Was it sad, that she knew exactly what she was looking at? Amélie had never been the most readily transparent person, but despair painted a very particular picture. It hid in the shadows of your eyes, resting on the edge of your mouth no matter what expression you tried to paint over it. She'd seen it too often, on too many faces.

Even here, the cruel twists of fate don't seem to loosen their grip.

Her brow creasing, Marjara lifted herself from where she'd been sitting in front of her campfire. There was no hesitation in moving towards the taller woman to place a hand gently against her arm. No words, not at first. She didn't have to talk about it.

But she had a place here. She always would. Here was safe, or as safe as it ever got. Here, someone cared.