⚠️⚠️Content warning: mention of postpartum psychosis 

**

Marlo stared up at the slanted wooden support beams, "Twenty-three sheep... twenty-four sheep," she counted out loud as she tried to invoke drowsiness. However, as she counted "twenty-nine sheep... thirty sheep," she was certain of one thing. Whoever had the brilliant idea of counting sheep as a method to fall asleep was a sadist. The roof slipped from her gaze revealing a dazzling blue sky, pristine swirls of cotton gleefully grazed in that dazzling blue sky. On the outskirts gathered wisps of grey, small, and stretched, notably unremarkable, and even more unwelcome by the tuffs of white cotton. "Forty-two sheep," the grey swirls slowly flocked, merging into a thickening dark cloud.

"Forty-three adorably stupid sheep," Marlo forced a disgruntled sigh in place of a yawn that wouldn't come. Her fingers stitched together and cradled her head within her palms. Despite the alertness of her body, her eyes glazed over in fantasy. "Forty-four sheep," her vocal cords muted as she mimed the words.

The perfect cotton sheep basked around the beaming sun, oblivious to the grey swirls that loomed over the horizon. Marlo immersed herself in this daydream, her lips slightly parted as she counted mentally "fifty-eight sheep." One little lamp broke free of the fluffy cotton gathering, wisping away on its own, hardly thick enough to craft a child's sized scarf and matching mittens. The cotton clouds didn't notice, or maybe they didn't care. It was Marlo's experience that the larger the crowd, the less went noticed.

Marlo's mind silenced as the little lamp stretched across the sky, unknowingly straying ever so close to the brooding thickness of swirling grey. An inviting shadow cast down on Marlo's imagination as the brood encroached the dazzling blue sky. The dark depths of her eyes illuminated in admiration towards the gathering grey sheep as they scuttled across the sky. There was no anger nor sorrow, Marlo could feel the sheer joy as they wandered towards the warmth emitted from the center of her imaginary sky.

The little wisp of a lamb sauntered further away from the cotton flock, by the time it noticed the brood it was too late. They rolled towards the lamp with caution, a shriek crackled through the sky, a warning that had been blissfully ignored. The brood halted, but only for a second as excitement rumbled within the grey flock. A boom filled the atmosphere as blips of joy enthralled the brood.

The little black sheep, often left out of the festivities, thought the little lamb had invited them to play.

The darkness of grey swirls stampeded through the sky; the wisp of a lamb swept up within the swirls releasing another shriek. Brilliant neon purple flashed from within the dark brood. Their hooves stamped down drumming in the air as an excited response. The stampede of grey thrashed through the sky, their newfound joy echoed through the atmosphere. The fluffy cotton sheep shrieked and scampered about in every direction. The flock stretched thin across the darkening sky. The joy of the festivities squandered.

The swirling grey slowed, the sheep with tuffs of grey and black, looked around mournfully. The warmth of the sun hidden from them; the wisps of their pristine cotton brethren dissipated. Sorrow overwhelmed the swirling grey; their joyful stamping became erratic as the tears began to flow.

Marlo closed her eyes; their tears became her own as they splashed down her icy cheeks.

"What a fool," she muttered as she turned her head to look at the wall. Her heart thrashed like a wild beast trapped behind iron bars. She would like to have a word with whoever came up with the idea of counting sheep, it was a useless method and only made her mind wander into the abyss of herself. It was a shame; Marlo could process the emotions of others better than her own, but she often felt trapped within the moments before a storm. The warmth from the sun was fleeting, but the embrace of somber excitement was a comfort. The emotions of others thundered through her nervous system, the static of her own neglected emotions clung to her skin and the fresh earthy taste of purification splashed over the tip of her tongue. On the better days, a rainbow would present itself before her but on the bad days the torrential rains would flood through her threatening to wash away the pieces of herself that somehow remained unscathed.

She whipped the blanket off her body and swung out of bed, counting sheep hadn't worked, nor would it. Truthfully speaking, she already knew she hadn't been tired but wanted to sleep for the sake of not having to endure being awake. She understood enough about human emotion to understand that the urge to sleep when not physically tired, and avoiding reality wasn't healthy. But then again, there wasn't much that was healthy about her lifestyle. She tip-toed across the floorboards and perched at the window.

