#ana anastazja

[nicecurves]

[crossover-pantyhose]

Ana Anastazja

[nylon-squat]

Ana Anastazja

[i-love-legs-in-pantyhose]

Ana Anastazja

[krueger-n]

Jego przyciągający zapach i estetyczny wygląd rozpraszały jej myśli. Nastolatce ciężko było zignorować tak apetycznie wyglądający obiad ugotowany przez jej matkę. Makaron z kurczakiem i warzywami nieustannie kusił. Stał na stole, dumny i pewien siebie. Przekonany o swojej wygranej rzucał dziewczynie wyzwanie. „Jesteś głodna, potrzebujesz mnie” nawoływał. Danie wybrało jednak zbyt silną przeciwniczkę. To nie był pierwszy dzień Anastazji na deficycie. Zaznała głodu i porażek zbyt wiele razy, by się teraz złamać. Rzuciła potrawie pogardliwe spojrzenie i ze zmarszczonymi brwiami napiła się wody. „Przetrwam. Jeszcze tylko kilka tygodni i stanę się idealna” powtarzała w myślach, uparcie w to wierząc. Z każdym łykiem bezkalorycznego napoju oddalała się od możliwej przegranej.

„Chuda, bez tłuszczu, bez nienawiści do samej siebie.” Kolejne zdanie zabrzmiało w głowie, gdy dziewczyna rozkładała matę do ćwiczeń na podłodze własnego pokoju. Gdy wstawała, zawiesiła wzrok na prostokątnym lustrze i skupiła się na osobie w nim goszczącej. „Jesteś tłustą świnią” od razu pomyślała, po czym dodała „ale już wkrótce nią nie będziesz”. Włączyła trening z internetu i wzięła się do pracy. Choć uprawianie sportu i mieszczenie się w malejących limitach kalorycznych stawały się coraz trudniejsze, Anastazja pięła naprzód. Nawet w chwilach słabości, nie myślała o tym, aby odpuścić. Była wojowniczką, a one się nie poddają, gdy sięgają po swoje marzenia. Koniec godzinnego treningu zawsze ją radował. Oznaczał on, że podołała rzuconemu sobie wyzwaniu. Gdy dopadały ją wyrzuty sumienia po zjedzeniu więcej, niż pozwalała dieta, to właśnie sport pocieszał ją jak dobry przyjaciel i pomagał jej naprawić swoją wpadkę.

„Jutro zrobię fasta, a pojutrze zjem jedno ciastko i tosta z serem, który ostatnio mama kupiła. To będzie około dwustu pięćdziesięciu kalorii. Może zjem jeszcze trochę obiadu, aby rodzice nie zaczęli niczego podejrzewać” pomyślała, odpoczywając na podłodze po wysiłku. „Tak, to zdecydowanie dobry plan” dodała po chwili. Napiła się coca-coli zero, którą chowała się pod jej łóżkiem. Lubiła ten napój, dawał jej fałszywe poczucie normalności. Pijąc go, mogła poczuć się jak inne dziewczyny, chude dziewczyny, które nie muszą przejmować się swoją sylwetką, bo mają piękne, szczupłe ciała. Anastazja usiadła na obrotowym krześle przy biurku, przygotowała niezbędne materiały i zaczęła się uczyć. Zależało jej na dobrych wynikach egzaminu ósmoklasisty, który miała pisać przy końcu tego roku szkolnego. Oprócz tego czytała codziennie książki. Stawiała rozwój osobisty bardzo wysoko. Spojrzała na ścianę. A właściwie to na małą karteczkę, do tej ściany przyklejoną. Głosiła napis „Ana oznacza perfekcję 🦋”. Nie wskazywało to tylko na trzymanie się deficytu i intensywne ćwiczenia, a również na zdobywanie najlepszych ocen w szkole i zawsze dopracowany wygląd.

Po efektywnej nauce przyszedł czas na kolację. Dziewczyna zważyła, a następnie pokroiła jabłko na drobne części i ułożyła je na czarnym talerzyku do ciasta. Wagę i kalorie zapisała w aplikacji do nadzorowania kalorii. Jadła powoli, napawając się smakiem owocu. Miało piękną, czerwoną skórkę i słodkie wnętrze. Pragnęła zjeść jeszcze jedno, ale wiedziała, że każde wyjście poza restrykcyjną dietę zwiększa ryzyko porażki. Następnie zaparzyła sobie herbatkę na trawienie i gdy ta ostygła, wypiła ją ze świadomością, że i ona ma kalorie.

