Slowly but surely Iryla was growing used to staying by Cyran’s side. Though she doubted she’d ever feel completely comfortable in these fine clothes and fine rooms, she felt at least as if she could trust Cyran to not stab her in the back at a moment’s notice. The clean, warm place to sleep and multiple meals a day certainly did not hurt.

She found that he was far more competent than her first impression made her believe. Though he was clearly unused to the ways of Darkveil’s streets and the Ash Lands in general, once acclimated to the environment, it was like he hardly needed her help at all. But she wouldn’t be the one to point out how little he really needed her. Besides, even if she did tell him, she had a feeling he wouldn’t turn her out right away. He seemed to have an odd fixation on making sure she was clothed and fed. On top of that, he also seemed keen on the idea of teaching her.

It had been many, many years since Iryla had ever sat in a lesson. But she could confidently say that the kinds of things Cyran could teach her were far more interesting than learning the names of shapes and colors like she had as a child.
Today’s lesson was one in observation, already a skill she was well acquainted with. But Cyran had a knack for pointing out details Iryla might have otherwise missed or simply not understood. For example, the man at the bar currently. A finely dressed gentleman who was clearly from some foreign place. At first glance, Iryla would have been able to tell easily that he had money and was not from around here, but not much else.

Cyran’s guidance allows her to observe more. The style of his clothes and the embroidery on the cuffs is indicative of the styles currently popular in Capitol Landing, a place she had never been and would never have recognized on her own. Before she would have been eyeing him for any obvious or easily caught valuables on his person. Now, she’s able to listen for the information he’s so easily giving away as he chats a bit more than amicably with a waitress.

Tonight. A party. He thought the waitress would look lovely there but was clearly just trying to flatter her. Why would someone from the Capitol be attending a Darkveil party? He was trying to impress her, claiming to be a ‘Lord’ of some kind. But was that true?

With a small smile she slips from her chair and leaves a coin on the table. She slips unnoticed up the stairs. With that same smile she quickly lets herself into the room she’s shared with Cyran, delighted to see that he is still here.

“Cyran,” She calls, keeping her voice soft. “There’s a weirdo at the bar downstairs.”

With Iryla’s assistance, Cyran was slowly but surely learning the ins and outs of Darkveil’s streets. As he suspected, an urchin offered unique insights about the streets- the dark corners to avoid, the shops where the owners held no love or generosity for the kids of the streets, and therefore kept their cans of food waste laced with rat poison. All of this information Cyran tucked away in his notebook, leaving out Iryla’s… colorful language in his own recounting of the information.

In turn, Cyran imparted his own knowledge for Iryla whenever he could- he may not have grown up on the streets, but centuries of experience had helped him collect an odd assortment of information, especially what might be useful for a thief to know. He gave her lessons on current fashions of the wealthy capitols, how to spot the most unsuspecting marks- anything that might give her an edge on the streets. Time drew on, and Cyran tried to push aside the grim thought that their acquaintance would eventually draw to an end, as he doubted Iryla would want to stay with him longer than their agreed upon deal.

He chose to be happy that Iryla was growing more confident the longer he got to know her. He got to see more of her real personality, rough around the edges from having to raise herself, but it was that quality that had helped her survive for so long in a place like Darkveil. She seemed to enjoy his lessons too, a fact that still brought a smile to his face as he sat alone in his room, scribbling in his notebook, working on the logistics of a current pet project. Iryla was currently in the middle of her current lesson, people watching. A skill some might have thought a waste of time, but he hoped Iryla would find value in learning how to pick up details about others, to avoid accidentally crossing the wrong person. If someone other than Cyran had been in the market that day…

His musings were interrupted by the subject of his thoughts, a small smile on her face. Cyran closed his book and listened as she announced that there was a… weirdo in the bar downstairs.

“Hm. There are a lot of those around here.” Cyran said, only slightly joking as he stood up. If Iryla had come to grab him, that meant she had deemed them of interest. This would require further investigation. “Let’s go check it out, why don’t we?”

Iryla led him back to the tavern. As the two peeked around the corner, she subtly gestured towards the well-dressed man at the bar that had caught her attention- as it turned out, she hadn’t needed to, because Cyran recognized him almost instantly, only because he’d seen this particular face in the crowd of the Marrowvine’s Ball quite recently.

