Faye Covington was a practical woman. Most of the time, at least. Enough so that if someone offered her a limitless wish, she'd stare at him incredulously, wonder if he were mad, and ask what the catch was. Of course, in this case, she had no reason to ask. The stipulation was made loud and clear. She peered down at the parchment laid out over the surface of her polished, mahogany desk, sky blue eyes sweeping over the neatly printed words.
Three wishes; two limitless, the stipulation being that the third harmed the person she cared for the most equivalent to the complexity of her wishes. She didn't bother to wonder how or why yet. Instead, the first question to spring to her mind was yes or no?
She had plenty of things, material and otherwise, but the Midlander was ever ambitious; there were even more things that she wanted. Her desires were so numerous she couldn't even list them all. There were selfish things: vengeance to be had, talents and wealth and power beyond what she already possessed. And there were more selfless things: to deliver Eorzea from suffering at the hands of Garleans and Primals, to watch the people she loved flourish in happiness and success.
But who did she care for the most? Her husband, of course--the only person to truly understand her and love her unconditionally, the man she was blessed to come home to every night. Yes, she would burn the world to save him, and not the other way around. She would not harm him; not for the grandest wish in the world. She'd sooner plunge Eorzea into misery than to do it to the man she loved. Besides, what had wishing ever done for the fair lady? It was true that good fortune had granted her many boons, but most of the things she possessed she had clawed and fought and bled for herself. That was her mantra, after all--"If you want something done right, do it yourself." And she certainly did.
If she relied on wishes, where would she be today? She'd be a spoiled brat of a noblewoman, depressed and alone back in the Black Shroud with no home, no family, no friends, no job, nothing to her name but a pile of ash and rubble. It was a far cry from the privileged life she held now.
In her mind, there was no hesitation, no deliberation; she processed all these thoughts in a matter of milliseconds, giving the parchment the same cursory look-over and brief moment of contemplation anyone would give their every-day junk mail. She crumpled the piece of parchment, tossing it haphazardly into the small wastebasket next to the foot of her desk without a second thought. She then returned her attention to the tall stack idle paperwork piled onto her desk, her rosy lips resting in a faint smile.
She would achieve all the things for which she yearned, and she would do it herself, as always. She didn't need anyone's help, and she certainly did not need to wish on stars.
Three wishes; two limitless, the stipulation being that the third harmed the person she cared for the most equivalent to the complexity of her wishes. She didn't bother to wonder how or why yet. Instead, the first question to spring to her mind was yes or no?
She had plenty of things, material and otherwise, but the Midlander was ever ambitious; there were even more things that she wanted. Her desires were so numerous she couldn't even list them all. There were selfish things: vengeance to be had, talents and wealth and power beyond what she already possessed. And there were more selfless things: to deliver Eorzea from suffering at the hands of Garleans and Primals, to watch the people she loved flourish in happiness and success.
But who did she care for the most? Her husband, of course--the only person to truly understand her and love her unconditionally, the man she was blessed to come home to every night. Yes, she would burn the world to save him, and not the other way around. She would not harm him; not for the grandest wish in the world. She'd sooner plunge Eorzea into misery than to do it to the man she loved. Besides, what had wishing ever done for the fair lady? It was true that good fortune had granted her many boons, but most of the things she possessed she had clawed and fought and bled for herself. That was her mantra, after all--"If you want something done right, do it yourself." And she certainly did.
If she relied on wishes, where would she be today? She'd be a spoiled brat of a noblewoman, depressed and alone back in the Black Shroud with no home, no family, no friends, no job, nothing to her name but a pile of ash and rubble. It was a far cry from the privileged life she held now.
In her mind, there was no hesitation, no deliberation; she processed all these thoughts in a matter of milliseconds, giving the parchment the same cursory look-over and brief moment of contemplation anyone would give their every-day junk mail. She crumpled the piece of parchment, tossing it haphazardly into the small wastebasket next to the foot of her desk without a second thought. She then returned her attention to the tall stack idle paperwork piled onto her desk, her rosy lips resting in a faint smile.
She would achieve all the things for which she yearned, and she would do it herself, as always. She didn't need anyone's help, and she certainly did not need to wish on stars.
![[Image: NCtCate.png]](http://i.imgur.com/NCtCate.png)
