     If there were only one thing about me that drew a gaze, it was like to be the tone of my skin and eyes. I’m dark, a Shroud Shade as my mother used to call me, both fondly and not so fondly. She was dark too, but not nearly so.Â
      If there were only two things that drew eyes to me, it would be my tones and that I’m a Miqo’te man, but truth is there’s plenty of us about Eorzea now. People say you never saw us before Menphina’s Hound came and set the world to blazing. Mayhap that’s what all the fuss was really about. Ridiculous to think, I know.
      Mind’s wandering though, I was on about what draws attention to me, and right now I’m thinking it’s my eyes. Purple. I like my eyes most, good number of my sisters are colored the same way, or were.Â
      The woman what stands before me must like them too, she’s sort of gawking. Either because she finds me fetching or because I have something on my face. I prefer to think it’s the former. She’s a midlander girl, mayhap my age or something older, with bright brown eyes and a face you wouldn’t mind to be close to. I tell her again what I’m here for; willow bark, belladonna, things for my work. I’m not a true botanist, but being a good Hearer and steward of the Wood means having certain things on hand for the folk what inhabit it. I grin when I’m done, in a way that shows off my fangs.Â
      She looks down, realizing she’d been staring, and gets back on task. Nearly a thousand gil for the lot of it. It’s an amount I would have been outraged to spend a few years ago, but it seems the more you have the more you have to spend. Funny that.
      I pay her, smile, a murmured thanks, then I’m gone. That’s the best way to leave them, before they figure you out, before they know if they really like you or just want a longer look, before they can decide what you’re worth to them. It’s the mystery about you what drives them mad, and they hate unsettled mysteries.
      Only when I’m out of sight do I finally open my satchel and set what I bought inside. Around me the bustle of the stalls presses on. I like Gridania more than the other cities. Less folk, more room to breathe. No stink of rotting fish and stale whoring like in Limsa Lominsa, or unwashed-poverty and sickening-wealth fighting for the same space like you smell in Ul’dah. Never could figure out how other Miqo’te stand to live there. Mayhap they just got used to it, I never did.
      I’m ready to head home when I see her. A Keeper, not too rare a sight, but I recognize her as she turns and spots me. Qhon. She’s got a brown tone to her, though not dark, like coffee with plenty of cream in it. Golden eyes, wide. Shorter tail than most, though the fur what covers it a fluffy soft-black - same as the fluffy short hair what graces her head. It’s been nearly three years since I saw her last, but you don’t forget a good morning of lovemaking so easy, or who it was with.
      She pauses, recognizing me, then turns and walks out of the market. Not the reaction I was expecting. Did I leave her angry at me? No, I didn’t leave her at all, I just never saw her again after our encounter. Shame.
      I follow, angry suddenly. Mayhap it was my own fault for doing something I forgot, but I ain’t remember us parting in anger, and it makes me angry. At least wave to me.Â
      Qhon’s in an awful hurry, almost like she’s running away. It’s surprising, I’ve run into old lovers before, and I’ve never seen them try to run so quick-like. In fact most are kind enough. The way she’s moving is making me wonder, did I do something? Did we fight? No, nothing like that. I suppose I also hate unsettled mysteries.Â
      She’s set on me not catching up. I’m not set to run after her, if she wants so terribly not to speak to me then I’d be wrong to force it on her. I slow as we near Mih Khetto’s amphitheater, giving up, and that’s when I see her.
      A spindly thing, two or three at most. She’s skinny in that way small children are without being unhealthy. Slate-grey skin and soft black hair, but her eyes are a vibrant purple. They’re mine. She’s mine. It hits me like the Ixal what stabbed me as a boy, and I almost stagger the same way. The girl runs right up to Qhon smiling, fanged baby-teeth glinting a perfect white, arms raised like she expects to be scooped up. She is.