Lorivan Eldaran, a half-sun elf son of a count in Sol City. He had a bright expression on his face as he chatted away with the lady at the bar, though Cyran couldn’t make out his words from here.

“What’s a noble from Sol City doing here?” Cyran murmured to himself, still loud enough that Iryla would be able to hear his concerns. There were only a few reasons he could think of someone from Capitol Landing coming to the Ash Lands, and none of them bode well. He turned to Iryla, a smile on his face. “That’s an incredible find, Iryla! Did you manage to learn anything else about him?”

If she had, she might have stumbled upon a chance to find some blackmail information on the man that could come in handy.

Cyran’s reaction to her little discovery, though she would never admit to it, but a bit of a giddy pep into Iryla’s step.

“That’s an incredible find, Iryla!”

She has to fight herself to keep a cool and collected expression on her face, instead of a silly grin. Though perhaps a bit of subtle preening wouldn’t be too bad… She had done a good job, alright? She could feel a bit proud of that, and the fact that Cyran praised her…

“He tried to brag to her that he was a Lord in some far off city, and told her he’s going to a party tonight on the west side of town. Beli family lands.” She murmurs back, trying to keep her words just to Cyran and herself. “Though why a Lord from somewhere else would be going to a party in this city, I can only guess at.”

The noble seemed to be a bit… dim. But not quite so much that he’d go blabbering about all of his business out in public where there were many eyes and ears like hers. The Beli family weren’t the most powerful of the crime families in the city, but they were gaining foothold quickly and likely had their fingers in all manner of underhanded business. Rumor had it they had their eyes on the Ashen Fathers themselves. Though there were few families in Darkveil that didn’t dream of one day snatching that kind of power and prestige for themselves.

So why would a noble-born man be partying on their turf? And who would he be partying with, exactly?

“We might be able to follow him, find out where he’s going and who he’s partying with. He doesn’t exactly seem to be the subtle or discreet type.”

“A party hosted by the Beli Family?” Cyran hummed, deep in thought. Iryla had told him a bit about them- they weren’t especially influential, but they had the means to go far if they could manage to make connections with the right people. “It’s likely he simply wants to flaunt his wealth and status, though he’s picked quite the place to act a fool.” The question was whether he meant to back the Beli family or not… but what could someone like him want in return?

Cyran only knew a little about the sun elves in Sol City- the ruling class in Capitol Landing preferred to stick to their gilded towers and bask in the light of day while condemning others they believed to be lesser. It was rare to see any of them leave their cushy lives, and even rarer to see them openly engaging in anything underhanded. His initial reaction to Iryla’s suggestion was to deny it- he didn’t care for politics, and the lives of nobles were no concern of his- but then he remembered the Marrowvine’s Ball, and the brief discussion he had with Zarius in his hotel room a few weeks ago.

He may not like politics, but he could not afford to keep his head buried in the sand if he wanted to live here. Besides, this proved a unique opportunity to get blackmail information on a key figure in Sol City, and maybe even learn about the secrets of the Beli family.

“He does seem a flamboyant moron…” And he’d be easy to fool, at boot. Cyran wasn’t versed in lying, but he had promised Iryla that he would help teach her about espionage and hone her stealth in a way that involved more than just fast hands and picking pockets. This would provide the perfect chance for him to do so.

… That was, if she didn’t object to wearing a dress.

“We’d have to blend into the Beli family’s party- it would involve acting like high society. But between the two of us, we could figure out what he’s doing here. Would you like to try your hand at undercover work?” He asked with a slightly sly smile on his face, as if he were asking if she were interested in playing a game rather than breaking into the home of a stuffy, cunning nobleman and stalking their guests.

Iryla twitched a bit at the suggestion that they infiltrate the party, but she did not outright reject the idea. In fact, she seemed a bit surprised that he wanted her to go, if the flash of confusion in her eyes meant anything. Spying on riff-raff in bars was one thing, Iryla herself could blend in easily with less than savory crowds and was likely to be overlooked due to her age and stature. But he wanted her to go to some estate with him and play spies?

Could she really do it?

Iryla wasn’t sure. She’d never directly mingled with the rich and powerful- Zarius didn’t count- and she wasn’t sure she would know how to interact with them in a believable way.

But Cyran was smiling at her. And he made it sound fun.

Did she really want to let him down?

