemble the one Aurora would need to take in any but the most basic ways. But she felt⊠uncomfortable, doing nothing at all.
Perhaps this was one of those situations in which calling upon the expertise of another would be prudent. Not everyone did everything equally well, and Amalia was deficient in the area of comfort and condolence. If she wished to help Aurora, then, she would be best served finding someone who was better at it. Of course, she didnât know a lot of people who met the criterion. While Amalia would admit that talking things over with Ithilian worked quite well for her own purposes, it was unlikely to serve the mage in the same fashion. The others present at the time had seemed uncomfortable with the situation just as she was, save perhaps the Tranquil, though he was even less inclined towards the display of feeling than she was. Someone else, then, and already her options were limited. Sparrow had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, so he wouldnât do.
The Warden, though⊠the Warden might be able to help. She was a mage, alsoâthe threat of Tranquility had doubtless hung over her head before. More than that, she seemed comfortable with gestures of consolation and soothing, which made a great deal of sense for one whose profession and talents included healing, perhaps. Surely she had experience with traumas of a similar, if not identical kind. It was this that brought Amalia to Nostarielâs door in the early afternoon of the day that followed the incident with the Templars, and she entered the clinic looking faintly troubled, though perhaps short of distraught. Whether this was a genuine reflection of the degree of her concern was something even Amalia did not presume to know.
âNostariel,â she said, attempting to draw the womanâs attention. âAre you occupied? There is⊠something I would ask of you.â It was still somewhat odd, to be the one doing the asking, as often things went the other way around. But she was not ashamed of the fact that she needed toâthere was nothing to be embarrassed of in asking help from someone who understood more than she did about a given thing.
Nostariel blinked, somewhat surprised to find that she was no longer alone. Her last patient for the day had left but two minutes before, and she hadnât heard Amalia come in. That part was not so surprisingâthe Warden was relatively sure that her Qunari friend did not make noise unless she very much intended to do so. Of course, Amalia also didnât usually ask favors of her or come to the clinic at all, really, and the tone of voice she used had the younger womanâs muscles involuntarily tensing up. It seemed⊠serious, whatever it was, and she didnât really have to think too hard about what it must be about. âItâs Aurora, isnât it?â Lucien had been kind enough to come by and explain what had happened after the group returned the day before, and knowing what had happened, well⊠it was not a difficult guess that Aurora was going to be in a bad way. Nostariel couldnât even imagine what it must be like, to lose someone so close to you in that way.
Of course, in the Circle, there had always been the occasional new Tranquil, but never anyone she was particularly close to, and truly, even the thought made her shudder a little. It wasnât so different from death, because as far as she could tell, it was the death of everything that made a person who they really were. Their emotions, their connections and relationships to other people. Even their very dreams. That it was also a loss of their magic seemed like a pale side-effect compared to that. Nostariel could imagine living without magic, to a degree. She could not imagine living without the ability to feel. âI donât know how much I can do, but perhaps if we both goâŠâ She left the sentence unfinished, taking up a light cloak and throwing it over her shoulders. Sheâd leave the weapons aside for the moment, and the staff just seemed to be in poor taste.
âLead the way, Amalia.â
And she did. Doubtlessly, they both knew where Auroraâs place of residence was by this point, but it seemed to Amalia to be closer than she remembered, which was naturally quite ridiculous, as her memory was quite accurate and it was impossible for the thing to have moved. She could still pick out all the subtle way in which it was different from the equally-small houses around itâmore secure, to her eye. Then again, sheâd made it that way⊠and it hadnât been enough to help the other woman any. There was still danger around every corner in this place, and for a moment, Amalia wondered how sheâd managed to miss it. Perhaps she was simply accustomed to it, enough that such dangers were routine, and she had forgotten that they would not be manageable for everyone she knew. It wasnât precisely what had happened to Auroraâs friend that bothered her, though it was fair to say that she didnât excuse it, either.
It was perhaps the fact that, for all she knew, for all she could do and had learned and worked towards, it could have just as easily been Aurora. And nothing Amalia could do would change that. She was unused to being so profoundly useless, and it sat ill with her. Problems were to be solved, not simply acknowledged. The Qunari pressed her lips together and shook her head. This, as many things, was not about her at all, and now wasnât the time to make it so. So by the time she raised her hand to knock on Auroraâs door, those thoughts had been banished. She would revisit them later, perhaps, but not now.
