The air within the loft stirred without wind. Not enough, certainly to disturb the carefully stacked parchments, nor the open pages of Spellman's Syllabary, but enough that one of the golden butterflies was gently coaxed to drift from its lazy orbit and settled upon the edge of the circular window before taking flight once more.

From the reflection upon the glass, another figure slowly emerged. Seemingly born from starlight itself, her pale form manifested itself with quiet grace and drifted near Rajan without the intention of disturbing him. She could not help it but observe him, however, her gaze lingering over the orderly chaos that surrounded him.


"There is diligence," she murmured, her voice soft as dust disturbed between ancient shelves, "and there is seeking perfection where understanding has already taken root."

Helena came to rest beside one of the towering shelves, fingertips passing harmlessly through the worn leather spines before her eyes settled not upon the parchment, but upon Rajan himself.

"And there are Heating Charms."