Arriving back at the house, Dana parked, and we went inside. I handed him the box and envelope, which he took into the living room, and went into the kitchen to get us both glasses of water. I strolled over to him and handed him a glass of the filtered life giving substance, then sat on the couch as I watched him take a deep drink of the water. He set the glass down, then grabbed the box and opened it, ignoring the envelope for now, as he was already acquainted with the essence of it. His movements were methodical as he reached for the items in the box, going through the contents carefully. I watched the signs as he moved into the paths, his fingers lightly moving over the objects, additional notes, and pictures inside the box. I could see he was deeply engrossed in the weave and knowing that he would be at it for some time, I took a deep drink of my own glass of water and then set the glass between my thighs, leaning my head against the back of the couch. As I did so, my thoughts naturally turned to the recent events and questions circled in my head.

Why did I keep crossing paths with the man, Namjoon? What was the purpose and what did the Mother have in store for us? I could search the paths, myself, I knew, and have some measure of success, but Dana was much more talented in such things than I was. Yet, I wasn't ready to share with him this experience. I wanted to understand it first. And, I knew it was best not to distract him from the mission. It was enough that I was distracted, to some degree.

I moved deep into my thoughts, following the signs of the Mother. I knew that it wasn't always clear what the Mother's intentions were when she decided a path for us, and sometimes it appeared to make no sense at all, but long experience had taught me that there was always a reason. Even if it was simply a lesson she wanted one of her children to learn. It was always with purpose.

Having crossed paths with Namjoon once was a quickly passing pinpoint of time, that truly meant very little to me from the perspective of mind and thought, alone, though the encounter had left an impression on me. But coming to Korea, finding he was a public figure, and crossing paths with him again, even if he was unaware, was equivalent to a note from the Mother. 'Pay attention.' It said, 'This is important. This man is part of your path.'

I repressed a sigh and let the faint sense of irritation pass over and through me, grounding it deeply into the earth. I did not need the distraction of another human in my life. Not with everything that was going on. History, as we knew it, was building up to an intense explosion of chaos and turmoil. The recent events we were now engaged in were just one part of this weave. We all knew that the earth was dying in this cycle, and the great, destructive wave of humanity that pushed history forward was a part of the cycle. Being deeply in touch with the energies of the earth, the moon and all energies inside our galaxy, and even the whisperings beyond, we felt every ache and pain as humans overcrowded the planet and abused her on a constant basis. With the great love I felt for humans, there was also great anger. But I also knew it was part of the cycles of the Earth. I knew she would experience rebirth and other deaths, just as she was experiencing the end of one cycle now with her eventual death, to begin again as a new Earth.

The last time I had entangled deeply with a human, it had taken me decades to heal from it. The human had been a beautiful, achingly, gentle woman and had drawn me in from the moment I saw her.

I had been immediately drawn to Kim Namjoon in similar ways to this woman in my past, but my experience of humans taught me to be cautious, and so I had ignored the initial prick of energy that told me I should take more notice. Because of this, I did not consider him and his group much beyond my safety and amusement at his response to me.

