Miria lifted her eyebrows in surprise to Curdle's reaction. He had always seemed so careful and guarded with his interaction with her, as distrustful of her as she was of him, so she suspected. And though his answer was vague and very unsatisfying, his tears said what his words could not. It did not matter what kind of relationship Curdle had with his master. All that mattered was that they cared for each other, in whatever capacity, and he was mourning the loss of that relationship.

If Miria held judgement to anyone, it was not Curdle. Rather, it was to the Lady Gerun, because the Lady Gerun had obtained what Miria could not, was spared the harsh truths of most jinn, and had been lucky enough to befriend someone who was sincere in his emotions. Oh, how she wished Tamal's love for her had been true. How whimsical it would have been for them to develop a relationship well into their senior years, for her to trust him enough to tend to her remains after death, and for him to love her enough to comply with such wishes. She felt envious of the Lady Gerun to have found a servant as loyal as Curdle and to have kept him for the majority of her life. She wanted to hate the woman.

But Miria could not. How could she hate someone who had done nothing to Miria to deserve that hate? How could she hate someone that had loved and trusted even a lowly servant? From what little Miria knew of the Lady Gerun, she must have been a respectable, kind woman. When Curdle spoke of her, it was not the false compliments fueled by the fear of punishment for speaking the truth. No, this [i]was[/i] the truth, it had to be. The woman was dead; there was no reason for Curdle to continue to speak so kindly about her. The Lady Gerun was very lucky to have not been alone at her death. She was the embodiment of what Miria had hoped to become and would never be.

Who would mourn Miria's death when her time of passing came? It would be her wares that some would miss, not her. Since discovering the truth about Tamal, she had been fine with this lonely existence. Better to die alone than die betrayed. Now, she was not so sure.

Curdle's reaction also said much about him. When Miria had sat down, it was simply to be more comfortable, as she considered it rude to have lengthy conversations with a guest while standing. Standing to a guest conveyed disinterest, and Miria was very interested in hearing what Curdle had to say. Furthermore, he stood in front of her booth--the closest thing to home that she had--thus, he was a guest.

Treating this lowly jinni as a guest was a sign that there was a lesson from Tamal that Miria has failed to learn: she was incapable of seeing the jinn as lesser beings than herself, at least not completely, regardless of what she thought of them. It had resulted in her heartbreak and near death, yet she had not thought of her mistake of sitting down to a jinni, not until Curdle had also sat down. Tamal would have remained standing. Curdle, on the other hand, knew his place in the world, or at least did not think himself as somehow above her.

Then again, the tears and the story could be a ruse to get something out of Miria...but what? A way to smuggle something illegal? She had already checked the Lady Gerun's ashes with a stick--something she now regretted doing. If the ashes were of another jinni, who was she to bar him from paying his respects? Curdle was not journeying physically with her... She could not find any reason for Curdle to deceive her. Not yet, anyway. She hadn't thought Tamal capable of such a thing, either.

"What has been done is done," Miria said dismissively, undermining Curdle's apology. "Apologizing won't undo what has happened. If you are haunting my dreams to make sure I take care of your master's ashes, I can assure you that I will keep them safe. If that's what I need to do to get you out of my head, then so be it." Her tone was hard, businesslike, borderline cold, Miria not wanting to think she held any sort of compassion for him or his master, even if her actions spoke otherwise. "Just tell me what I need to do to meet your satisfaction."

She rose to her knees, gently shifting through her wares until she found a square of cloth the size of a standard handkerchief, a royal purple background adorned with delicate, swirling designs in various shades of purples, pinks, reds, and blues that were distinctively jinn in style. Though the cloth had been woven with much detail, it was not one of Miria's better works. "This was one of my first weavings," she said, holding up the cloth to Curdle so that he could see the design. "Much care was put into every stitch, back during a time when life for me was...simpler, more innocent. I have no need for it now. I couldn't bring myself to destroy it, so I hoped someone would finally take it off my hands and that I could at least gain a little profit from it, but it never sells. I won't divulge the background or meaning behind it, the pattern is quite loud, and I'm not even certain if it is to your lady's tastes, but considering what I know of her, I think this would suit her. I can drape it around her urn when I wake. That was why you stopped by my booth in the first place, was it not?"