The door, and the entire house it seemed, was eerily silent for a time. Moments seemed to stretch out far longer than was possible with no sound from the other side. No shuffle of footsteps, no creaking of floorboards, nothing. And finally when something did make a sound, it wasn't with the usual energy found within Aurora's home. It was a weighty, heaving plodding. The handle of the door didn't twist eagerly nor did it excitedly jerk inward. Rather, there was a reluctantance in and when the door was pulled back, Aurora stood on the other side. Well, it wasn't entirely true. Aurora did stand on the other side, but she seemed-- she felt empty.
She needn't tell them either, it was already clearly written on her face. The deep bags sitting underneath her eyes told that she hadn't slept the night before. The hollowness in her cheeks said she hadn't eaten at all either. The area around her eyes were red and swollen and her flushed cheeks were moist. She was a desheveled mess, her clothing in wrinkles and there was something tired about her body langauge. Her head leaned against the door's edge as she looked at her friends through empty eyes-- not even looking at them but rather it seemed that she was looking through them.
"Hey..." She said, though her voice managed to even crack on that single syllable.
Nostariel made a small, sympathetic noise in the back of her throatâhalf a hum and half something else, harder to place, but in the end it didnât really matter. The Warden moved forwards largely out of instinct, wrapping her arms around the other womanâs middle and hugging her tightly. Perhaps not as snugly as she might have were she more sure of her friendâs health, but it was not the kind of uncomfortably-delicate thing people gave one another for the sake of appearances, either. She hadnât known what she was going to say, but now it seemed strange to think that there were words at all. This was impossibly difficult, and it was something that nobody should have to endure. Nostariel may generally support the existence of the Circles of magi. She might even be, on balance, pro-Templar. But if there was one thing she has always hated, it was the use of the Rite of Tranquility, and this was a particularly despicable case. Its effects would no doubt linger with Aurora for a very long time, perhaps the rest of her life, and there was no bringing Milly back from it either.
She wasnât sure exactly when they started, but Nostariel was unsurprised to find that there were tears on her face, too. She might not have been Millyâs best friend, but the girl had helped out at the clinic with some frequency, and Nostariel would miss her company. More even than that, she mourned for what Aurora had lostâbecause there was no mistaking that it was a loss, even though Milly lived still. âIâm so sorry.â The words were murmured against her friendâs shoulder. âSo very, very sorry.â
"It's okay." The tone held within the words betrayed them for what they really were. A lie. It was not okay. It was anything but. Aurora had spent the past night and day flipping through the emotions of grief, anger, and sorrow when finally-- finally she had found a point of numbness, where she couldn't feel the pain in her heart or the tears staining her face. But it was Nostariel's embrace and the drops in the corner of her eyes that threatened to bring Aurora's forth once again. She returned the hug tighter than she meant to, as she buried her face into her shoulder, hoping it would serve to keep the coming deluge at bay for a while longer.
She tried to find a center, something solid inside her to get a hold of. Something that would let her look into her friends faces without gazing through a watery mist. She held onto Nostariel desperately searching for it, but she found nothing. She tried to think of it as an illusion, but the pain was too great, too real to be hidden so simply. Everything she reached for turned melted away before her touch. There was nothing she could do to stem the tide as the tears renewed. She lilted her head ever so slightly from Nostariel's shoulder and took in a glance of Amalia, standing there looking, as far as she could tell-- lost.
A weakness worked into her knees and they trembled a warning before they finally gave away. Aurora let Nostariel's embrace fade away as she buckled into the ground, leaning against the door frame for support. "It's... It's not," She replied, this time truthfully. And it wouldn't be. It never would be. The Milly she knew was gone, locked away from what made her her forever. And it was her fault.
Strong hands wrapped around Auroraâs arms, dragging her back up to standâor lean, whichever she could manageâand Amalia met tear-filled eyes with a pair displaying open concern. It was not usually her way, but this was not usually her situation, and that perhaps necessitated a change. âNo,â she agreed, âit is not. And that is why you must take it standing up, with your head high. Because nobody else will make it okay for you. The problems you face will not be satisfied having struck you a crippling blow. They will continue, and so must you. There is no one waiting around the next corner, within the next year, to save you or anyone else from this. That, you must do for yourself.â
There was no undoing what had been done. There was no bringing her friend back to the way she had once been, just as there was no erasing the scars that littered Amaliaâs body. But that did not mean that the only thing left to do was mourn it. Things would take time, certainly, and this was hardly the ideal environment for such a recovery. Then again, such recoveries were only necessary because the environment never was ideal for them. Fundamentally, this would be something Aurora would have to come to terms with on her own. Amalia knew, and she had little doubt that Nostariel knew, too. These moments, these crossroads in life, were never simple, but they were always formative. And in them, the easy way was never the right way. The easy thing would be to say that she was done, that she had lost, that the blow was too devastating to pick herself up from. But that was not the right thing.