“Well… If they’re all like that guy over there, how difficult could it be?” She replied with as much confidence as she could muster. It would be fine. So far, Cyran had done nothing but keep all of his promises to her. If he continued that trend, then maybe, just maybe, she really could trust him. The idea of a noble’s party may be intimidating, but it didn’t make any sense for him to go through all the trouble of bringing her there just to put her in a bad situation and abandon her.

Besides, even if he did, she was pretty good at getting out of tough situations.

He could sense Iryla’s apprehension about the idea as she mulled it around in her mind. It was clearly something she was unused to- this would be entering a swarm of a different kind of shark. They wouldn’t be exactly like Zarius, who, for all his cunning ambition and snarky attitude, handled himself in a different manner than the wealthy elite Cyran was accustomed to.

He let out a laugh when Iryla asserted that she’d be fine so long as they were as foolish as Lorivan. “No, not all of them… but most.” At least, they were in his experience. Shortsighted and stuck in their ways, yes, but they could be cunning. Especially those here in Darkveil. “I wouldn’t make the suggestion if I didn’t think you could handle it. You’ve got a sharp mind.” And a stubborn streak that had no doubt ensured her survival while she was on her own. If she could survive that, Cyran had no doubt she would manage just fine in a party.

“But we should finish this discussion in the room, yes?” He cast a glance back at the bar, where the lord was still talking about his plans where anyone would listen. “I doubt our friend will be going anywhere while we prepare.” He ushered her back towards the room, speaking in a hushed tone as they moved. “Now, acting as Darkveil natives wouldn’t be possible. It would bring up too many questions. But foreign dignitaries from Moonglade, on the other hand…”

He trailed off as he opened the door to their shared room, letting Iryla inside before stepping in himself. An Eclipse City noble was a role he had not stepped into in a long time, not since he had been cast aside and told never to return. The event had been horrible, yes, but freeing, in a way. He no longer had to wear that mask. It seemed he would be dusting it off for the evening, though.

In his silence, he realized Iryla was still waiting for him to finish his thought. Quickly composing himself, Cyran continued, “Well, we can pose as Moonglade nobles. I’m familiar with their customs, so we should have no trouble playing the part. I’ll tell you all about how to behave and help you get dressed.” Her hair was a little too short to affix in the traditional ceremonial braids, but he could make do. And his own outfit would need an upgrade, as well…

He gestured for Iryla to sit in his bed as he started bustling around the room, getting his things together.

“I wouldn’t make the suggestion if I didn’t think you could handle it. You’ve got a sharp mind.”

Iryla’s cheeks warmed at the praise. She quickly nodded when he mentioned going back to the room to continue their discussion. But all the while as they were walking she just kept thinking about it. It was silly and childish to care so much about what someone else said about her, yet she couldn’t help but feel the words warm her heart a bit. She was so used to hearing derision thrown her way, maybe she just wasn’t used to the opposite being said of her. Surely that was it.

“I don’t know anything about Moonglade.” She pointed out, though she wasn’t completely turning down the idea. “I know that I’m… probably a moon-elf, but will that be enough to pass for a noble? What if someone asks me about… I don’t know, the weather there, or places I’ve been.” Acting as a noble would be another can of worms entirely, but she was usually pretty quick on the uptake. She could maybe fake it until she made it in a situation like that, but she wouldn’t be able to make up knowledge about a place she’d never even seen before.

“Would it not be better if I disguised myself as… I don’t know, a maid or something?” That would be easy enough to pull off, if a bit humiliating to have to take orders from some stuck up nobles. But she could deal with that level of humiliation and let it roll off her back. “Someone unimportant and forgettable. I could pretend to be your maid even, if you’re going to be going as a noble.”

She wouldn’t ask why he knew what Moonglade nobles were like. That was none of her business.

“That’s what I’m here for.” Cyran explained upon hearing her suggestion that she dress as a maid so she wouldn’t blow their cover with her lack of knowledge. “I’ll tell you what you need to know to play the part.” Of course, if she really was uncomfortable, she could pose as a maid, but Cyran had seen what could happen to maids at parties- the insults, the mistreatment… he didn’t want to subject her to that. A servant might hear things a regular noble couldn’t; but it would mean dealing with their abuse and scorn as well.

It saddened him somewhat that she didn’t even seem to know her own lineage. It made sense, especially if she’d never actually met her parents before. He did not want to upset her by asking about her situation, but it was obvious she possessed moon elf features, and it would provide the easiest cover for her in the future. “I’m not suggesting you connect with your culture or anything so foolishly sentimental. But knowing how to act like a noble- blend in with them- is a survival skill that may come in handy one day.”