"Please be gloomy," she muttered to herself as pinched open the curtain. Thankfully she hadn't held her breath as disappointment filled her. The sky was just as dazzling as it had been in her daydream, her little cotton sheep frolicked around the blazing sun without the dread of the swirling grey brood. Not a very inviting sight, not by Marlo's standards anyways, but maybe a walk would do her mind some good.

She drew the curtains closed blocking all the light out, Marlo turned and tiptoed to the bedroom door. None of the maids, except for Senica, visited the attic level. There wasn't a need for it, Marlo kept her space tidy, and Senica was the only one she was comfortable enough with to allow into her personal space. Her only personal space. It was late morning; the indoor staff should have already finished tidying up the second-floor bedrooms. This would make her grand-escape smoother. She slipped out of the bedroom not bothering to put on her shoes. The door clicked shut behind her. She walked down the short hallway to the descending flight of stairs. At the bottom of the stairs was a neatly painted white door, it was never locked but her mother had it painted with pink carnations to transform the door into an aesthetic piece.

Stationed at the foot of the stairs Marlo creaked open the door, first she glanced to the left down the hallway then to the right. A soft hum strolled over her skin as she opened herself up just enough to sense the base emotions of the household's inhabitants, most were calm but more importantly they were distant. As she expected the floor was empty. Rachel was probably already out with her friends, shopping and partaking in whatever hot gossip Regalia had to offer. Sam would be amending his plans for the day while her parents busied themselves with whatever important tasks, they saw fit. The corners of Marlo's lips quirked upwards like a mischievous cat; she slid through the door.

The plush carpet couldn't compare to the feeling of moss under her feet, and Marlo had half a mind to reprimand this carpet for having the audacity to pretend. There were two flights of stairs that led to the first floor. The main set, an extravagant and polished staircase that led right to the foyer. That option was far too risky, if someone caught her attempting to sneak out, she would have either been sent back to her room or given a babysitter. If only to protect Jeremey's finest asset.

The second set of stairs was hidden behind another white painted door with pink carnations, placed at the end of the hall away from the main bedrooms. This staircase was used by staff only, Jeremey had the outlandish idea that seeing the staff scurrying about as they did their daily chores was an eyesore. Any respectable guest shouldn't be subjected to such a sight. To think just ten years ago the man was a laborer that spent hours under the sun, exposed to all forms of weather. Greed was truly a chameleon. Marlo made her way for the staff stairs, the beast confined inside her ribcage had grown more anxious. She pulled the door open, took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. She didn't need to extend herself to know the stairs weren't being used. The enclosed space was silent, no chatter or footsteps to be heard. "Perfect," she whispered, bubbling anticipation filled her stomach.

Marlo skipped down the stairs, two at a time. It felt childish to be so excited about sneaking out of the house. Especially during broad daylight, but to Marlo this was about as normal teen behavior as she could get. Bursting through the door at the bottom of the stairs Marlo stumbled carelessly into the small hallway that led to the kitchen, servant quarters, and laundry room. Soft giggles could be heard from down the hall, envy pricked over Marlo's skin. If she never became a saint then maybe those giggles could have belonged to herself and Senica as they washed the questionable stains out of their employer's bedding together.

She tip-toed down the hall only coming to a stop when the mouth-watering aroma of savory herbs, cooked meat, and buttery dough filled her nostrils. Meat pie. Marlo's focus slammed into a wall as her body fell under a trance of deliciousness, a rumble rolled through her gut.

"Some one is hungry," a tall man emerged from the walk-in pantry. A broad smile plastered across his handsome face; deep thumb-print dimples fell on either side of his flour covered chin. Marlo always liked those dimples, they suited him. "Lunch will be ready soon," Jacob tossed a sack of potatoes on the counter top.

"I won't be here for lunch," Marlo leaned against the doorframe, her eyes glued to the trey of cooling meat filled pies. "What kind are they?"

"Chicken and gravy," Jacob silently counted five large russet potatoes, Jeremey was particular about his meals, another irony considering the slop they used to eat. He didn't like any veggies in his meat pies, so the potatoes and carrots were roasted together as a side dish. "Where yah off to?"

Marlo cocked her head innocently "Here and there..." Jacob eyed her, the half-skewed smirk let her know he wasn't about to buy anything she had to say. "I wanted to go for a walk before tending to my Saintly duties."

