Her heart is a heavy burden in her birdlike chest as she moves forth through the festival, a gleaming smile her only shield as she dips her head and greets those who have traveled from both near and far to attend this event. She cannot be seen as a weak or faltering hostess, and summons as much energy as she can muster to appear as flawless as the ice that coats the majestic mountains surrounding her bustling home. But internally she is at war, her encounter with Thranduil and his subsequent confession like hornets in her mind. Thoughts of Ashamin and her children, the twins distancing themselves further as if in preparation for something Hotaru could not understand or anticipate, only haunt her thoughts further. 

Her steps are unconscious, following Alice's smoking form rather than deciding intentionally where she wants to go. The hell-bitch is like her seeing eye dog, guiding her forward with a gentle sort of insistence that speaks of Alice's deep concern for her Alpha's state of mind. And as she hears and registers a voice crying forth into the night, speaking of the future and predictions, Alice knows immediately that she must usher her sister forth into the presence of the woman who calls it out. Hotaru registers the words late, following Alice like a drained wraith. But as they click in her mind, she hurries towards Aisling with something like desperation clogging her throat. 

"Aisling," she whispered, voice fraught with grief and tension that only the thief could hear. For the only other individual nearby had already been imparted with a fortune, and Hotaru needed hers now. Aisling had likely never seen Hotaru in such a state before, but imploring mismatched eyes could not be evaded, and Hotaru would ensure her silence in the future if need be. 

And even if these were just fanciful, pretend words meant to fit any vague individual...Hotaru didn't care, she would swear on any bit of magic or literature that could calm the tempest of her heart. "Please. Tell me what awaits me." And if the lights sparkled in her eyes, the stars falling to place themselves within the depths of her gaze, she would blame it on the evening light above. Not the hot sheen of tears she could feel pressing down on her spirit. 

This is no mistake, no accident
If you think the final nail is in, think again