âBut you are not alone, Ash-Talan. Not anymore.â Perhaps she had been, once, somewhere between fleeing Antiva and now, but no longer. It was small consolation, or perhaps not even consolation at all. But it was true, and that, more than anything, was what Amalia knew she could offer.
"And you donât have to suffer alone, either.â That came from Nostariel, who nodded her agreement to the basic gist of what Amalia had said. She wouldn't have put it quite that way, herself, but though it was delivered without cushion, it was in essence the truth. There was no rescue, no imminent relief to hold out for. The solutions must be actively sought. For change to occur, it had to be catalyzed. Nostariel would never advise recklessness or blanket hate or violence, but she did not believe that was what Amalia was getting at, either. "Whatever we can do, even if itâs just the little things, well⊠weâre here. I know itâs not the same, but⊠itâs not hopeless, out there. Not yet.â
It was easy to think about, to say. To stand up with her head held high. To take the blow on the cheek and keep plowing forward. Talking about it was always the easiest thing to do. Enacting that change, was an entirely different story. It was harder, hard enough that it made it difficult to even think about. But despite herself, Aurora found herself following Amalia's words as she had done once before. Her posture straightened and her head tilted back enough so that the sun caught the sparkles in her tears. It was hard to think about, but maybe for once this wasn't something she could think her way through. Maybe this time she'd have to feel her way through it, reaching blindly in a dark corridor.
"It's... It's still raw, it's still too soon," She admitted, deflating. But nor did collapse into a heap again, she'd pushed herself off of the door frame and fought a battle of keep herself from hitting it again. "It happened so fast." She tried to wipe the tears away, but she couldn't quite get them all with them falling faster than she could catch. It wasn't worth it in the end, so she just let them fall. Maybe in time she'd heal, maybe the pain would numb away. But that time was not now, nor was it tomorrow, nor the day after. It would take time. Maybe in that time she'd find the straightness in her back and find the strength to hold her head up high. But she was drained of such strength as she was. She would have to find it, but she would not have to search by herself.
Shifting between Amalia and then Nostariel she nodded and spoke. "I need help," She said, her voice cracking as she did. With the plea spoken, she pushed the door wider to reveal the interior. The pair of rooms were darkened with a single candle casting light over the entire hovel. The front room was a mess, with the bed's cover bunched up and thrown on the floor-- giving it the appearance that someone had wallowed in it for the past day. Past that sat Milly, as motionless as a porcelain doll, with her head turned toward the door not due to any sort of curiosity, but the base sense of it catching her attention. "Nostariel and Amalia. Welcome," She said, raising from her chair mechanically. There she hung motionless until she was addressed.
Her monotone echoed through Aurora's head until she couldn't bear to look any longer and so she turned away, unable to hide the sobs in her throat. "I need help looking after her."
Nostariel smiled thinly at the Tranquil. "Thank you, Milly.â She could really only fall back on her time in the Circle for reference regarding what to do here, and she wasnât sure there was much else to be known, honestly. She turned back to Aurora, pulling her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. "If thatâs what you want, Aurora.â Her tone was cautious, tentative. There was still a lot of fragility in the other woman, and there would be for the foreseeable future. "But⊠having her here⊠it will draw notice to you. The Circle might wonder why you live with a Tranquil.â It would be suspicious to say the leastâsuch things were unheard of. There was only one Tranquil she knew who had ever lived outside a Circle, and even he functioned more or less as they did there, given the business he ran.
There wasnât anything illegal about itâTranquil were, after all, no danger to anyone, given that their magic was gone, but it would cast a lot of suspicion on Aurora. Someone attached enough to the person Milly had been to want to look after her, but obviously not family? There were few likely possibilities. She wasnât sure her friend could escape that scrutiny. "The choice is yours, and Iâll help you, whatever you decide to do. You certainly donât have to choose now.â Sheâd take Milly to the Circle herself, if that was what Aurora decided. In the meantime, it seemed best to give her her space to begin the slow process that was recovery.
