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[Xana]

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Was it really coincidence to keep running into her sister's husband? The gypsy Xana laid across the futon at the Miyabi inn. Somewhere the hypnotic melody of a flute was playing, drifting across the warm air and pleasing those who would appreciate its lyrical tones. This was what, the third, maybe fourth, time she'd looked up or turned around or rounded a corner only to be faced with this man.

Every time they met, he demanded that Xana extend an olive branch to her sister. He would pepper her with guilt over having not met her nephew Shalcross. And in fact sometimes it felt like somehow Merrique mocked him through his words, as strange as it sounded. Why in the world would she want to try to make peace when she'd done nothing wrong? In fact, she pondered, how many times through the years had she mourned the loss of the sibling she'd never known? Hundreds? Thousands?

Eyes glazed over from the effects of the most recent vial's contents, Xana shifted her gaze to the soft light of the little oil lamp by the futon. This corner room on the eastern side of the second story was cozy. The flowers in the vase so beautiful in their simplicity. How pleasing life seemed to these islanders. Perhaps here she too could find a little peace if she truly opened herself to the idea.

Realizing she had a powerful thirst, Xana rose and dressed more properly than she'd been and quietly headed toward the stairs. It seemed she was the only mainlander in the area, and for a fleeting moment felt more of an alienation than she'd ever known, and it was a feeling she had grown accustomed to through the years.

She hurried downstairs to get her water so she could get back to her room for the next vial.
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An artist is a creature driven by demons ~Faulkner