The Avari is not speaking of your planetary origins.

It’s time for Rehnia to go out and meet the world as her true, blue self. After spending an indulgently long time choosing an outfit that complements her cerulean hues and silvery-white eyes, the Helurian confidently steps out her door.

Holding a six-fingered hand out at the curb, the towering woman hails a taxi with surprising ease. She had figured her appearance would put her at odds with the humans.

I can’t speak to your wife’s species’ birthing process, but if she has any Helurian in her genetic makeup, it won’t be long before the two of you are parents.

Congratulations, by the way.

Rhian, she’s not yet 30. In the span of your years, that’s barely one of hers.

“Our paths almost crossed once before, @DejsyBjork. I still consider that missed opportunity a shame.”

“The Nyxx Club really has gotten much classier since the 80s.”

In her centuries of effort at trying to better the world, Rehnia has become rather jaded. But she’s not so bored that she can’t find ways to amuse herself.

Rehnia gave her assistant the night off, if only to have the night off herself.

> “高橋さん、レーニアです。 あなたはより高い金額を再考しましたか? 8700万円は完璧です。 いいえ、保証します、先生、それはまったく問題ではありません。 素晴らしい。 そして、ありがとうございます。 こんばんは。”

Without looking up from her book, or even tapping the end-call button, Rehnia holds the phone out to Jordyn flat on her palm. “Ms. Driscoll, transfer 87 million yen to Mr. Takahashi immediately.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” the young woman replies uneasily.

“And Jordyn... Happy birthday.” Still nary a glance in her assistant’s direction.

“Thank you, Ma’am.”

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> lives in this era of the world, one must make certain concessions in the face of one’s personal creed. It’s in this vein that the busy, cacophonous world intrudes upon Rehnia’s solace; this time, it’s in the form of her assistant/bodyguard, a Ms. Jordyn Driscoll, hurriedly bursting into the café with a phone in hand.

“Ma’am,” she says, out of breath, “It’s Tokyo. They want to negotiate your donation.”

Rehnia takes the phone with a slightly annoyed look and puts it to her ear. >

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Anyone who knows her—but not her past—might refer to Rehnia as an ‘old soul’. And indeed she is; the alien currently sits in a café in a tiny town in Maine, eyes on the pages of a leather-bound copy of Herman Melville’s 𝘔𝘰𝘣𝘺-𝘋𝘪𝘤𝘬. Rehnia never saw a need for any so-called modern conveniences. A smartphone would never be tucked into her pants pocket; a laptop would not be found in any room of her house; she didn’t even hold a driver’s license (not that she’d ever fit into a car).

But when one >

> doesn’t have; then assess whether you can provide it, and if you can, do.

Rehnia’s (mostly) anonymous contribution to the technological advancement of humanity came in the form of a mechanism for transmitting sound waves directly between two distant locations. It, in turn, gave rise to the microphone and sound recording machines.

Rehnia started to amass her fortune in the 1820s, and the rest is history.

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> complement of physicians and caregivers—Rehnia became close with one of controversial note hailing from Wales in the mid-19th century—but the humans’ adoption of a currency-based economic structure told the Helurian that if she intended to act toward the betterment of Earth, she would need enough currency to spread all around the world.

Enter a peculiar yet wise Englishwoman with a French name. Madame LeVert lent the newcomer an invaluable bit of advice: determine what the world needs, but >

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Being able to heal injuries and cure sicknesses has always been a significant part of Rehnia’s life. But her home world had little reverence for her family’s past. As the youngest child of seven, Rehnia found it unsettlingly easy to leave for brighter shores amongst the cosmic oceans.

When the imposingly tall, cerulean alien set foot on a little blue globe in the Sol System in the late 1760s, she quickly realized that this world needed healing far beyond the physical.

Sure, Earth had its >

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