Każdy dzień Anastazji wyglądał podobnie. Natarczywe myśli o jedzeniu, które zapijała wodą, sport, szkoła i nauka. Najbardziej znaczącą różnicą dla nastolatki były coraz to mniejsze liczby wyświetlane na wadze i malejące obwody poszczególnych części ciała. Martwiło ją jednak, że w lustrze pozostawała taka sama. Nadal zamiast delikatnego motylka widziała tam prosiaka. Czuła się bezradna. „Nie mogę nic nie jeść. Nawet jeśli bardzo bym tego chciała…” zauważyła ze smutkiem wymalowanym na kościstej twarzy. „Treningi stają się coraz bardziej wymagające, a ja, zamiast stawać się silniejsza, tylko słabnę. Nie wiem, jak długo dam jeszcze radę”. Dziewczyna położyła się wyczerpana na łóżku. „Trochę odpocznę, a potem powtórzę angielski” obiecała sobie, przymykając oczy. Po chwili przestała czuć zmęczenie. Zdziwiona otworzyła oczy i usiadła na łóżku. Przed sobą ujrzała chudą kobietę o ciemnych oczach i lśniących hebanowych włosach. Miała na sobie długą, czarną suknię, a wokół niej unosiły się żółte motyle. „Latolistki cytrynki” zauważyła w myślach nastolatka.

— Wytrwale pracowałaś, Anastazjo — rzekła tajemnicza kobieta i obdarzyła dziewczynę współczującym wzrokiem — Teraz nie musisz się już starać, — wyciągnęła w jej kierunku kościstą rękę — w moim królestwie każdy jest szczęśliwy bez względu na wygląd. Chodź, pora już iść.

Anastazja niepewnie chwyciła za dłoń rozmówczyni. Ostatnim, co zobaczyła, było jej własne wygłodzone ciało spoczywające bez życia na łóżku.

Historia brzmi znajomo? Nie bądź jak Anastazja. Skorzystaj z pomocy i zawalcz o swoje zdrowie. Pamiętam, że jesteś piękna, a wyznacznikiem twojej wartości nie jest niska waga.

Telefon zaufania dla osób uzależnionych od jedzenia (anoreksja, bulimia, nadwaga): (0 22) 632 08 82. Można dzwonić codziennie w godzinach 16:00-20:00.

Telefon zaufania dla dzieci i młodzieży: 116 111

Telefon zaufania dedykowany osobom cierpiącym z powodu uzależnień behawioralnych oraz ich bliskim: 801-889-880. Można dzwonić codziennie godzinach od 17:00-22:00.

[r3lated]

#r3lated : original and canon characters of teen wolf & bones : independent and mutually exclusive. unafilliated with tw fandom. canon characters will be canon divergent , heavily headcanon based + treated as an original character. driven in by willow ( she/her , 28 ) mature content , minors & personals dni. main blog is @srcasm

original

♢ anastazja " ana " stilinski , human fc : lilly collins ♢ kang dae-sung "day" , bulgae (fire dog) fc : park seo joon ♢ lewis bosch-satoh , kitsune fc : darren barnet ♢ gawin " gawain " assarasakornne, werewolf fc : apo wattanagitiphat ♢ sabrina velez , oldest sister , werewolf fc : melissa barrera ♢ adriana velez , youngest sister , werewolf fc : jenna ortega

canon

♢ claudia stilinski , witch fc : holly marie comb ♢ aiden steiner , werewolf fc : charles melton ♢ ethan steiner , werewolf fc : charles melton ♢ brett talbot , werewolf fc : drake rodger ♢ seeley joseph booth , bones fc : jensen ackles ♢ angela montenegro , bones fc : michaela conlin ♢ seeley lance wick-sweets , bones fc : adam brody

[srcasm]

♢ anastazja " ana " stilinski — fraternal twin of stiles

the stilinski twins have very different social circles , ana has more of a close friendship with lydia and danny but she's grown up knowing scott as well because of stiles friendship with him. most of their teachers like to remind them about how these two are actually related. while ana pretends to be happy / perfect , her and stiles are two sides of the same coin and share that trauma when their mother started to act crazy and shout at them.

