She sat there, watching her best friend kiss his wife. They were so happy, so in love. She raked her nails through her short green hair and smiled at them. All the while, Eliân wondered why she was incapable of having that. Of feeling it.

It wasn’t that many years ago, she and Forosuul worked side by side. The depended on each other for their lives. He was her back, her eyes when she was too close to the job. And he had a wicked streak that might exceed her own. He was dangerous in ways that made her excited. And still, even then, she couldn’t feel it. Not really.

So many rumors about the two of them ran back and forth among the other members of SI:7. They must be rolling in the bushes, it was said. Gonna have to seduce one again, E? F’s gonna be jealous! She heard on more than one occasion. Yet despite her ability to fake the emotions of normal people, she never felt those butterflies that she heard about.

She sighed, listening to them talk. Tindomiel had his heart and he had hers. She watched, curious about what it must be like. To feel devoted to another that way. To connect in such an intimate manner. She held her dagger between her fingers, spinning it back and forth, occasionally letting the tip tap the table. Tindomiel’s eyes would turn to it each time, it was obvious she was still wary of her husband’s friend.

If I could feel it, there is no one better suited to me than him. We are cast from the same mold. What is wrong with me, that I cannot find that within myself? She sheathed her weapon as Tindomiel placed dinner on the table. Shrugging inwardly, she gave her host a smile. At least the food is good.