Perhaps this was one of those situations in which calling upon the expertise of another would be prudent. Not everyone did everything equally well, and Amalia was deficient in the area of comfort and condolence. If she wished to help Aurora, then, she would be best served finding someone who was better at it. Of course, she didnât know a lot of people who met the criterion. While Amalia would admit that talking things over with Ithilian worked quite well for her own purposes, it was unlikely to serve the mage in the same fashion. The others present at the time had seemed uncomfortable with the situation just as she was, save perhaps the Tranquil, though he was even less inclined towards the display of feeling than she was. Someone else, then, and already her options were limited. Sparrow had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, so he wouldnât do.
The Warden, though⊠the Warden might be able to help. She was a mage, alsoâthe threat of Tranquility had doubtless hung over her head before. More than that, she seemed comfortable with gestures of consolation and soothing, which made a great deal of sense for one whose profession and talents included healing, perhaps. Surely she had experience with traumas of a similar, if not identical kind. It was this that brought Amalia to Nostarielâs door in the early afternoon of the day that followed the incident with the Templars, and she entered the clinic looking faintly troubled, though perhaps short of distraught. Whether this was a genuine reflection of the degree of her concern was something even Amalia did not presume to know.
âNostariel,â she said, attempting to draw the womanâs attention. âAre you occupied? There is⊠something I would ask of you.â It was still somewhat odd, to be the one doing the asking, as often things went the other way around. But she was not ashamed of the fact that she needed toâthere was nothing to be embarrassed of in asking help from someone who understood more than she did about a given thing.
Nostariel blinked, somewhat surprised to find that she was no longer alone. Her last patient for the day had left but two minutes before, and she hadnât heard Amalia come in. That part was not so surprisingâthe Warden was relatively sure that her Qunari friend did not make noise unless she very much intended to do so. Of course, Amalia also didnât usually ask favors of her or come to the clinic at all, really, and the tone of voice she used had the younger womanâs muscles involuntarily tensing up. It seemed⊠serious, whatever it was, and she didnât really have to think too hard about what it must be about. âItâs Aurora, isnât it?â Lucien had been kind enough to come by and explain what had happened after the group returned the day before, and knowing what had happened, well⊠it was not a difficult guess that Aurora was going to be in a bad way. Nostariel couldnât even imagine what it must be like, to lose someone so close to you in that way.
Of course, in the Circle, there had always been the occasional new Tranquil, but never anyone she was particularly close to, and truly, even the thought made her shudder a little. It wasnât so different from death, because as far as she could tell, it was the death of everything that made a person who they really were. Their emotions, their connections and relationships to other people. Even their very dreams. That it was also a loss of their magic seemed like a pale side-effect compared to that. Nostariel could imagine living without magic, to a degree. She could not imagine living without the ability to feel. âI donât know how much I can do, but perhaps if we both goâŠâ She left the sentence unfinished, taking up a light cloak and throwing it over her shoulders. Sheâd leave the weapons aside for the moment, and the staff just seemed to be in poor taste.
âLead the way, Amalia.â
And she did. Doubtlessly, they both knew where Auroraâs place of residence was by this point, but it seemed to Amalia to be closer than she remembered, which was naturally quite ridiculous, as her memory was quite accurate and it was impossible for the thing to have moved. She could still pick out all the subtle way in which it was different from the equally-small houses around itâmore secure, to her eye. Then again, sheâd made it that way⊠and it hadnât been enough to help the other woman any. There was still danger around every corner in this place, and for a moment, Amalia wondered how sheâd managed to miss it. Perhaps she was simply accustomed to it, enough that such dangers were routine, and she had forgotten that they would not be manageable for everyone she knew. It wasnât precisely what had happened to Auroraâs friend that bothered her, though it was fair to say that she didnât excuse it, either.
It was perhaps the fact that, for all she knew, for all she could do and had learned and worked towards, it could have just as easily been Aurora. And nothing Amalia could do would change that. She was unused to being so profoundly useless, and it sat ill with her. Problems were to be solved, not simply acknowledged. The Qunari pressed her lips together and shook her head. This, as many things, was not about her at all, and now wasnât the time to make it so. So by the time she raised her hand to knock on Auroraâs door, those thoughts had been banished. She would revisit them later, perhaps, but not now.