Jacob stepped away from the counter he had been skinning and dicing up the potatoes to grab a pie from the trey "here, you barely touched your breakfast. Can't sneak around on an empty stomach."

"I'm not sneaking around."

"No?" Jacob cocked one brow up and pulled his hand away from Marlo's reach "Then what are you doing in here?"

"I live here," Marlo quipped as she reached out for the pie dangling in front of her face.

Jacob expressed a mock surprise "Really? I always thought the attic was haunted."

"Give me the pie," Marlo demanded then lowered her gaze and pouted like a starved puppy "pleeease."

Jacob laughed at the display of begging before caving into her demands. He handed over the pie "Just make sure you stay safe."

Marlo greedily snatched the pie and quickly shoved it into her mouth to take as big of a bite as she could out of the palm-sized pie. "Well shit, Jacob," she spoke around the food, Margret would be disgusted, "there goes all my plans for the day." Jacob shook his head and huffed out a laugh as he reached out his hand and scuffled the hair on top of her head. Marlo's eyes widened as she ducked down "Senica is going to kick your butt if you ruin my hair!"

Jacob's heart fluttered at the mention of Senica's name, a wave of nausea crashed through Marlo. Memories of Elda, their neighbor from her childhood, sprung to her thoughts. The woman's heartbreak had felt like death, Marlo's chest tightened as the light feathery sensation of Jacob's heart casually glided through her. The sensations were extremely contradicting, but both squeezed brutally at her own heart. Love was a fool's game, one Marlo never intended to be part of. Jacob seemed content to be a fool, his heart was warm, genuine even. The thought of Senica, her only friend, being crushed by such genuine affection turning to rust soured Marlo.

"Are you okay," Jacob's voice was distant as he wrapped a hand around her arm. The meat pie splattered on the floor as Marlo nearly drowned in the whirlpool shaping in her mind. Her brows pinched together, and her eyes filled with blind rage. Jacob's concerned expression, the warmth in his chest, all the care he extended towards others was infuriating.

"Fine," Marlo shoved him away stiffly and backed herself out of the kitchen "I'm going for a walk." Marlo turned around and darted down the hall no longer caring who saw her making an escape. Jacob hung in the hallway; she could feel his gaze on her back, feel his worry. In that moment she hated him, her jaw-tightened and tears pricked her eyeballs. She hated herself more.

"Haaa," Marlo bent over herself, supporting herself on her wobbly knees. The backdoor led her into the flower garden, a floral scent lingered in the dry air, the flowers began to wilt, and the soil crumbled under her bare feet. A shallow stream rolled down her cheeks as she sniffled, she could understand the drive behind plenty of emotions. She understood hostility and hatred, she understood anger, even the insatiable torrents of desire she'd experienced from some of the men that had sought use of her gift. But love. Romantic affections. She didn't understand those feelings in the slightest. Those intimate sensations could only be a fabrication and to think Jacob would play such a game with Senica enraged her. Another invention from a sadist.

"Are those footsteps?" A naturally loud voice questioned from around the corner of the house.

Another voice responded "They're tiny. Is young master Ivan and his family visiting?"

Marlo grimaced; Ivan hadn't stepped foot in the manner since he left for school. That was his grand escape from this life. When he announced his engagement, the invitation came with conditions. The first condition being that Marlo wasn't allowed to attend. His bride didn't want any focus taken away from her, and if Marlo wanted to fashion a guess it would be that Ivan secretly worried Marlo would cause doubt between the newlyweds. The condition was simple enough, Marlo's feelings weren't hurt. The second condition had been that the family had to travel to the capital city of Aragon, which was much further than a hop and a skip away from Regalia. However, when Rachel caught a whiff of a prospective visit to Aragon, she wouldn't drop the subject until Jeremey agreed. Marlo had been thirteen at the time and was left in the care of the bishop, to ensure Marlo maintained her saintly duties.

"Don't be an idiot," the booming voice chastised "look at the prints! Do those look like they belong to a toddler?"

"Uuuuh," the second hummed "Well, yeah I guess."

A loud slap echoed "You dunce!" Marlo giggled to herself as she slipped away from the building and the arguing gardeners.

