As days in Vega went, hers had been slow. Not everyone had reason or coin to spare to afford hot meals cook by another's hand. Even if her's were the best. Or so Aunt Clara told her.

Still, the tiny place ran under the seemingly cast iron will of Clara her grey hair braided back, her green eyes still bright and clever. That and the magic probably helped, Victoria supposed. They were perhaps the last of their kind. Last to note the circle of the year in the old ways, the last to speak blessings of health and well being over the food they made and served. Still, they had it and they used it to survive.

As lunch wound down, Victoria made note of some of the produce they were short on. They'd need fresh vegetables for the dinner service and so, wrapping a green knitted shawl around herself, Victoria headed for the market, walking smoothly through the crowd. She only paused when she felt as if she was being watched.

Turning, searching amongst the crowd her gaze caught on a figure and the world stopped.