Nill watches Storm carefully, and when she lifts her cup, Nill does the same. When Storm tilts it to her lips, she mirrors the motion exactly. She takes a full sip, but finding it too hot, immediately sets the cup back down on the table, her wings twitching with distaste.  “You’re meant to let it cool.” Vesta says gently, but Nill has already moved on.  Vesta cradles her own cup in both hands, staring into it for a long moment, thinking.

“Hmm… Perhaps if I just looked at her future in general, not focusing on the Fae, we could still see any potential dangers without inviting as much risk.” She taps her thumb lightly against the porcelain. “I can also use other methods. They’re not as precise as scrying, but it’s better than nothing.” She sighs and tips her head back against Tristan’s shoulder for a moment, staring up at the ceiling.

“If she starts helping us with the amphitheater, we need to know whether we should brace for additional complications.”

Her head rolls to the side, and she studies Nill openly now, gaze sweeping from her tangled hair down to her worn clothing.

“She needs new clothes, too.” Vesta adds decisively. “Those are practically falling apart. She looks like she escaped slavery, which won’t do.”

Nill looks down at her clothes, examining the fabric.

“My clothes are having the bad?” Vesta nods once.

“Yes.” Her tone softens slightly. “Don’t worry. We will find you something suitable.” She gestures vaguely. “Perhaps some color? Jewel tones, maybe. Black is terribly depressing.”

Nill lifts her gaze.

“No. Black.” Vesta slowly turns her head towards Storm for assistance.

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