[rebelthree]

@everythingheard​ | for dewey from ana

death, it leaves a kind of echo in it’s place. it always does. but when talking about a town which had been ravaged by so many brutal deaths, well, that was another story all together. the ghostface murders of the past and recent history may not have held a supernatural element yet woodsboro, now, had opened a door to something beyond it’s understanding. a darkness had seeped in from the edges and secured itself a new home. and that had been what brought ana to the blood drenched crime scene (as if blood had exploded from the body) she had just ordered a deputy to clear from, her offering him her cell phone when she was questioned. sometimes it helped that the order held connections in high places, after all, there was little room for the deputy or the sheriff for that matter to argue with the commissioner.

moving through the crime scene tape, ana begins to look over the room, dodging blood spots as she went. with her back turned to the room’s entrance–which conveniently blocked sight to her hands– a series of small hand motions is made, ana’s gaze following a line of simmering air (only seen by her) toward the back of the room. aha! however, her gaze is redirected toward the commotion by the door where a deputy was informing the sheriff that it was out of their hands, she had clearance to be there. “you are taller zan your movie counterpart. i hope you are smarter as well.” she offers a hand to shake. “anastazja van helsing. you can consider me a consultant of sorts.”

[nessietessimal]

@sketchygabz whispered sweet pirate/treasure planet AUs into my goblin ear... 

[sketchygabz]

@nessietessimal drew some darkwood among us beans and I couldn’t help but add Ana and @theramblinganalyst‘s Kalina to the mix!

[brothed]

🥴

[historiestold]

@myersbprd | from anastazja

there was a must to the air, the whole space she moves through aged in the way only an abandoned mansion in the heart of louisiana could be. it was quiet as well-- too quiet-- a contrast to the sounds which should be there. the echos of an old home.. the creaks, the wind through broken windows, the tick of an old clock on it’s last leg. not even a crow or cricket could be heard, as if.. everything had fled some kind of presence. but then! sudden footfalls down the hall! thumps on the upper level! damn it! ana moves quickly, hands moving in quick fashion as she aims an invisible force toward the stairwell. 

a moment later she’s moving again through the darkness, appearing behind an agent and pressing him against the wall with her arm against his throat with enough pressure to get her point across but not enough to harm him or cause him to be unable to converse. “call your agents off if you want zem to live! it’ll manifest zeir fears!” accent bleeds out, though not as strong as it used to be, her th’s sounding with a strong ‘z’. and here she thought the bprd had a brain, bothered to do their research. she had, and that’s why she had come in alone. one set of monsters was enough, but battling an entire unit of them was not the kind of night ana was looking for. 

[nylon-squat]

Ana Anastazja

[rokirokitwojstarybeznogi]

Pan Jan the K(ogut)iller x Anastazja

Piękny słoneczny dzień w jak zawsze radosnym mieście na E. Anastazja właśnie szła na tak zwany w dzisiejszych czasach "shopping" z jej ulubioną Ekipą. Wszędzie wokół można było usłyszeć rozmowy, śmiechy oraz naturalne odgłosy przyrody w otaczającym ich parku. Mimo żywej dyskusji, częstego zmieniania tematów Ana ciągnęła się bardziej z tyłu gromadki rozproszona przez mijające ją pary ludzi. "Czy kiedykolwiek zjawi się ot ten książę na białym koniu by zbawić mnie z cierpienia na tym świecie? Czy zjawi się piękny tak on jak w tych smutach na Tumbrlrze?" pomyślała. Niby czasami dziewczyna słyszała o przypadkowych spotkaniach swojej drugiej połówki ale to wszystko nie ma sensu...nie dla niej. Już raz komuś zaufała i nie wie czy jest pewna zrobić to ponownie.

"Wszystko okej? Wyglądasz na smutną..."

"Aaaa! Heniu! Sĩ wszystko dobrze po prostu dzisiaj nie mam ochoty na pogawędki i dziwne akcje"

