Keefe the gift master >:) *nightfall*

Instructions

"“Please,” Keefe scoffed, grabbing a flat package from the pile—wrapped in blue paper covered in tiny green gulons. “Go on, Foster. Show them who’s the Gift Master.” “It’s not a competition,” she told him as she tore through the thin paper, peeled it back, and . . . “Told you,” Keefe said when she sucked in a breath. “I . . .” He smirked. “Look at that. The Mysterious Miss F. is speechless.” She was. She’d known he was an incredible artist—had often marveled at the detail in his sketches. But these? The first painting was a close-up of her with Grady and Edaline, the three of them leaning on each other and looking so . . . natural. As if they’d always been together. The other was a wider scene—Sophie with all of her friends, standing near Calla’s Panakes tree. It was the kind of incredible group Sophie had never dreamed she’d someday be a part of. But there she was. Right in the center. “Smooth move painting yourself next to her,” Ro told Keefe, peeking over Sophie’s shoulder. “Uh, we all know Foster can’t bear to be away from me—and art is about honesty. That’s why I made sure I have the best hair.” “I don’t know,” Biana argued, “you made mine pretty awesome. I should braid my hair more often.” “Are those runes on the back?” Dex asked as Biana started weaving her hair. Sophie flipped the paintings over. “Hey—I can actually read them.” Both paintings had the same word: Family. “Forkle helped me spell it out with their cipher,” Keefe explained. “Because the Black Swan is part of your family too—but who wants a painting of those weirdos?” Sophie laughed, even as her eyes welled up at the enormity of what he’d given her. Grady and Edaline were sniffling too. As were all the members of the Collective. And Alden and Della. Even Sandor. “Fine,” Dex mumbled. “You really are the Gift Master.” “Only for some people,” Biana noted. “He gave the rest of us mood candy. Again.” “And you loved every bite of it,” Keefe insisted. “Besides, you’ve seen Foster’s room. She was in desperate need of personal stuff. And she’s been bugging me for a drawing, so I kinda had to—” The rest of his sentence was choked off by Sophie’s tackle-hug. He laughed as he flailed to keep both of them from toppling over. “Don’t worry,” he grunted. “Breathing is overrated.” “It is,” Sophie agreed, unwilling to loosen her grip. “Those paintings, Keefe . . . I still don’t know what to say.” “Um, I thought we agreed you’d be declaring it the Best Gift in the History of the Universe! And feel free to add that it’s way better than anything the Fitzster has given you.” It was, actually—but saying that didn’t seem fair to all the awesome things Fitz had done. So she went with a simple “thank you.” Keefe pulled her a little closer. “Anytime, Foster.” It was probably her cue to let go, but . . . she couldn’t seem to do it." -Shanon Messenger, kotlc