I stood up from the couch, and finished off my water, then stepped outside onto the back porch. I leaned against the railing and closed my eyes, remembering my last enmeshed encounter with a human. The human. The one who had left me in turmoil for so long. Angelica.

~~~

Angelica had been a child when she was sent from her home to be wed. She was barely fifteen and her husband, Pierre Blois, chevalier de Laumoy, was a knight of France, specifically of French territories. She was born in England, but came with her family to France during the middle of the Hundred Years War, as territories changed hands many times throughout the war. The time period was volatile, and we were often involved in human conflicts in order to gather information and limit the effects of human history upon our own people. Angelica had been part of one of several minor marriage agreements during a brief period of peace during this time. She was a younger daughter and though the connection wasn't considered vastly important, as she was the daughter of a minor noble house, it was still considered politically expedient to marry her to a Knighted household to help cement the peace. However, the cement was weak and did not last.

After we had met, she had told me that she knew I was not human almost right away. She grew up hearing stories from her nurse about the 'fair folk', as they called us back then, and was often taken by the idea of us. I had supposed that this is what fascinated her about me, some of those same sentiments being clear in her mind.

The first time I saw her was in a market place. She was with her servant, who carried a basket, trailing behind her, as she shopped. She looked somewhat haunted, which had arrested my attention, and when we caught each others' eyes, we both stared for several seconds. I was dressed as a traveling peasant to minimize attention, but she noticed me, and we continued to gaze at each other until her maid servant said something to her. She looked away at that moment, and we moved with the crowd in opposite directions. I did not know, then, that I would meet her again.

A week later, I was passing through a narrow alley between two houses and heard quiet weeping. The strength of the emotion as it moved over me drew me to the gate, and I looked through a hole in the gate into the courtyard of the home and saw Angelica sitting on a bench outside of the kitchen of the house. I could barely see the outline of a bruise against her cheek, from the angle I watched her, and grew concerned. I only hesitated a moment, knowing her husband wasn't home, before I knocked on the gate and waited.

Being the dutiful woman that she was, Angelica, rather than a servant, came to the gate and opened it to me, her face showing surprise at my appearance, as she clearly remembered me. The bruise on her face glanced along her eye, traveled along her cheek bone, and buried itself against the softness of her cheek, as the colors appeared to fade into her jaw line. She saw that I saw and lowered her head, appearing ashamed. I spoke gently into the space between us, "Fair madame, do you have bread and milk for a traveler?" I asked, seeking entry and a chance to stay near her.

Her response was swift, as she looked at me again, and opened the gate to me, "Of course. The fair ones are always welcome in my home." I was surprised by her words, and yet not. I could sense an openness and beauty about her that was not culled by the brutality she had apparently experienced, and I could sense her thoughts, which were wide open and loud. I stepped after her into the courtyard and followed her as she went through the door of her kitchen.

I stopped at the door, out of courtesy, looking around the tidy courtyard before looking back through the door at her, as she brought a mug of milk and a chunk of bread, offering it to me. I took it with thanks and ate it slowly, maintaining the illusion that I wanted only milk and bread from her. As if speaking to a nervous mare to calm it, I softly asked her name and when she gave it to me, I smiled.

Angelica fit her well. She was very like an angel, in a sense, with soft blond curls and a heart shaped face, but it was her disposition that spoke more to her beauty than the outward appearance of her features. Angels being so closely related to the truth of what we were, I could see similar qualities in her. I even wondered if somewhere in her family line, one of my own people had made a place for themselves.

I finished off the offering of milk and bread and handed her the cup, asking, "May I tarry here for a bit?"

She hesitated, fear moving across her features, "Yes. But you must leave before my husband returns. He would not be gracious to your kind." She responded.

I moved to touch her cheek slowly, but softly, careful not to cause any pain, "And he did this?"

Her answer was silence, but her suddenly withered posture and her thoughts told me everything I needed to know. The memory still made me cringe. I had responded by simply assuaging her fears, anger, mingled with compassion, as it seethed inside my heart, "I will be gone before he is back. Do not fear." I hesitated at the edge of my breath. I had wanted to add an offer to take her away from this place of turmoil, where she would be safe, but instead I said, "I may take some of the pain of your wound, if you will let me." When she looked at me with wide deep gray eyes and slowly nodded, I smiled softly and cupped the side of her face, sending Light into her wound, taking the pain and healing some of the bruising. I did not take it all, because I sensed her husband might notice and attack her again. I left that day promising to return and did again many times over the course of several years. She had left a mark on my heart, for I had begun to love her even then, and I knew I would never forget her.

Eventually, I had offered to take her away from her husband; to bring her to a sheltered place, but she claimed to be a devout and chaste wife, and though she did not love her husband, she was bound to him for life. Our relationship was intimate, though never sexual. I would have relished the deeper intimacy, such things not being limited to one sex or gender in the eyes of my people, but because of her vows she would not betray her husband, even if he had betrayed her in many ways.