"Robi się późno...może powinnaś wrócić do domu? Masz blisko +nie czujesz się zdecydowanie git więc myślę że to doskonały pomysł". Jej zaufany kolega emo. Prawda że czasami był prawie nie do zniesienia ze swoimi pomysłami ale nadal była mu wdzięczna że w ogóle nadal się z nimi przyjaźni. W 6 klasie odszedł z klasy przez przeprowadzkę a mimo to nadal odwiedzał swoją ojczyznę regularnie. Anastazja uważała go za starszego brata którego zawsze chciała mieć. "Chyba masz rację" ledwo zauważalny uśmiech pojawił się na twarzy najmłodszej wśród ich wszystkich. Chłopak odwzajemnił wyraz i spojrzał się przed siebie "wyjaśnię im co się z tobą stało choć przekonanie Kingi że skręciłaś nogę w trakcie marszu nie będzie tak łatwe...w każdym razie mam nadzieję że jutro już poczujesz się lepiej! Bajo!" przyjaciel dogonił bardzo oddaloną grupkę znajomych i ostatni raz przed zakrętem jej pomachał. Sama Ana skierowała się w stronę domu. Na szczęście nikt na nią tam nie czekał i będzie mogła w spokoju coś obejrzeć. Nagle złapał ją Pan Jak Kogut ona poszła z nim koniec bo mam patrzeć jak Ada przechodzi The End of Hatsune Miku.

@olch33a

[appiomofchoice]

Hand-Me-Downs: Part 3

It is kind of appropriate (or maybe inappropriate?) (but unintentional either way) that this part ended up being scheduled for Mother’s Day weekend. AU!Darcy ended up taking a lot of traits and backstory from me, including lots of guilt in regards to her mother. 

Series Synopsis: (Enemies/Rivals-to-Lovers AU) Second-year surgical residents Darcy Allen and Bryce Lahela didn’t come to Edenbrook to make friends, and certainly not with each other. But when the path to greatness requires teamwork, they are forced to work together—and to cast aside the personal baggage keeping them apart.

Part 3 Synopsis: The day before Kyra’s surgery, Darcy loses a patient and takes it personally. Bryce tries not to antagonize her about it. 

TW: Death (NOT KYRA), surgery (both between the first set of tildes ~, if you need to avoid it). 

Word count: 2215 words (yikes sorry lol)

Rating: 16+ to be safe

Tagging: @lucy-268 @mvalentine @seriouslybadchoices @anotherbeingsworld @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @thegreentwin @ejustlurkshere​ @lahellacute​

(Let me know if you’d like to be tagged, for MC x Bryce in general or just for this series!)

~

Part 3: A Mother’s Sacrifice

~

The rhythmic beep of the patient's heart monitor blended into the background as Darcy guided the laparoscope, eyes fixed on the screen in front of her. It was a straightforward procedure, one she'd practiced hundreds of times in the skills lab and performed six times under attending supervision. (And Lahela supervision. He always seemed to be watching, waiting for her to fuck up. She didn't mind it; she watched him, too, waiting for the same thing.)

“We have it," she said, carefully removing the fragment of liver. "Beautiful. Thank you, Agnieszka.”

Only a few hours ago, she'd been paged by Dr. Trinh for a consult for fifty-one year old Agnieszka Wozniak and her thirteen-year-old daughter, Anastazja “just Ana please” Wozniak. They were alone in this world. Agnieszka’s husband had died in Poland, leaving her and baby Ana very little---except, apparently, a genetic condition which had caused the girl’s liver to deteriorate thirteen years later. She was rushed to the hospital with jaundiced skin and abdominal pain, her doting mother speaking in jumbled English while Ana spoke sharply in return, looking as though the embarrassment would kill her before her liver got a chance.

In that ten minutes she spent with them, Darcy was reminded of her own bratty teenage self, and her own patient mother.

Especially when Agnieszka offered her own liver with no hesitation.

Darcy gently placed the biological hand-me-down in the gloves of the assisting intern, who would escort the portion of the organ into the next room and hand it off to Dr. Garcia. Her procedure was more complicated. It would be hours, at least.

But Darcy’s part was done, until the screen filled with blood.

The risk to Agnieszka would be minimal. They would enter laparoscopically and remove a small portion of her liver. It would be enough, Darcy assured her, enough to save her daughter. She wouldn’t even require much recovery time.

Could she go back to work soon? The procedure would be expensive. Anything for her daughter, anything at all, but... She needed to work if they were going to afford this.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Darcy had said. “I’ll see what we can do, okay?”

“I can’t see... Dammit, where is this blood coming from?”

Panic rose in her chest. She couldn’t kill this woman. She'd never lost anybody in the OR, and she wasn't going to start with this woman, this soft-spoken single mother who reminded Darcy so much of her own.

“You need to open her up and find that bleeder, Dr. Allen,” said Dr. Tanaka, who didn't move from where he was watching.

“She’s supposed to be done," she breathed, holding her gloved hand out for a scalpel.