The door, and the entire house it seemed, was eerily silent for a time. Moments seemed to stretch out far longer than was possible with no sound from the other side. No shuffle of footsteps, no creaking of floorboards, nothing. And finally when something did make a sound, it wasn't with the usual energy found within Aurora's home. It was a weighty, heaving plodding. The handle of the door didn't twist eagerly nor did it excitedly jerk inward. Rather, there was a reluctantance in and when the door was pulled back, Aurora stood on the other side. Well, it wasn't entirely true. Aurora did stand on the other side, but she seemed-- she felt empty.
She needn't tell them either, it was already clearly written on her face. The deep bags sitting underneath her eyes told that she hadn't slept the night before. The hollowness in her cheeks said she hadn't eaten at all either. The area around her eyes were red and swollen and her flushed cheeks were moist. She was a desheveled mess, her clothing in wrinkles and there was something tired about her body langauge. Her head leaned against the door's edge as she looked at her friends through empty eyes-- not even looking at them but rather it seemed that she was looking through them.
"Hey..." She said, though her voice managed to even crack on that single syllable.
Nostariel made a small, sympathetic noise in the back of her throatâhalf a hum and half something else, harder to place, but in the end it didnât really matter. The Warden moved forwards largely out of instinct, wrapping her arms around the other womanâs middle and hugging her tightly. Perhaps not as snugly as she might have were she more sure of her friendâs health, but it was not the kind of uncomfortably-delicate thing people gave one another for the sake of appearances, either. She hadnât known what she was going to say, but now it seemed strange to think that there were words at all. This was impossibly difficult, and it was something that nobody should have to endure. Nostariel may generally support the existence of the Circles of magi. She might even be, on balance, pro-Templar. But if there was one thing she has always hated, it was the use of the Rite of Tranquility, and this was a particularly despicable case. Its effects would no doubt linger with Aurora for a very long time, perhaps the rest of her life, and there was no bringing Milly back from it either.
She wasnât sure exactly when they started, but Nostariel was unsurprised to find that there were tears on her face, too. She might not have been Millyâs best friend, but the girl had helped out at the clinic with some frequency, and Nostariel would miss her company. More even than that, she mourned for what Aurora had lostâbecause there was no mistaking that it was a loss, even though Milly lived still. âIâm so sorry.â The words were murmured against her friendâs shoulder. âSo very, very sorry.â
"It's okay." The tone held within the words betrayed them for what they really were. A lie. It was not okay. It was anything but. Aurora had spent the past night and day flipping through the emotions of grief, anger, and sorrow when finally-- finally she had found a point of numbness, where she couldn't feel the pain in her heart or the tears staining her face. But it was Nostariel's embrace and the drops in the corner of her eyes that threatened to bring Aurora's forth once again. She returned the hug tighter than she meant to, as she buried her face into her shoulder, hoping it would serve to keep the coming deluge at bay for a while longer.
She tried to find a center, something solid inside her to get a hold of. Something that would let her look into her friends faces without gazing through a watery mist. She held onto Nostariel desperately searching for it, but she found nothing. She tried to think of it as an illusion, but the pain was too great, too real to be hidden so simply. Everything she reached for turned melted away before her touch. There was nothing she could do to stem the tide as the tears renewed. She lilted her head ever so slightly from Nostariel's shoulder and took in a glance of Amalia, standing there looking, as far as she could tell-- lost.
A weakness worked into her knees and they trembled a warning before they finally gave away. Aurora let Nostariel's embrace fade away as she buckled into the ground, leaning against the door frame for support. "It's... It's not," She replied, this time truthfully. And it wouldn't be. It never would be. The Milly she knew was gone, locked away from what made her her forever. And it was her fault.
Strong hands wrapped around Auroraâs arms, dragging her back up to standâor lean, whichever she could manageâand Amalia met tear-filled eyes with a pair displaying open concern. It was not usually her way, but this was not usually her situation, and that perhaps necessitated a change. âNo,â she agreed, âit is not. And that is why you must take it standing up, with your head high. Because nobody else will make it okay for you. The problems you face will not be satisfied having struck you a crippling blow. They will continue, and so must you. There is no one waiting around the next corner, within the next year, to save you or anyone else from this. That, you must do for yourself.â
There was no undoing what had been done. There was no bringing her friend back to the way she had once been, just as there was no erasing the scars that littered Amaliaâs body. But that did not mean that the only thing left to do was mourn it. Things would take time, certainly, and this was hardly the ideal environment for such a recovery. Then again, such recoveries were only necessary because the environment never was ideal for them. Fundamentally, this would be something Aurora would have to come to terms with on her own. Amalia knew, and she had little doubt that Nostariel knew, too. These moments, these crossroads in life, were never simple, but they were always formative. And in them, the easy way was never the right way. The easy thing would be to say that she was done, that she had lost, that the blow was too devastating to pick herself up from. But that was not the right thing.
