Looking up at Siryn, I couldn't help but feel horribly inadequate. Where my coloring was dull and dark and plain, hers was bright and fiery and breathtaking. She looked like some flaming-haired goddess straight out of a Renaissance painting and her eyes were like the living embodiment of her homeland, Ireland. In the face of so much history, suddenly being a New Yorker didn't seem all that interesting.

"Of course," I said, nodding glumly. I could never be anything more than okay, after all. Being okay was my state of being, my lot in life. I was cursed to be ordinary in every way. "Are you sure I didn't hurt you? I can be such a klutz."