It shook in her hands. 

Beep beep beep, sang the heart monitor.

"Dr. Allen---"

"I've got it," she said, steeling herself, willing her hands to stop shaking. And they did. They always did. There was no time for the emotion that was working its way into her heart. It was time to fight.

With just a few hours, Darcy had managed was for the staff to agree to a pro bono surgery. It wasn’t nearly enough. There would still be substantial costs from the medicines, the anesthesia... She knew there was a loophole---there was always a loophole---some grant or study about liver transplantation or something---but she didn't find it. It had been too vast a task to tackle by herself, and she didn't have anybody to tackle it with her.

Still, Agnieszka thanked her with a hug. For saving her daughter. For fighting for her.

Even though she would lose.

~

Bryce strolled into the supply closet---and then froze in the doorway, the light from the hall illuminating a rare sight: Allen, leaning against a shelf, scrub cap still tucked over her bushy hair, eyes red, tears streaming down her freckled cheeks, gasping for breath. At the sound of the door opening, she looked up like a deer caught in headlights, and then she glowered.

"Shut the door, Lahela," she snapped, hurriedly swiping away tears with her palms as she turned away from him.

He shut the door quietly behind him, then walked towards Allen, who sighed and gave him a withering stare as he approached. 

"I meant, leave, then shut the door. What are you doing?" She stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed.

He stopped, leaving maybe six inches between them. A part of him---the part that controlled his legs, apparently---wanted to comfort her. They weren’t friends, but he didn’t enjoy seeing her that way. 

"Lap pads," he explained instead, grabbing a handful from off the shelf just above her head.

He smirked a little at her involuntary intake of breath when he moved, until he realized just how close they were standing. He could see the tearstains on her cheeks. His fingers twitched to pull her into a hug.

"Go ahead," she said, arms crossed over her chest.

She certainly didn't mean what he was thinking. He didn't even mean what he was thinking. "Go ahead?"

"I know you saw it," she said.

Allen glared at him, daring him to critique her to her face. That was what they did---critique each other's surgeries, rub mistakes in each other's faces, gloat. But never when one was sobbing in a supply closet. And never when that same one was operating on his friend tomorrow.

"It wasn't your fault," he answered.

And that was true, as far as he could tell. She hadn't done anything wrong. It was a rare complication. Bad luck.

But she gave him a disbelieving stare. "I choked in there."

Choked. That was the word he’d used when he was bitter and jealous at her. He’d gotten in her head.

"Anybody would have," he answered gently. 

She stared up at him, eyebrows furrowed.

And then her face fell, as if he'd gravely insulted her, and she ducked under his arm to escape, letting the door slam behind her.

~

It wasn't like Darcy to ambush attendings in Donahue's, but it had to be done. She slid onto the barstool next to Dr. Tanaka, who didn't look up from his drink but sighed in acknowledgement.

"It's about Kyra Santana's surgery tomorrow," she said. "I don't think I should---"

"It's an aggressive approach,” he interrupted, as though he’d said it a hundred time, “but the patient understands the risks," he answered. “It’s her best shot.”

No, it's not, she wanted to scream. Not with her at the helm. "Put Lahela back on it."

He raised his eyebrows at that. "No."

"It was his idea, and I'm sure he's learned whatever lesson you're trying to teach him."

"I'm sure he has, but you haven't," he said.

Darcy frowned. She wondered what exactly it was about her performance in the OR that he wanted her to learn to avoid. Whatever it was, she couldn’t repeat it on Kyra.

"You can't let this loss shake you," continued Dr. Tanaka. "Everybody has lost somebody in the OR."

"Not Lahela," she bit back.

"No, not Lahela," he conceded with a sigh. "But Lahela is something else."

He was a goddamn surgical god, and she hated him for it, on top of everything else she hated him for. "Kyra's best chance is with him."

Dr. Tanaka stood up, pressed some bills onto the counter. "Pull yourself together," he said, sounding disappointed. "You're doing the surgery."

As he left, Darcy closed her eyes, resting her face in her hands as she propped her elbows on the bar. All she could think about was the teenager who was about to reject her new liver out of guilt.

Your mother gave you this chance, with all of her love, Darcy had told her as the girl sobbed into her arms. That's what mothers do. But you have to fight, Ana, or it's worthless. You have to fight.