And another smaller, more selfish part of him did not want to attend a party as a noble alone. It would bring back too many bad memories, of another life that he’d tried to distance himself from. Having Iryla at his side would make the act more bearable. He would never voice these thoughts, though, so he attempted to rationalize them, present them in a logical manner.

“Er, if you’d really prefer to pose as a servant, I could help you with that too, of course. I am adequately informed in both areas.” The latter could be arranged, if that was what she so desired. This was meant to be a learning opportunity, not torture for her.

Iryla listened quietly and thought over Cyran’s words as he tried to convince her to play the part of a noble by his side. Connecting to her culture…? It wasn’t something she had ever really thought about, truth be told. Her status as an elf, or at least half of one, was something she had been aware of in a vague sense her entire life.

She knew she didn’t quite look like the other people of the slums or the children she grew up around in the orphanage of her youth. She knew, in some strange and distant way, that there the elves were long lived people who surely had their own grand culture, their own stories, their own language, their own lives.

But Iryla had never been a part of that. Her blood may have been elven, but she had never been given the chance to be one of them or know anything about them. Even now, she couldn’t really think of herself as an elf, instead picturing them as something different from herself entirely.

She was just.. Iryla. Lost, abandoned Iryla. Not an elf. Never a daughter. Just.. Iryla.

…But did that mean she didn’t want to try learning more…?

She supposed she should take it one step at a time. First.. Posing as a noble. Learning from Cyran how to blend in with that crowd. He was right, it could be useful, even if it was intimidating to her…

“Alright, if you really think I can do it.” She murmured, looking down at her hands with a complicated expression. “But if at any point when you’re trying to teach me how to act, if you think I’ll screw it up.. Then tell me.”

“I have complete faith that you can do it.” Cyran said, a confident smile on his face as Iryla offered her hesitant agreement at the plan. “I’m not worried about you forgetting anything, and even if you do, the chances of us running into any real dignitaries from Eclipse City are slim.” There would be hardly anyone to contradict either of them.

With Iryla’s permission, Cyran didn’t waste any time starting a different kind of lesson than Iryla was used to.

He started off small, with posture and expression.

“Most nobles I’ve met walk around like someone with a stick up their ass- pardon the language- and keep their noses perpetually turned up to make themselves appear taller than those around them, like so.”

He demonstrated everything for her so she could get a visual, and allowed her to practice when she needed to. When he finished with posture, he moved on to dress and speech. He tried to show her the proper ways to braid and style hair, the polite way to greet people and make small talk. He also made sure to teach her how to curtsy, and how to seat herself at a table- without ample time to go over everything, he would have to cherry pick the most important bare essentials for now. But it would be more than enough for Iryla to blend into a crowd.

By the time he finished, the sun had settled in the sky, painting his room a deep red from the window.

“Of course, you’re a teenager, so don’t worry about any minor slip-up. A little youthful rebellion is generally expected.” He added reassuringly. “And I’ll be there to cover for you if anything happens, of course. This is a team mission- I’ll be there to watch your back. So… any questions?.” She knew he might not quite trust him on that front, but he was not offended by that.

“Oh!” In his haste to impart everything he could to her in the given time they had, he’d forgotten one crucial detail. “And then there’s the matter of our cover…”

He trailed off, unsure what to say next. The easiest false identities to construct, given their looks, would be family members. But he would never force her to do that, even if it was only pretend, if she was uncomfortable. He swallowed, oddly anxious as he continued.

“The cover that would arouse the least suspicion for us would be familial… such as an uncle and a niece, cousins, or even father and daughter, but… if you don’t want to do that, I can think of something else. What would you prefer?”

Cyran’s faith in her did much to bolster his confidence, in the beginning at least. When they actually get into the whole learning about being a noble bit, Iryla’s confidence falters a bit. She tries her best to listen and mimic him, holding her chin up high, shoulders back. It was.. An odd feeling. She usually tried to make herself smaller, her shoulders hunched forward, face pointed to the ground even as her eyes were darting around looking everywhere. Trying to do the opposite…

It just felt strange. That was all.

