We followed her inside, Dain demurring food while I looked around at all the familiar things. All the paintings on the wall were the same ones that I remembered, as were the colorful rugs. My mom's passion for handmade pottery was still on display, with all sorts of weird artist pottery on the shelves and lined up across the top of the piano, all of them filled with dried flowers. There were new wooden objects in the house, including a coffee table with hand-painted tiles that my dad had finally finished after more than six years of it being in eternal progress.

I took a seat on a couch in the living room, trying not to cry again at being here, in a place I'd thought I'd never see again. I'd been willing to sacrifice all of this for Dain, accepting that I'd died to them, until Zhiolas had suggested one late night that Dain might exercise his skill in glamor to let us age through the years as we visited my family. Once it had been offered as a possibility, it had seemed so obvious, and Dain had been relieved and overjoyed at the chance at giving me back my beloved family.

His warm hand took mine, his fingers lacing through mine, and though it gave me the heebie-jeebies not to feel his scales against my skin, I was still grateful for the comfort.

"Prraw!" was all the warning we got before my old, ratty, beloved cat jumped up onto Dain's lap and flung himself down, purring like a locomotive. Dain froze, going perfectly still as Jonathan started kneading his leg and drooling a little.

Very slowly, he looked down at the cat, then looked at me, an expression of perfect consternation on his face. "There is an animal on my lap." He looked almost freaked out, so bewildered that I started laughing. "Leah, don't laugh," Dain said, in a pleading voice. "What is it doing?"

I let go of his hand and started petting Jonathan, scrubbing behind his ears and under his chin, which made him redouble his kneading, hooking Dain hard enough in the thigh that I felt him flinch next to me. "Dain, meet Jonathan," I said, grinning. "This is my cat. He likes you. You should pet him."

As if my old cat might suddenly burst into flames, Dain moved his hand and started petting him, running his hand along Jonathan's side. "Are you sure this is a cat?" he asked, his voice tight. "I have never before had a cat come within ten feet of me willingly."

"Oh, look at that," my mom said in a tearful voice as she came in with glasses of sweet tea for us. "Jonathan likes you. You must be a good man, Dain." She held out a glass to Dain, who took it with a befuddled look, and returned to staring at the cat.