The hard part was done, Marlo glided through the manicured yard dreamily twirling towards the tree line. The ankle length black skirt she wore swung wildly between her legs, almost matching the wide smile sprawled that lit up her entire face. Even in the brightness of day, nature was a soothsayer. Without hesitation Marlo faded through the thicket of trees, small twigs and stones scraped against the soles of her callused feet. A family of squirrels startled by Marlo's abrupt presence scurried up the trunk of a thick oak tree. Birds chirped among themselves. It'd been a long time since Marlo experienced these woods during the day, the thick overhang of branches created a fragmented path of light against the forest floor.

Marlo hop scotched her way through the shadow parts, avoiding the beams of light pretending they were lava falling from the sky. Two miles into the woods a roaring river sung. Its currents sprayed up against boulders jutting out from its depths as it rushed towards the distant ocean.

Marlo knelt and waded her hand on the edge of the water. The water was cool to the touch despite the sweltering heat.

"Great day for a swim," a smooth baritone disrupted the rhythm of nature in her ears. The stranger stepped beside her but maintained a respectable distance "The currents look a bit rough though."

Marlo didn't lift her head to look at the stranger, but by the voice she knew it wasn't Sagan. They both had deep voices, but Sagan's was gravellier while this man sounded posher, something she'd expect from a male opera singer. "Are you scared of being carried away?" she turned her head at an angle, locks of dark hair veiled her face "You seem sturdy enough."

The man chuckled "Scared, no. Cautious though."

"Sounds boring."

"Think so?"

"Hmm," Marlo hummed and turned her focus back onto the water "It hasn't rained in two months, look how low the water is," she pointed to the riverbed, the water was low leaving a small drop off between land and water. "I think you'd be okay."

The man knelt and splashed his hand in the water "What if you're wrong?"

This time Marlo turned her entire head toward the stranger, a sugary smile sweetened her lips and her dark eyes curved into crescents "I'd say, I'll take responsibility, but you'll be washed away so I think I'd be off the hook."

The man laughed "I guess you have a point," he fell back onto his butt and removed his shoes before rolling up his pant legs "I think I'll stick with just dipping my feet in."

"No sense of adventure," Marlo mused before falling back on her butt. She dipped her feet into the water not caring that the hem of her skirt was submerged. The gentle rhythm of his heartbeat thudded in her ears, there was no ill-intent.

"Are you out here alone?"

"Are you?"

"My camp is nearby. I needed to get some fresh air."

Marlo cocked an inquisitive eyebrow "You needed fresh air? Is your idea of a camp different from mine?"

He smiled "Not enough air to combat the stench of twenty men."

"I wouldn't know."

"Well, I wouldn't think a proper young lady would be familiar with such a scene."

"Do I come off as a proper lady?"

The man grazed his eyes along her figure. The young woman before him was petite, she was dressed modestly but perhaps not as lavishly as a high-class woman. Her skirt floated in the water and the tucked-in white blouse was airy enough to allow the breeze access through the fabric but not see-through. From what he could tell she was alone and seemed entirely non-threatening. "Do you often stare at women?" He pulled his eyes from her slender waist and brought them back up to meet hers. "Contrary to what you might think, not all women appreciate being gawked at."

"I wasn't..." he went to defend himself but then bit his tongue "Sorry."

She nodded "Good. You're forgiven."

"What brings you to the middle of the woods?"

"Fresh air," Marlo smirked.

"Do you live nearby?" They were on the outskirts of the city, other than a few scattered farms and even less renovated mansions, this part of Regalia wasn't heavily populated. A lady belonging to one of the wealthier families wouldn't be allowed to wander around alone, at least not in the woods.

Marlo nodded "I live in a quaint little tree, it's not very big but neither am I."

"You're an odd on," he chortled.

"So, I've been told," memories of the midnight conversation she shared with Sagan fluttered to mind. There might have been a small part of her that had hoped she would run into him during this little daytime excursion. Instead, she ran into a new stranger, or rather he ran into her. They must have been part of the same camp. Marlo frowned, Rachel said the prince would be arriving to the city in time for the end of summer festival, and she had caught her parents discussing their dealings with the royal family. Shit, how much time has passed? Marlo wasn't particularly good about keeping track of time, less so when she didn't have Senica to nag her.

"Are you okay?"

"What?"

"You seem to be in a daze."

"Oh..." Marlo shook her mind clear "I should get going."

Marlo stood up; a puddle formed around her feet from her drenched skirt. The man shot up to his feet and snatched her thin wrist before she could run away. "I'm Henry."