Braiding her hair proves to be a bit of a challenge for her. Though it hung around her face and brushed her neck and shoulders, the cut of it was choppy. Honestly, she had done her best with the tools available to her to keep it out of her way, but it made it much harder to style now. By the time it’s arranged into something vaguely correct, her face is flushed and she can’t help but worry that she must look ridiculous like this. Really.. Trying to pose as a noble, her? This wouldn’t work.

But… Cyran wanted her to try, so she would.

It was a bit of a relief to know that even noble teenagers screwed up sometimes, and she hoped that would be enough to cover for any of her inevitable mistakes or gaps in manners.

“I guess.. Yeah, my only questions are… Who will I be..?”

She listens to the options he gives her and nods along, trying to think. It makes sense that a familial relationship would probably be the easiest explanation for her presence. But it still felt strange to think about pretending to be related to Cyran. She had… She had no family. Never had. She didn’t even know what it meant to be someone’s daughter, or someone’s niece, or cousin. She had none of it. The only experience she had with family was the scenes of familial life she had seen from afar.

“I… I don’t mind. It makes sense, that would be the easiest way to explain why I’d be with you, but… If we’re going to be family… I don’t… I mean I’ve never- I…” She cuts herself off and takes a breath, trying to gather her thoughts and feelings to explain what is welling up inside of her in a way that makes sense.

“...I do not know how family acts around each other either.”

By the time Iryla had been done up, she looked like a proper noble- even with her short hair, Cyran had managed to get it into a manageable style. “You look lovely.” He complimented, digging up for a personal mirror in his things to show her what she looked like.

“... I do not know how family acts around each other either.”

That single statement broke Cyran’s heart.

“I can try to show you.” Cyran’s voice was quiet, almost hesitant. He did not want to intrude on Iryla’s life, or presume anything about what she wanted, but he would willingly offer whatever Iryla was okay with- for a moment, though, it was obvious that he was talking about more than just their cover.

“I am not- that is-” He was not sure how to admit that he did not have much experience in the matter, either. His own family had been fractured before it could even fully form, his own parents more like strangers than blood. “What I mean to say is, we would learn together…?"

He stared down at the pocket mirror in his lap, gazing at his reflection. It was not the same man he’d been a decade ago, even though he was dressed up in the same stupid costume. Those times had been cold and uncaring, but he would not be alone this time.

He set the mirror back on the bed, face down, and turned back to Iryla.

“We could pose as father and daughter…” They had a surprisingly uncanny resemblance, and Cyran had the most experience in that area. It was the most logical choice to him. “It would be not much different than how we interact now, really. All we would have to do now is fake names.” Their backstories did not have to be long and complicated- their main focus would be to get in, maintain their cover long enough to obtain the information they needed, and get out.

“... Illias Mellora. That will be my fake identity.” He decided on after a moment of deliberation. “A wealthy heir from Eclipse City.” That was a role he could slip into. “All you have to do is pick a name. I’m serious- I know you can do this.”

“I can try to show you.”

She looked up at him, all soft and vulnerable eyes, though she didn’t know what kind of expression she was making in that moment.

“What I mean to say is, we would learn together…?"

That look in her eyes is still there as Iryla lowers her head away from her reflection in the mirror, before she could read too much into the look in her own eyes. Before she could read too much into this entire conversation.

She shouldn’t hope for too much, she told herself- Even if it sounded like Cyran was implying they could be more than just a cover- She really shouldn’t hope. Hoping had been a fool’s game for her, one she had played on and off her entire life. Back when she was a child with brighter eyes and softer hands who had looked at the other children growing around her, being taken in by families with open arms, and had hoped and hoped and hoped until she couldn’t shoulder the weight of it anymore.

Until she stopped being a child and had been turned out onto the streets, far too large and too jagged to care for anymore. Not for free at least. Hope was a game she was destined to lose over and over again. The only way to win it now was to simply stop playing.

She really should stop playing…

“We could pose as father and daughter…”

Closing her eyes, she nods, before looking back up at Cyran again. Her gaze is steady, though her hands are not as she holds them behind her back. Fingers twitching and rubbing against each other in a small form of comfort. Her thoughts feel distant and fuzzy around the edges, like motes of dust hovering in the air in the blinding sun, just out of reach of her fingertips.

She doesn’t know what she says next until she’s already said it.

