If one were inclined to think about it much, it might strike them as odd that such a small town boasts any manner of library, let alone one as well-stocked as this. It's nothing in comparison to—wherever she came from, she can't quite recall, slips off the memory when she thinks of it, but that's unimportant. The library is here, and so is Ness, and she likes it here.

The war is over, and she can pretend that she's a native, as she always planned—and sometimes, she thinks, she really believes it, can't remember a life that wasn't this small Nevarran town and its mysteriously stocked library. She's kept both her arms, and has no anchor, so she must be a native, surely. In fact, her mother runs this library, isn't that nice? Ness has read every book in it cover to cover already, and is working on reading all of them a second time. She loves her life. She loves this town. She loves—

Well, love is a strong word. But there is a distinct flutter in her heart when Messere Orlov comes to the library. He borrows books for his household occasionally, and Ness—she hasn't behaved improperly, she's sure. She's made sure. But Messere is tall and has kind eyes and a pleasant voice and anyone would find themselves taken with him, she thinks.

He taught her Nevarran, didn't he? Or—maybe he didn't. Maybe that doesn't fit this version of them. The dream hasn't decided yet.

Regardless, Messerve Orlov has come to town, and Ness has spent half the day hoping he'll come to the library. She has a new primer set aside for his wife's child, and a book of Orlesian poetry that she's reading behind her desk, trying to decide if it's improper to suggest for him.

When the door opens and he walks through it, she looks up and smiles, cheeks already a little pink.

"Messere Orlov, how nice to see you! I wondered if you might be coming through today. How fares your household?"