"Oh..."

Henry's Adam's apple bobbed as he forced a swallow "Can you stay a little longer?" Something in his gaze shifted, there was still no ill-intent poisoning his heart, but she'd seen that glint enough to understand. It was like a toddler staring into a candy shop, wanting but innocent.

"No, I should go," Marlo dropped her eyes to their feet.

"Can I see you again?"

At that question they shot back up to his face "What? Why?"

"Do I need a reason?" Henry questioned; he'd never been second-guessed before.

"Yes," Marlo tugged at her wrist, thankfully Henry released it without a fight.

Henry nibbled on his bottom lip as he searched her face for an answer "I think you're fascinating."

Marlo scoffed "Fascinating? Goodness, do you not know how to react when you don't get your way upon the first ask?"

Henry slapped a hand over his heart "Ouch, am I that transparent?"

"Everybody is," Marlo snapped. Everybody but Sagan that was.

"Can I at least know your name?" Marlo shook her head in response. "Then will I run into you around the city." Marlo hesitated but then nodded. He dipped his head below his shoulders in a shallow bow "Then I will have to think of a ways to gain your favor before we run into each other again."

**

Sagan strolled behind the trio; his face relaxed almost bored. Except for his eyes. His steeled eyes scrutinized the siblings, the rigidness set in the brother's shoulders, the meek smile and eyes carved in worry. Sawyer managed to keep a level of secrecy during the week they'd been camped outside of the city. Rumors of Henry's impending visit hung on the lips of every citizen like flames gorging on a dry field. But it was all hearsay, Henry hadn't stepped foot inside the city limits nor would he until the dealings were ready to be finalized.

"How long have you been a painter," Sawyer gleamed, with piqued interest.

"I wouldn't say I'm a painter," Sam's cheeks tinted a light pink "It's really more of a hobby I started to kill time while Marlo was busy with the church." The woman sandwiched between the two men heisted ever so slightly before forcibly jerking her foot forward, Sam smiled awkwardly "We spent a lot of time there before the confessional was built in the square.

"Do you showcase your work anywhere?" Sawyer questioned blind to the miniscule details Sagan had witnessed.

"My bedroom mostly," Sam chuckled, followed by Sawyer "I'd like to open a gallery someday, but my family isn't exactly supportive. Besides, Marlo needs someone to look after her."

The sister looked up at her older brother with a sympathetic glint, "You know sh-... I support your dreams."

Sagan's eyes narrowed on the woman; she stiffened as if ice dripped down her spine.

"I'd love to see your paintings sometime," Sawyer mused.

"Perhaps you can come to the manner and-"

"Brother," the saint interrupted "Maybe it'd be best to bring him to the studio at your school."

Sam nodded, an unspoken panic flashed between their connected eyes "Yes, my pieces at home are mostly sketches."

"Sawyer," Sagan interjected a firm look on his face "a word. Now."

Sawyer's brows knitted; disapproval hung on the tip of his tongue. A smile twitched over his lips "Excuse us."

As they watched Sagan and Sawyer step away to speak in hushed tones, Senica's mind raced with worry. Her smile faded instantly as she clutched Sam's arm tightly, panic setting in. "What if they saw through our façade," she whispered urgently, "I'm screwed!" her voice laced in desperation.

"How could they?" Sam bit back his own worry. "We just need to get by a little longer and then we will part ways and never see them again."

Despite the sweat beaded over her temples Senica scoffed "Are you sure? You nearly invited them back to the house!"

"I... Uhm... well, I wasn't thinking."

"Oh, I think you were," Senica's eyebrows rose to her hair line as her eyes shifted downwards. "Perhaps you're being careless because it's me that will hang for impersonating a saint!"

"Senica," Sam snapped in a hushed tone "I won't let anything happen to you."

Several feet away Sagan and Sawyer conversed among themselves.

"What do you think of the saint," Sagan drawled.

Sawyer rose an eyebrow "What?"

"The saint. Or did you forget what we're here for?"

Sawyer clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowed as he glared up at Sagan "I don't know what you're implying but I assure you, I am well aware of our task," he hissed.

Sagan's eyes flickered with annoyance, but he remained composed, "You're being daft, your focus placed so much on the brother you're not noticing how nervous they're both acting. They're clearly hiding something."