I had followed Pierre Blois more than a few times in order to gain a better understanding, first hand, of what Angelica faced and had become well versed in his brutality. He was a typical man of his time, completely unconscious and allowed to act in whatever way he saw fit within his class as a knight. The peasants under him avoided him when they could, served him when they had to, and fell under his vitriol when drink or pure spite caused him to lash out. I was more than acquainted with his energy, it having long left a shiver that had settled into my gut, and I knew him well enough to know how hard Angelica's life with him was. I had even sent Light into the paths to change his course more than once and had tried to ease hers as well. I had loitered, leaving when needed, but returning when I could.

This cycle of effort to protect the woman, running interference when I could, shifting the paths, if needed, and attempting to find a better place for her continued on for a good five years when at the age of twenty-three, she had died from the effects of childbirth brought on by a devastating beating at Pierre's hand.

I knew that the memory was coming to me for a reason. I knew that there were elements of the experience I had yet to let go, even after all this time, and I knew that, for whatever reasons, though the situation was different now, it was part of whatever it was that the Mother had brought back into my path. I would not be remembering these events so far in the distant past, if not. Everything was linked. I knew this. And past, present and future were intricately entwined. Neither existed without the other, and each moment built on each other, whether the moment was in the past, building to the present and future, or whether the future had slipped into the present and past to change the appearance of linear time.

After learning of Angelica's death, and the death of her child, I had killed him in the aftermath of a skirmish between the French and English. I came upon him as he lay dying, and I told myself that my part in his death was more a mercy killing than revenge. I knew he would die, whether it was slowly from his wounds, or quickly, by my hand.

As I took his life, I informed him, "I know that your blood will be on my hands. This is retribution for her life. May you do better next time." I had slit his throat to end his life, and had felt nothing but grief, with faint remorse, as I watched the life slip from him.

The revenge killing had been a waste of time and effort and it was hollow. It did not take away my grief. I had prayed over him in my native language, in whispers, asking the Mother to forgive me for my part in his death, but asking for guidance for both his soul and mine.

I had returned to my people for a time, healing what I could of the wound left with Angelica's death, and my part in Pierre's, and eventually returned to what I was best at, gathering intel among the humans. And now, here, centuries later, the Mother was bringing another human into my life.

The circumstances were similar and yet not. There was a thread between us that I could see as I examined the energies and my thoughts, just as there had been a thread between Angelica and I. Even then I knew that this thread extended beyond her to connect me to Pierre, as it had to her. There was also a sense, that I did not want to hold on to, that more could potentially unfold with Kim Namjoon, in the same way it had with Angelica, though what that would look like, I did not know.

That Namjoon was a man, instead of a woman mattered little. Getting close to him would not be easy because it was clear he was well known, from the little I already knew of him. If he was supposed to become part of my life in a similar fashion, I could not simply knock on his courtyard gate.

The desire to understand why I was being drawn to him was growing in me and as I considered this, I took a deep, steadying breath, and moved away from the railing. I decided to look him up. Another benefit of these modern times: the Internet existed, as it had not hundreds of years ago, and like many human technologies, I was well versed in it.

Once in my room, I pulled my laptop out and began searching for information on Kim Namjoon. I was not that surprised by the endless links available with information about him, his band, their music, who they collaborated with, who they were rumored to be dating, their family and friends, and everything else, including shoe sizes and speaking patterns.

Much of the information came from fans, media outlets and occasionally the random article written by people that I assumed were not fans, given the tone and content of their writing. I began to sift through the information, reading through everything, including the not so flattering content. I watched videos and decided that he and his band mates were endearing and often amusing. I watched the energy around the movements in the videos, as well, and knew that though some of what I watched was staged, Namjoon and his band mates were mostly genuine. There were seven of them, and they lived together in a dorm, at least part time, from what I could gather. They were truly gifted, too, being dancers, singers, and rappers.

Hours later, I leaned back in my chair, stretching and lowered the laptop lid. On the stair I heard Dana purposely making noise as he climbed, I assumed, to speak with me. The night had worn on to early morning and the birds were beginning to sing, as the sun tinged the dark of night with the soft light at the edge of its aura.

I turned expectantly as Dana stood in the doorway of my room and gazed at me thoughtfully, speaking, "We make our move three days from now." He explained and crossed to sit on the bed across from where I stood. I joined him on the bed, turning my body to him, as we conversed within our minds. He shared the images of what he was able to see in the paths and the weave of the choices we would make, that would allow our scheme to move forward.

As I took in the information, we began to speak in a combination of mental and verbal communication, unconsciously shifting back and forth from our native language to Korean and back again, with the occasional English word thrown in. We continued to strategize, as we moved from my room down to the kitchen, gathering maps and whatever we needed to further the plan, spreading the items out along the table surface. With this, we maneuvered around the images in the weave and began to fuse them into something that would bring success.

(Omgs... I didn't realize this chapter was so long! However, I'm not changing it now. I hope you don't mind!)