The book closed, wafting the smell of smoke from the leather's memory, and forcing a recollection Neviah couldn't supress. Her eyes closed sorrowfully, blazes and screams revived to haunt her once again. No, the fire that night had not been the first time Neviah saved Micheal's life, nor was it the last, but it had been the first time she did so at the sacrifice of someone else. A decision, of course, forced down by the hands of her sisters, Jimena demanding respect to balance that Neviah was helpless to deny her. Even though she wanted to, the youngest weaver could not have saved them. In all her lack of foresight, Jimena was true to one ideal that Neviah admired her for, the necessity of balance. She had been right in her demand, though it had broke Neviah's heart. It had been hot, ashes singing her eyes, but she did not let his entire history die in that house, and pulled the journal from the flames as the paramedics ushered Micheal into the back of an ambulance. With a kiss upon his forehead, she left it beneath his pillow.<br/><br/>Jimena had forced her hand yet again, the middle sister, growing impatient, and last time, Neviah had almost been too late. She had been lucky Father Matthew was there to receive her. The use of the priest had been her only choice as she watched the cross come unhinged in her mind's eye. They spoke briefly, somewhere between the minds, and a man of higher calling, he made sense of her the only way he knew how, and had all but offered his life in exchange for Micheal's. Why? Because Father Matthews had loved him, just as a father should. She knew the accident weighed on him. It weighed on her too. There was no pain quite like the thought of losing a child. Micheal's real parents hadn't known that pain, but the priest had. She had seen it in his eyes as the first corner popped. She felt it in his heart as he made the choice without a second thought.<br/><br/>Life, fate, predicpredictable in its unpredictability when knowing only the broken knew how to heal.<br/><br/>She was noticeable to most, comfortable in skin worn long enough for Neviah to consider her own. Timeless in her ageless illusion, Fate was undeniably eye catching, but despite the heads she turned, she was here for only one reason, and he claimed all of her attention. Dark locks, rich and lustrous, framed her face, wisping against a slender jaw and fair complexion as the wind danced within their ends. Cheeks, blushed by the sun, adorned a supple glow, and insisted her sapphire eyes to be all the more vibrant as they lifted to Micheal's approach. She had expected him to see her. She had all but willed it.<br/><br/>Time paused, Neviah's concept of it anyway, and a warm grin inched over her lips as Micheal's hand reached out towards her. She met his stare, and although the hue remained unchanged, years and experience had increased the depths and Neviah felt the pang of guilt. Was she a hypocrite? The pain he had endured shaped him, given by her hand, and yet she scolded her sisters for hasty decisions and detached choices. Wasn't she, in a sense, just as guilty as they were in her claim of righteousness? The innocence of a child had faded, stormy waters of his existence taking its place, but even in their steely appearance Neviah could have swam in the depths of his eyes for eternity no matter the turbulence beneath their surface.<br/><br/>She would have happily drowned in them.<br/><br/>"Hello, Micheal." His name left her tongue with a tender sense of familiarity, just enough to suggest maybe she had said the simple greeting a thousand times before, which she had, though never face to face in his lucidity. Her soft hand extended to his greeting, slipping gingerly into his larger one as she tucked the unruly strands that tickled her face behind her ear. "It's kind for you to offer, Father," she replied, sights and touch still holding his, "but I was merely people watching."<br/><br/>Releasing his hand, Neviah withdrew, coiling her fingers around the glass of water that sat in front of her. She watched the sun glint against the ice and wondered if he recognized her. Had he ever really seen her? Her gaze lifted and a sheepish grin implored him. "But you're more than welcome to join me, if you'd like. My name is Neviah." There was so much she could say, so much that needed to be said, but Fate remained still and steady in her composer. Rushing him was too risky, too much too quickly could send Micheal scattering like a flock of frightened birds. What destiny had in store for him was delicate, fragile, easily splintered, and he'd need to be handled with care. With Neviah close by, she had a fighting chance at protecting him, and whether he suspected he had seen her before or not, she had decided to dedicated herself to being present. Time was wearing thin, she had to be sure the burdens she had given him had not been done in vain.