Though Aoife's memories of when she first arrived at the house were clear, the memories of the following days had blurred with time. She remembered repeatedly refusing to allow anyone to help her dress her wounds, how she'd struggled with the bandages, and how Lizzie insisted that if she didn't want to be touched so badly, then she would get help without being touched.

She'd broken down in tears even as Lizzie carefully wound bandages around her arm, her fingers never grazing Aoife's skin.

Of course, it hadn't taken them long to discover her Mark, the physical manifestation of magic on her skin. It looked something like a silver tattoo running down her injured arm, and every Touched person had one. As the skin of her arm healed and grew back in place, so did the Mark, the pattern seemingly unaffected by the scar tissue. Aided by some freakish irony of the magic inside her, the wound healed completely within days after recovering her strength.

Initially, when the residents of the estate asked about her magic, she'd simply replied that it would be best if no one touched her. It had only taken a matter of months for some manner of the truth to come out, though.

And... they hadn't shunned her. They hadn't turned her away.

The few staff members who knew the full extent of her magic were kind enough to keep their mouths shut, to help shield her as much as they could. Perhaps five people in the estate knew, and they all protected her as one of their own in a way that Aoife never thought possible.

Every day here felt like a small miracle, existing in peace around people who didn't run at the sight of her or condemn her as a demon. In fact, the lady of the house specifically requested she stay as long as possible, as a competent House Healer was hard to hold down in this area of Quilland. Granted, the Lady Rimsilla only knew a little of Aoife's magic, but it was enough that someone else might have pushed her out for it.

Instead, Aoife found herself immersed in the daily life of the house, from chores to her own medical responsibilities.

The kitchen was all hustle and bustle when Aoife arrived downstairs, with Lizzie and her assistants rushing to pack breakfast in squares of cheesecloth for the staff to eat along the way to town. Lorna, the daughter of the head maid (and thus the child of the entire staff), was sitting in the corner with the leftover roses, weaving the stems into a crown. Her black hair glimmered in the morning sun, the long braid a sharp contrast to her pale yellow festival dress.]

"I'll take my breakfast to the shed, if you don't mind," Aoife said, grabbing one of the bundles of bread and cheese as she walked by the counter.

"Aoife!" Lorna cried, looking up from her flowers with a smile.

"Good morning, sweetie." She smiled softly, blowing a kiss towards the little girl, who giggled and blew one back. It had taken a long while to impress upon the child that she couldn't touch Aoife, but they had since developed a kind of affectionate communication all their own.

"You said you would go to the festival with us!" the little girl whined. "No hiding in the shed today."

"I will, just like I promised, but I have to get a few things from the workshop first."

"Don't let the Faeries get you!" Lorna giggled. Lizzie frowned, shaking her head.

"That's nothing to joke about, child," she muttered.

"I'll be fine," Aoife said reassuringly. "Besides, I don't think the Fae would come this far out of their territory. We're still well inside human lands."

"That may be true," Lizzie said, waving a spoon absently over a pot of oatmeal, "but you've heard as many tales as I of the Grand Enchanter having to go and fish someone out of the Fae forest. He's never happy about it."

"I can see why," Aoife said with a snort. "If someone pulled me out of my peace and quiet just to go and deal with a problem I didn't create, I'd be grumpy, too."

Lizzie just sighed, rolling her eyes. "You'd sympathize with a wolf terrorizing a shepherd. No need to be sorry for the Grand Enchanter. It's his job."

Aoife only shrugged, opening the door to leave. "Wolves need to eat, too."

Basket swinging on her arm, she carefully stepped down the bare dirt path that led to the garden shed. The estate was largely self-sustaining as well as selling some of their products at the market, fields of crops for harvest and animal paddocks surrounding the main house. Aoife's dirt path weaved carefully around all of them, taking the longest way possible to avoid any damage to the animals or plants in the fields.

Aoife slowly made her way out towards the forest, doing her best to stick to the worn dirt path and weaving around any bits of grass that might scrape against the skin of her legs. The garden shed that had slowly become her personal workspace over the past year was at the very edge of the property, and thus not too far from the very edge of human territory.

The Rimsilla estate rested well inside the borders of Quilland, a country firmly in the grasp of human hands despite the people's tolerance for magic and Fae-touched citizens. The northern edge of the country brushed against the part of the forest that belonged to the Fae, though no one was quite sure where the boundary began due to an incredible collapse in negotiations after the end of the Fae Wars, more than two centuries ago. Very few humans ever ventured that far into the woods, but it wasn't entirely uncommon to hear stories of the Grand Enchanter going into the forest to fish out a hunting party of nobility gone astray, a lost merchant, or a particularly foolish youth who had decided to brave the dangers to look for riches or earn a reputation.