      Qhon and I meet gazes again over the little girl’s - my little girl’s - shoulder. In that moment there’s no hiding it. She knows, I know, and the look on her face tells the rest of the story; “I didn’t want you to know about herâ€.
      If there were only two things that drew eyes to me, it would be my tones and that I’m a Miqo’te man, but truth is there’s plenty of us about Eorzea now. People say you never saw us before Menphina’s Hound came and set the world to blazing. Mayhap that’s what all the fuss was really about. Ridiculous to think, I know.
      Mind’s wandering though, I was on about what draws attention to me, and right now I’m thinking it’s my eyes. Purple. I like my eyes most, good number of my sisters are colored the same way, or were.Â
      The woman what stands before me must like them too, she’s sort of gawking. Either because she finds me fetching or because I have something on my face. I prefer to think it’s the former. She’s a midlander girl, mayhap my age or something older, with bright brown eyes and a face you wouldn’t mind to be close to. I tell her again what I’m here for; willow bark, belladonna, things for my work. I’m not a true botanist, but being a good Hearer and steward of the Wood means having certain things on hand for the folk what inhabit it. I grin when I’m done, in a way that shows off my fangs.Â
      She looks down, realizing she’d been staring, and gets back on task. Nearly a thousand gil for the lot of it. It’s an amount I would have been outraged to spend a few years ago, but it seems the more you have the more you have to spend. Funny that.
      I pay her, smile, a murmured thanks, then I’m gone. That’s the best way to leave them, before they figure you out, before they know if they really like you or just want a longer look, before they can decide what you’re worth to them. It’s the mystery about you what drives them mad, and they hate unsettled mysteries.
      Only when I’m out of sight do I finally open my satchel and set what I bought inside. Around me the bustle of the stalls presses on. I like Gridania more than the other cities. Less folk, more room to breathe. No stink of rotting fish and stale whoring like in Limsa Lominsa, or unwashed-poverty and sickening-wealth fighting for the same space like you smell in Ul’dah. Never could figure out how other Miqo’te stand to live there. Mayhap they just got used to it, I never did.
      I’m ready to head home when I see her. A Keeper, not too rare a sight, but I recognize her as she turns and spots me. Qhon. She’s got a brown tone to her, though not dark, like coffee with plenty of cream in it. Golden eyes, wide. Shorter tail than most, though the fur what covers it a fluffy soft-black - same as the fluffy short hair what graces her head. It’s been nearly three years since I saw her last, but you don’t forget a good morning of lovemaking so easy, or who it was with.
      She pauses, recognizing me, then turns and walks out of the market. Not the reaction I was expecting. Did I leave her angry at me? No, I didn’t leave her at all, I just never saw her again after our encounter. Shame.
      I follow, angry suddenly. Mayhap it was my own fault for doing something I forgot, but I ain’t remember us parting in anger, and it makes me angry. At least wave to me.Â
      Qhon’s in an awful hurry, almost like she’s running away. It’s surprising, I’ve run into old lovers before, and I’ve never seen them try to run so quick-like. In fact most are kind enough. The way she’s moving is making me wonder, did I do something? Did we fight? No, nothing like that. I suppose I also hate unsettled mysteries.Â
      She’s set on me not catching up. I’m not set to run after her, if she wants so terribly not to speak to me then I’d be wrong to force it on her. I slow as we near Mih Khetto’s amphitheater, giving up, and that’s when I see her.
      A spindly thing, two or three at most. She’s skinny in that way small children are without being unhealthy. Slate-grey skin and soft black hair, but her eyes are a vibrant purple. They’re mine. She’s mine. It hits me like the Ixal what stabbed me as a boy, and I almost stagger the same way. The girl runs right up to Qhon smiling, fanged baby-teeth glinting a perfect white, arms raised like she expects to be scooped up. She is.
      Qhon and I meet gazes again over the little girl’s - my little girl’s - shoulder. In that moment there’s no hiding it. She knows, I know, and the look on her face tells the rest of the story; “I didn’t want you to know about herâ€.
