16th of Flamerule, 1492

The small, non-descript Waterdhavian inn was quiet. Most patrons had already retired for the night, though a few windows were still lit, their rooms' occupants still active.
 
In one such room, a pale woman sat sobbing on her bed, gangly arms wrapped tightly around skinny legs, lanks of coal-black hair sticking to her damp cheeks. A white leather mask, distinctly avian in appearance, laid crumpled on the floor. The Silence spell cast on the room ensured that no one would hear the cries wracking her body, least of all Bourdekin herself.
 
She hadn't cried this hard - or at all, honestly - since Vera died over ten years ago. However, the intense emotions flooding her since encountering the Raven Queen's envoy, being that close to her goddess's power, shattered the seal around her heart. How strange that a trip to the Shadowfell, a place known for inspiring apathy, instead sparked her deepest-buried sentiments.
 
Bourdekin sobbed in remorse for abandoning her mother Valentina and leaving home, even though she logically knew that Valentina had given her blessing and was well-cared for by her social circle in Suzail.
 
She sobbed in loneliness for the departure of Prince Na, even though she logically knew he was safer in New Mezro under the protection of Bara Fipya and his sister Mwaxanare.
 
She sobbed in despair as she pined for Tully, even though she logically knew that he would never assent to marry a dour doctor with a lazy eye, no matter how prestigious the Windrivver name.
 
She sobbed in confusion at the passion she felt toward Fiego, even though she logically knew it was the enduring affection of the Raven Queen for Eilistraee and not her own.
 
And she sobbed in gratitude knowing that the Raven Queen valued her service and had a place for her in death.
 
The spell faded, and sound returned to the room in a non-descript Waterdhavian inn. But now, the only noise was soft snoring as Bourdekin, completely drained of emotion, slept the sleep of the dead.