Rumors about the Grand Enchanter flew left and right from the maids, especially on Festival days, which required him to make a public appearance due to his position. As the highest-ranked Enchanter in the country, he was officially a member of the Inner Court, the closest circle of advisors to the King. He was also head of the sub-court of official Enchanters, a group of people so powerful and skilled in their use of magic that they were employed by the king and afforded status akin to that of high-ranked nobility.

She found a few sprigs of violetroot growing by the roots of one of the forest pines, thankful she didn't need to walk farther into the woods. Being careful not to touch the roots of the tree, Aoife carefully collected a few pieces of the violetroot, sighing when she felt her fingertips grow warm and the herb dried in her hand, despite wearing gloves. At least she wouldn't need to wait to store it.

"Aoife? What are you doing out here so early?"

Jarred out of her thoughts, she turned to face the old groundskeeper with a smile. He was probably out on his daily patrol. "Hello, Falk. I'm just picking a few more ingredients to replace the things I'm taking to town," she said, tucking the herb in her basket. "It won't take me long."

The groundskeeper's nose wrinkled in distaste. "You shouldn't be out here alone, especially so close to the edge of the Faerie border."

"The border is miles out from here. There's nothing to worry about— I go gathering all the time and I'm fine." Aoife just shrugged, swinging her basket a little.

"You haven't seen what I've seen," the old man said sympathetically. "Here, I'll walk you back to the shed."

Aoife was positive that she didn't need an escort, but she didn't have the heart to argue with him. Half of Falk's village had been taken by the Faeries, or so he said. He never said much more than that, so she didn't know the details. She didn't even know how old he was.

Sometimes she wondered exactly what he'd seen, though.

"Didn't you tell me your home was destroyed by the Faeries, too? You should understand better than anyone," he said as they walked.

"No, Falk," Aoife said, shaking her head. "The village where I was born was plagued by some kind of chronic illness, maybe something in the water, and it just happened to be near the Fae border. It doesn't mean they put a curse on the place, otherwise my sisters and I wouldn't have gotten it out."

"Ah, but very rarely do Faeries curse people," Falk said pointedly. "They do curse the land quite often, though. Barren fields, sour water, that sort of thing. You and your sisters left the land, so you were able to get away."

"Mmm," Aoife hummed vaguely, nodding for the sake of appeasing Falk. She bent down briefly to pick a sprig of wild larkspur, which also dried in her hands. The groundskeeper watched with interest, but didn't back away from her as the herb dried.

"Are you still not able to consciously use your gift?" he asked quietly.

"I would hesitate to call it a gift," Aoife spat, shoving the larkspur in with the other herbs perhaps a little more forcefully than necessary.

"You still won't consider my suggestion?"

"The Academy?" Aoife raised her eyebrows, but then shook her head. "No, it wouldn't be a good idea. The people here are the first I've met since my sisters who haven't tried to kill me once they found out. Though, I think my sister might still be in denial..." Aoife winced as she accidentally stepped off the path, a spot of now brown grass crunching underfoot. She hastily corrected herself, setting her feet back on bare dirt.

"Surely the Academy has seen worse. It could be good for you."

"Think, Falk. The academy is associated with the king. What do you think someone with power would do with someone like me in their hands? I won't let myself become an executioner. I'd rather die." Her hand unconsciously went to her throat, gloved fingers tracing across her skin before settling on the leather string around her neck that held her pendant in place.

"I understand," Falk said with a sigh. It was an old conversation, and it always ended the same way. "You're always welcome to stay here as long as you want. You know that. Lorna loves you, and the Mistress likes having a House Healer around since we're so far out of town."

"Well, I'm glad, considering I plan to stay here till the day I die."

If I die, she thought. If.

As of now, there was no guarantee.

"Will you be coming to the festival?" Aoife asked, forcibly pushing those thoughts away. She almost hoped he would. Despite his superstitious nature, Aoife and Falk got along well. However, the groundskeeper shook his head.

"No, no. I'll leave the festival to you young ones and stay behind to take care of things here. It's too loud there for me. Go and have fun— they'll be waiting on you at the gates." He smiled and made a vague shooing motion, and Aoife couldn't help but smile back.

"Thank you, Falk. Anything you need from town?"

"I'm just fine. Don't you worry about me," he said with a smile. "Go on, get!" Falk laughed raucously, and Aoife just shook her head, scurrying inside the shed with her ingredients.

It was an old building, but it was made of sturdy wood, and it stayed warm and dry even in the coldest of winters. The once dusty and disused space now held a small iron stove for cooking and brewing potions, shelves for storage of herbs and bottles of remedies, and a collection of various dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. She'd reshaped the place into a workshop herself, and she was proud of the progress.

There was no time to revel in the familiarity of the space today, though.

As quickly as possible, Aoife tucked several bottles of finished potions and jars of poultices into her basket, the clay and glass clinking softly together as the basket swung. She hoped that this would be a pleasant, entirely uneventful day in town. With that thought, she left the shed and headed towards the meeting spot at the front of the house, locking the door behind her.