“Morwen. I’ll be… Morwen Mellora.” She knows remember where she’s heard that name before, or how she remembered it now. Maybe it was some half-forgotten story she’d heard once, or a passing elf she had noticed on the streets of Darkveil. She used to notice all of them, once upon a time, wondering if any one of them might notice her back.

They never did until Cyran.

“Will.. Will that work…?”

She would not hope for more than she was given. She would not hope for things that were not hers. She would stop playing this losing game... She would... She would.

She'd try to.

At Cyran’s suggestion, Iryla’s expression shifted into something more soft and vulnerable, if only for a moment.

Cyran was an assassin, a hunter who had learned to pick apart the minute expressions and body language of others for his own survival. He was adept at reading body language, when people were lying, the emotions they wore plain on their sleeve. Objectively, he recognized that his offer had sparked cautious hope, but his own doubts lingered in the back of his mind, unable to bring himself to trust what he was seeing.

But Iryla hadn’t rebuffed him when he suggested posing as her father like he’d expected, or recoiled at the suggestion that they could learn together. She seemed anxious, but when she opened her mouth and distantly offered a name.

Morwen. A moon elf name, meaning a melody from the abyss. It was a moniker given to a child meant to carry on the hopes of an unfortunate legacy, a beautiful name and a heavy burden to bear all in one. It was a curious choice, especially given Cyran’s own familiarity with the name. It brought to mind a face he had not seen in a long time, in another life, before his name had been stripped from him…

“It’s perfect.” Cyran said, a smile growing on his lips as he praised her, pushing those memories aside. The ghosts of the past did not need to intrude upon this conversation, with someone who deserved his full time and attention. “And a traditional moon elf name, at that. Is it one you’ve heard around here in Darkveil, or just picked at random?” His tone was curious, perhaps a bit strained for a moment, as if in recognition.

He could not help but wonder if her offering of a name meant anything more than just for the sake of pretend. Surely that wasn’t the case- Cyran was a murderer, and she knew what he was. If Iryla tolerated that fact, she surely would not want to be a family member to one. And yet, while she knew nothing about family, she seemed just as hopeful as he did that they could build something from their fractured experiences, find out what it meant together-

At the party.

The party… the disguise would come first, and then they would see where that took them later. First as Illias and Morwen, and then as Cyran and Iryla, if that was what she wanted.

Cyran turned back to Iryla, giving her a small, hesitant smile.

“Father and daughter, then.”

Once again, it was clear he was not just talking about the game.

The praise makes Iryla look up, but it doesn’t chase the shadows from her eyes. The doubt, the fear, the longing buried underneath it all. Childhood dreams she had tried to forget crawling back up to the surface once again, their fingers poking up through the dirt like flower buds.

She would bury them again before they got to this party. She had to, if she wanted to keep her composure while pretending to be someone she very much wasn’t. Pretending to be a noble would be a goliath task all on it’s own. But she did not know how to grapple pretending to be someone’s daughter.

She had overcome challenges before though, had survived adversity in spite of it all. She would never be a flower of a noble, not really, but she had survived the ashen streets of Darkveil like a weed reaching up through the cracks. Maybe, just maybe, someone would mistake her gangly leaves and rotten stem for a flower yet to bloom. Just for tonight.

But her mind is a trap she’s let herself linger in too long already, so she forces herself to focus on the present moment once again. Cyran is asking her where she had gotten this name, and though she opens her mouth, at first Iryla cannot answer him.

“I- I don’t know.” She admits truthfully. “I don’t know where I’ve heard that name before… I don’t think I made it up.” She shifts her arms, holding one straight at her side while the other wraps around her front to clutch at the opposite elbow. “I must have heard it from some passing elf, then, if it’s a real name. But I don’t remember when…”

At least she had managed to come up with something believable, then, and hadn’t just named herself something nonsensical for the night. She finishes her thought with a shrug, not bothering to think too deeply on where the name might have come from for the moment. Though Cyran’s reaction to it seemed... Strange.

Questions for later. These could all be questions for later. Things she could puzzle out to herself when she was alone once again. She would be alone again, at some point, wouldn’t she? Of course she would.

All of this was just a game, an elaborate one, but a game. Like playing pretend, or dreaming of a dream… Eventually the clock would strike midnight on their little ruse, and Morwen would disappear along with her father. She would not get so attached, she couldn't let herself. 

It is hard not to feel the softness of petals when Cyran murmurs ‘Father and Daughter’ to her, though.