"Maybe they'd feel more relaxed if we didn't have a giant brute shadowing our every move."

Sagan shook his head, frustrated by Sawyer's dismissive attitude "Fine. It's your job to determine the saint's worth to the royal family. Do it however you see fit." It wasn't uncommon for the two not to see eye-to-eye, they could argue over even the most mundane of topics, but Sawyer's blatant ignorance had been astonishing to say the least. Even if the two weren't close, Sagan regarded Sawyer as the down to Earth sort. He was meticulous, refined, and observant, to watch him be played for a fool by this pair of siblings was something of an annoyance. Be that as it may, Sagan spoke his peace and would drop the matter. His job wasn't to verify the saint, he was simply placed as 'the muscle'. Anyways, neither looked particularly dangerous, nor capable of a threatening thought.

After a minute of silence Sawyer turned away from Sagan to return to the siblings. Sawyer's eyes fixed on the siblings as he approached "I apologize," his voice carried a hint of crossness, "shall we continue?"

"Yes," Senica dropped her gaze to the ground "of course," her voice trembled with unease. Being by Marlo's side for eight years should have prepared her for this charade, but as Sawyer offered his arm to her all she could imagine was the noose tightening around her neck. There might have been a time she didn't fear death. She knew the gnawing pains of hunger, the sting of a whip across her back, and the realities of not having a single coin to her name. The comfortability she found at Marlo's side, even in the often-tense Penty household, softened her to the point that playing this con caused her heart to beat in her throat.

Sam, however, maintained his composure, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of apprehension. "Please, lead the way," he said, his voice steady but laced with apprehension.

Sawyer nodded; his gaze sharp "May I have a moment alone with Saint Marlo?"

Sam glanced at Senica "I don't think that would be appropriate."

"It's okay brother," Senica offered a shaky smile and looped her hand through Sawyer's arm. "We'll just walk ahead."

Senica and Sawyer walked several paces ahead of Sagan and Sam, who refused to fall into step beside one another. Sam kept his focus on Senica while Sagan silently observed, resolved in keeping any further opinions to himself.

"So, Saint Marlo-"

"Marlo," Senica sweetly interrupted "Please, just Marlo will do."

"Ah," Sawyer softened the firmness etched in his face "Marlo, how do you like Regalia?"

Senica muffled a snort in her throat "It's been my home since I was born," this was true. "I watched it go from a dying village to a prosperous city, I could say I am sentimental, but I don't know anything else."

"Surely you can take some pride in the fact that you're a pillar that helped resurrect this fine city?"

"Fine city?" This time Senica couldn't conceal the snort gurgled in her throat "Sir, you don't have to falsify your words on my account. Regalia is only remarkable in the way of seizing opportunity. It's not a lavish city, flower beds and barely thriving saplings are placed around to try and mask the poorly maintained streets. The shop owners spike their prices to the point locals can hardly afford them while they profit off simple minded non-locals. The soil is so baren that the farmlands are practically deserts, if the city were to be abandoned the Earth could reclaim the land and in a few hundred years this fine city would have a proper chance of true rebirth."

Sawyer regarded her with a refreshed sense of shock "How... unexpected."

Senica shrugged, the slippery slope of her meek smile curving into a newfound confidence. Marlo had her saint persona perfected, perhaps she would have kept her true opinions silenced and gave some nonsensical answer about how Regalia is a bounty of faith and beauty. But both women shared in the opinion that Regalia lived on the reaper's time.

"Then how do you regard your sainthood?"

"I think I could have just as easily burned as a heretic if the people viewed this gift as a curse from the Devil rather than a gift from God."

"I've heard many stories of your healing touch, surely such a blessing couldn't be misinterpreted as the Devil's work."

The two strolled casually, Senica's shoulders relaxed as her frantic heart steadied. Part of her wondered how Marlo would handle this conversation, but another part of her wanted to speak the words that even Marlo wouldn't dare say in a public setting. "Who can say what games the Kings play. This gift is as much a blessing as it is a curse, sh- I invade the most intimate parts of people. Their anguish, fear, hatred, even love. I would be a fool to claim that this ability doesn't possess a wickedness to it. On the other hand, sh-... I... can heal those darker emotions. I can take the depression from the woman that lost both her husband and son in the war, but at what cost? She can now live life with a genuine smile, but I've stolen a piece of her heart. She can remember her late loved ones with admiration, say she's proud of their contributions to this kingdom but does she still feel the deep sincere love. The type of love that left her bedridden, sobbing, and unable to eat after losing them? I can't blame the people for wanting to rid themselves of their demons, but they give up a piece of their soul as well."