âBut you are not alone, Ash-Talan. Not anymore.â Perhaps she had been, once, somewhere between fleeing Antiva and now, but no longer. It was small consolation, or perhaps not even consolation at all. But it was true, and that, more than anything, was what Amalia knew she could offer.
"And you donât have to suffer alone, either.â That came from Nostariel, who nodded her agreement to the basic gist of what Amalia had said. She wouldn't have put it quite that way, herself, but though it was delivered without cushion, it was in essence the truth. There was no rescue, no imminent relief to hold out for. The solutions must be actively sought. For change to occur, it had to be catalyzed. Nostariel would never advise recklessness or blanket hate or violence, but she did not believe that was what Amalia was getting at, either. "Whatever we can do, even if itâs just the little things, well⊠weâre here. I know itâs not the same, but⊠itâs not hopeless, out there. Not yet.â
It was easy to think about, to say. To stand up with her head held high. To take the blow on the cheek and keep plowing forward. Talking about it was always the easiest thing to do. Enacting that change, was an entirely different story. It was harder, hard enough that it made it difficult to even think about. But despite herself, Aurora found herself following Amalia's words as she had done once before. Her posture straightened and her head tilted back enough so that the sun caught the sparkles in her tears. It was hard to think about, but maybe for once this wasn't something she could think her way through. Maybe this time she'd have to feel her way through it, reaching blindly in a dark corridor.
"It's... It's still raw, it's still too soon," She admitted, deflating. But nor did collapse into a heap again, she'd pushed herself off of the door frame and fought a battle of keep herself from hitting it again. "It happened so fast." She tried to wipe the tears away, but she couldn't quite get them all with them falling faster than she could catch. It wasn't worth it in the end, so she just let them fall. Maybe in time she'd heal, maybe the pain would numb away. But that time was not now, nor was it tomorrow, nor the day after. It would take time. Maybe in that time she'd find the straightness in her back and find the strength to hold her head up high. But she was drained of such strength as she was. She would have to find it, but she would not have to search by herself.
Shifting between Amalia and then Nostariel she nodded and spoke. "I need help," She said, her voice cracking as she did. With the plea spoken, she pushed the door wider to reveal the interior. The pair of rooms were darkened with a single candle casting light over the entire hovel. The front room was a mess, with the bed's cover bunched up and thrown on the floor-- giving it the appearance that someone had wallowed in it for the past day. Past that sat Milly, as motionless as a porcelain doll, with her head turned toward the door not due to any sort of curiosity, but the base sense of it catching her attention. "Nostariel and Amalia. Welcome," She said, raising from her chair mechanically. There she hung motionless until she was addressed.
Her monotone echoed through Aurora's head until she couldn't bear to look any longer and so she turned away, unable to hide the sobs in her throat. "I need help looking after her."
Nostariel smiled thinly at the Tranquil. "Thank you, Milly.â She could really only fall back on her time in the Circle for reference regarding what to do here, and she wasnât sure there was much else to be known, honestly. She turned back to Aurora, pulling her lower lip between her teeth for a moment. "If thatâs what you want, Aurora.â Her tone was cautious, tentative. There was still a lot of fragility in the other woman, and there would be for the foreseeable future. "But⊠having her here⊠it will draw notice to you. The Circle might wonder why you live with a Tranquil.â It would be suspicious to say the leastâsuch things were unheard of. There was only one Tranquil she knew who had ever lived outside a Circle, and even he functioned more or less as they did there, given the business he ran.
There wasnât anything illegal about itâTranquil were, after all, no danger to anyone, given that their magic was gone, but it would cast a lot of suspicion on Aurora. Someone attached enough to the person Milly had been to want to look after her, but obviously not family? There were few likely possibilities. She wasnât sure her friend could escape that scrutiny. "The choice is yours, and Iâll help you, whatever you decide to do. You certainly donât have to choose now.â Sheâd take Milly to the Circle herself, if that was what Aurora decided. In the meantime, it seemed best to give her her space to begin the slow process that was recovery.