"Something to drink?" came a voice on the other side of the counter. A man in glasses and a Hawaiian shirt wiped down the counter in front of her, laid out a glass. "On the house. You look like you need it."

"I don't---" Need anything, she almost finished. It had been her mantra for so long, which she whipped out whenever she was offered anything. Charity, help, affection. "I don't drink," she said instead. That was true, too. "Do you have food here? Fries?"

The bartender, whose name tag identified him as Reggie, shouted an order back to the kitchen and flashed her a reassuring smile.

A few whoops from the dartboard caught Darcy's attention, and she looked over to see the other surgical residents, celebrating some victory over the dartboard. She looked away before they could see her. It wasn't that they were unfriendly or unkind. They'd gotten along well enough at the beginning of her intern year. But, in Darcy's eagerness to prove she was a better surgeon than Lahela, she'd stepped on some toes. (And they were rarely Lahela's, to her disappointment.)

Speaking of whom...

The overwhelming scent of Lahela's cologne suddenly filled her nostrils, and she knew that he'd sidled up beside her. She kept her eyes trained to the countertop, refusing to look at him. Not after that look he gave her in the supply closet, like she was some tiny fragile thing.

"One more for us, Reg," he said. She could hear the trademark grin in his voice, the annoyingly friendly smile he reserved for non-competitors. "Actually, can you make that two?" he added.

"She doesn't drink," answered Reggie.

She did have to look up at him, then, frowning. (Also, she noted in the back of her head, fuck him for looking so good out of scrubs, in his pretentious sweater and dark jeans.) "Did you just try to buy me a drink?"

"You look like you could use one," he answered, shrugging, like this was something they did.

Maybe it was something they did, now that she’d shown how very little she deserved to compete with him. 

Darcy scoffed. "Your pity is worthless to me, Lahela."

"It's not pity,” he answered.

Yeah, right. "I can take it," she said, arms crossed over her chest. "Whatever you have to throw at me. I can take it." She stared at him, issuing a silent challenge. A silent plea. To tell her what she had done. To tell her how to fix it.

He stared back, expression unreadable on his stupidly handsome face.

And then he sighed and slid onto a stool beside her. "Fine," he said. "Your first mistake? Not going in laparoscopically."

She narrowed her eyes. "I did go in laparoscopically. I did the resection laparoscopically, until---”

"Yeah, okay, but I wouldn't have nicked an artery, personally," he interrupted.

"I didn't nick anything!" she snapped back. 

"But if you caught the bleeder faster---"

"I caught it," she interjected. "I caught it, and it tore right through. Her tissue was friable and her blood wasn’t clotting, every fix I made created two new problems, but I did everything I could have possibly done, I did everything right, I was a rockstar in that OR, and she still flatlined, but it wasn’t my fault, it---”

She heard herself say it wasn’t my fault, and for the first time that night, she actually believed it. She shut her mouth.

Lahela smirked at her sudden silence, as if that had been his plan all along. "See?” he said. “Not pity." 

She frowned at him in confusion. 

"Look," continued Lahela, "we may not like each other, but you're cutting into my friend tomorrow." He looked away for a moment. "And, I don't know. I shouldn't be so hard on you. I said you’d choke in the limelight, but... I’ve been eating my words."

She looked at him. "You don't have to be nice to me just so I won’t kill her.”

He met her eye, flashed a smile. “I know.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but a tray of drinks and a basket of fries plopped onto the bar, signaling the end of their interaction.

Or maybe not. He had the audacity to reach for one of her fries, which she reacted to by snatching away the basket. She stuck out her tongue---hands too slow, Lahela?---and then she popped a fry into her mouth, chomping triumphantly.

"Worth a shot," he said with a wink. "Night, Allen."

Without waiting for an answer---and she wasn't going to give him one---he lifted the tray of drinks with one hand and glided gracefully over to a booth full of people she recognized from the hospital. 

Darcy watched him distribute drinks, wondering where the heir to the Lahela empire had learned how to balance a tray like that. It had taken her weeks of practice at the restaurant she worked at in college. Despite a little bit of envy, she couldn’t help being impressed at the display. Maybe it was the suddenly good mood she was in, or maybe it was the way his face lit up when he laughed with his friends, but the hostility and bitterness were gone, for a moment, replaced with something else entirely.

She turned away, suddenly aware that she had been staring. At Lahela, of all people. It made her feel guilty, like she had betrayed every one of her mother’s sacrifices with one stupid look.