"Then what do you think about those that have committed crimes? If you strip them of what makes them tick, are you not saving the people from more devastation?"

"Do you think the minds of the disturbed so simple?" Senica cocked her head "Mar..." she cleared her throat, pull it together, Senica. "I once cleansed a woman of an extreme depression that took root after giving birth. She spoke about such awful fantasies. She said that even the softest of coos from her baby enraged every nerve in her body. She could hardly get out of bed, the baby would cry alone for hours upon hours, starving, covered in her own filth. Terrible, horrible, unimaginable things. The woman and her husband begged me to cure her. To take that crippling sorrow away from her. So, I did, of course I did." Tears formed at the edges of Senica's eyes, this happened two years ago, but the toll had left Marlo bedridden and devastated for months. It was something she didn't entirely understand but for every emotion Marlo snatched away from a person nestled within her own soul.

"They left with smiles, refreshed and ready to finally enjoy their new life as a family. Not twenty-four hours later, the baby was dead. Suffocated until her body turned a ghastly blue. I remember the smile on the woman's face, so serene, not a trace of torment. Did I truly heal her sorrow? Or did I simply steal the small piece of her heart that brought her to her knees in front of me to cure her so she could be a loving mother to her newborn?"

Sawyer's face twisted into something he couldn't understand. His heart hurt, his mind swirled with images of a tiny blue baby whose only crime was being born and the woman who helplessly wanted to be a loving mother, but her brain wouldn't allow it. "Then you wish you'd never become a saint."

"Well, I suppose there was a time I imagined what life would have been like without this gift, but I rather not dwell. Life already set a course for Ma-me, probably before I was even born. I'd say the first fork life paved was the moment where I could have been titled a witch or a saint. I don't know if I am lucky to have been deemed the latter, but it certainly extended my life."

"You're an odd one," Sawyer mused in wonder.

"Yes," Senica firmly agreed with a broad smile. Marlo was without a doubt the strangest person she'd ever met. Being called odd gave Senica a tinge of pride that she must have accurately portrayed her friend. "But what is life without a few oddities?" She glanced up at Sawyer as his focus bore into the path ahead, he mindlessly pulled his bottom lip between his teeth "Did you have something to ask?"

He hesitated, a mental game of tug-o-war rallied in his thoughts, "I have an..." he stumbled over his words unsure of himself "an... affliction." Senica remained silent as she stared at his sullen profile. His piercing green eyes darkened as if storm clouds lived within them. "It's an illness of the mind but not as volatile as..." the words dropped from his tongue as an image of the tiny, the too tiny and innocent blue baby reappeared in his mind. This time followed by an image of the mother with sleepy eyes and a heavenly smile swept over her face. "Is it something you could heal?"

Senica's body jerked as she forced them to a stop, his words were choppy and sweat dripped down the side of his forehead. This man that had expressed such a passion towards the arts with Samuel would have been a source of happiness for her if she hadn't been so consumed by her own nerves. However, now as he looked at her there was a desperation in his storming green eyes. A torrential downpour threatened to split the boundaries between his tear ducts at any moment. "Sawyer," her voice slipped away from herself as she spoke his name. His heart clenched; it might have been a placebo from that moment, but Senica could have sworn she felt the tightness coil around her own heart. Their eyes glued in unspoken understanding; the world blurred around them, but she was painfully aware of Sam's presence lingering in the background like a yellow tree among green.

"You are not sick," she breathed in trying her best to emphasize her meaning best as possible. She watched as water pooled at his bottom lids but through sheer willpower, he kept them at bay. "I will never touch the most innocent matters of the heart," she pressed her delicate hand over his chest "Your heart is between you, your partner and God. I will not persecute the sway of your heart, but I wouldn't dare have the audacity to destroy such a perfectly shaped fool."

Referring to his heart as a fool may have been offensive. Instead, a warmth surged through him as he absorbed her words. Sawyer could admit to himself, only himself, never Sagan, that he had been a tad bit distracted in the beginning. However, now he could say with certainty the saint wasn't a mere scam.