Handsome Kir Lyyo from the restaurant across the street steps toward her, then stops, seeming unsure. He blinks at her in that quietly intent way of his. She watched him throughout the entire day, their eyes shyly meeting multiple times as they cleared tables, brought out food, both restaurants having just closed for the evening, their covert glances and shared smiles growing slightly more bold as the purple moonlight shimmered to life.

Olilly steps away from the metal balcony to face him, overaware of herself. He’s holding a phosphorescent river lily in his hand, a puff of violet light emanating from the graceful flower.

“This...this is for you,” he says, holding the flower out to her, a besotted look on his face, the purple moonlight gleaming off his spiky black hair.

Olilly’s heart is now pattering fast as a hummingbird’s. She takes the lovely flower, their fingers brushing as she does so, and Olilly feels that brief touch straight to her toes.

“I’ve... I’ve seen you from across the street,” he says, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush. “You’re...very beautiful, and... I wanted to wish you a joyous Xishlon.”

Suddenly, Olilly is feeling equally breathless. She glances away, emotions fluttering, then dares a glance back at those riveting kohl-lined eyes of his.

“I’m Kir Lyyo, but you can call me Kirin,” he encourages, and Olilly is touched by his offer to let her use the familiar form of his Noi name.

“I know,” she says shyly, her mind awhirl. He’s given me a flower.

Kirin’s brow tenses. “Your ears,” he says, motioning to his own ear, “the points are gone.”

The Western Realm abruptly intrudes, knotting Olilly’s throat, bringing the pain that always prowls around the edges of any happiness that tries to get a tentative start in her heart. An image of Kirin’s angry father accosts her mind. The sign on their restaurant. Noilaan for the Noi. And the Noi flags. The religious banners. Olilly knows exactly what those flags and banners are meant to convey, and it isn’t his father’s love for the Vo religion or the Eastern Realm.

Olilly looks Kirin right in the eye. “A mob in the Western Realm cut the points off my ears. They were chanting ‘Erthia for Gardnerians’ while they did it.”

She catches his flinch, as if he’s been physically struck by the horrible truth.

Kirin swallows, looking stunned. “I’m sorry,” he says, almost a whisper.

“I gave my jeweled points to Nym’ellia,” she tells him evenly. “Because they cut off her ears’ points too. She’s Urisk, like me.”

More shock, and she can see the wheels of his mind turning.

“I’m sorry that happened to you both,” he finally says, obviously rattled but unmoving. Still here. Stubbornly still here.