Good grief, Niamh thought wearily, tossing one more old, moth-eaten bit of costuming into the discard pile, another year almost done. Where had all the time gone to?!? She’d opted to come in on her day off and clean out the costume room. The theatre was quiet right now anyway. Summer was over and there would be a little dry spell until the holiday shows began. Which meant that she needed to go through everything to take a proper inventory. Yes, she had prop and costume teams, but what sort of manager would she be if she didn’t get in there herself and help?

Well, judging by the stories she heard, a normal, run of the mill one.

Regardless, she thought, tossing a petticoat into the keep pile, just issuing orders without doing the work didn’t sit right with her. And, if she were to be entirely honest with herself, ever since getting back to Earth after nearly witnessing its consumption at the hands of a cosmic horror, she couldn’t not work and help. Everything she knew and loved had come so close to being wiped out… Too close. Ugh, she didn’t want to think about it anymore! They’d won. Snake was locked away. And as long as she didn’t happen to look up at the sky while pressing through the streets as Sailor Orcus, she could pretend that there wasn’t a single thing to worry about. Only, she thought grimly, I do look up every damn time. The pinpoint of light that was the Hallow’s prison twinkled menacingly, a promise of violence to come if they ever let their guards down. Growling in annoyance at the turn her thoughts had taken, Niamh threw herself down into a pile of fabrics, hands over her face as she fought down an existential crisis.

She couldn’t live her life paranoid of every little what-if and maybe. She’d go bitter and cold and she’d worked so hard to break herself of old, toxic patterns. But it would be so easy to go back to being what she’d been: cold, aloof, delighting in causing pain… After all, they could all be eaten at any point by some forgotten monstrosity. Why not enjoy her little games? They were old, well-worn and comfortable paths within her brain. “But I’m not that person now,” she muttered. “I don’t want to be that person again.” She made a point of pulling up every good and happy memory from the night of her purification onwards. Nimue’s smile. The group hugs she was regularly enveloped in by the troupe. Standing backstage and listening to the swell of applause for her darlings on opening night. These were her anchors and her guards against backsliding into less than palatable habits. And, as she forced herself to breathe slowly, methodically, she felt the tension in her neck and shoulders loosen. She was here. For better or worse, she was here and content within her life. Even the infuriating parts.

Another breath, two. There. Opening her eyes, Niamh looked around the room and managed a smile. God, it was a mess. But it was her mess.

And that thought, more than anything, helped bring her back to the present. And, after a few more breaths, she got up and went back to work. There really was an enormous amount of stuff that had to be sorted out.

Word Count = 569