"Hi," she said softly, in that voice that one uses only when they feel great guilt yet want to make amends.

Celandine crushed her eyebrows together, gazing at the most beautiful lady before her, dressed in exquisite silks, richly embroidered, delicately assembled. The black tresses were pulled back smoothly against her scalp, then pinned in place with several, large, gem-pommelled pins. Those ornate, drooping sleeves entirely hid the hands that eye held before her obe.

Lightly, the geisha blinked her eyes, and her painted lips turned up into the smallest of smiles.

"Celandine, is it not? I am -"

"I know who you are," the young faun replied, voice full of hesitation and caution. "Sakura. The lady who helped - helped my mother -"

"Birth you. Yes dear," gently the lady smiled, her back still straight, all decorum held in perfect position. For she was of the broken and dying land of Akashima, which had once been an abundant city, but after war and ruin was argued over much. From person to person one could not decide if the small independent state in North Corone was still living it's glory days or in fact had fallen now to ruin.

"What are you doing here?" Celandine asked, her brow crashing inwards, fingering the knitting needle stuffed inside the ball of wool at her side.

They were in a quiet inn in the wilds of Raiaera - a place Celandine had come to fall in love with ever since she had met various mages and artists and adventurers here and come to understand herself that little more. She had begun to find herself, begun to appreciate that she was more than just the heir of Philomel Van Der Aart.

"Ah, well one must find new ground to place one's feet," the human said, sitting slowly down opposite her.

Celandine made a slight face at that, having been looking forward to an evening just on her own. But then, proper decency and good manners had been her education, and despite her minor facial expressions she would keep up the practise of holding this woman she barely knew to a degree of acquaintance, rather than enemy.

"How is Akashima?" Celandine asked.

"We do not speak of it," Sakura said quickly. "Please, do not ask me anything of it."

Hmm. The knitter paused, and then cupped her hand around the large flagon of berry wine she had been nursing. An ugly pause grew, but it was awkward because the geisha had already sat down. And the sky outside was dark, with very few other houses or buildings for miles. Clearly, Sakura was also staying here for the night and that meant whatever her desires Celandine would have company.

"I want to-"

"Look," Celandine said with a sigh. "I'm trying to break from my mother's reputation. So if you can agree not to talk about my birth or her, or how much I look like her, then I won't ask about your home country. Then we can have a pleasant evening talking about .... anything. Absolutely anything else."

Sakura blinked. She was the perfect pitcure of her portrait that hung in Philomel's study, framed in silver. The painted face, the poised position, the effortless beauty.

Then Sakura smiled again, and this time it was a wider one, that showed teeth. Unwrapping pale hands from within her kimono she raised one and waved over the bartender without looking.

Pompous, but it looked like she agreed.

"Agreed. Now let us dine. I am so eager to try elven food."