Bree stared at the tip of her shoe, fascinated by the play of light over the beaded satin. The pumps themselves were your average pump. Pointy toe, three inch stiletto heel. It was the fabric that drew her. Tan satin embroidered with glass beads and bits of river pearl. Shiny, pretty, and ungodly expensive.

Such frivolities and she thought nothing of them. A human once said a famous line, "It's good to be the king." Right now the Sidhe agreed.  Looking up from a medium sized pad of paper that she had balanced precariously on her knee, Bree regarded the man on her couch. Middle age did not agree with him. His already sparse hairline was fast reaching the back of his head. His skin was blotchy and pale from ill health. The bulky mass around his middle didn't help matters much. And his attempt to hide all the imperfections with a six hundred dollar suit and a ridiculously expensive and flashy car in her drive way, failed miserably. One good look and Bree had a diagnosis. Fear of Death. Midlife Crisis. Mortality.   Try telling him that without ruining your reputation or hurting his feelings.

Although, his feelings didn't matter nearly as much as his social standing within the circle of Hawaii's elite.  As he lifted his sweaty hands and adjusted himself on the suede couch, Bree stifled a cringe and made a mental note to have Stephanie call someone to clean the fabric. And Bree left the Seelie Court for this...

Twenty years ago Bree had a revelation, or rather a bright idea. For centuries things remained the same. The happy, shiny people of the Seelie court reveled in their mythology and the adoration from the human world, but Bree was not as stupid as to believe that was the extent of it. There was more to life. Other Sidhe have found a nitch for themselves outside of the Farie. Acting as delegates among the humans. Some assumed secret identities and merely reveled in their play among humans. Why not her? While other fae have faded into obscurity, a chosen few remained in the forefront of human thought. People called it superstition, Bree called it hope. A hope for regaining that which was taken from her for the fear of the very people that still whispered her name in their prayers. Droplets of power falling into the well left bare by the wardings.

But now humans had other gods to worship, the gods of self help. The books themselves were fluff in Bree's opinion. Nothing but common sense and encouraging words and examples that might have worked in a perfect world. But the world was far from perfect, a fact that drove the sales fast and hard into the stratosphere. With both of her books ending up on the New York’s Times Bestseller's list, they sold, the people clamored for more, and Bree was elbow deep on the third installment. A quaint little diddy. A guide to stronger beliefs and how to seek enlightenment through faith. With a pinch of the occult and a history lesson all wrapped into a neat hard cover package. As cliché as it sounded but the Self Help genre did work. The whole horse-and-pony show wasn’t netting $10 Billion a year because it didn’t. Already the all time number of fans that visited H.B. Throng's website had grown to just under two million. Not bad for an author that never gave a TV interview in her life. The press release claimed it was to preserve the author's privacy. In truth Bree knew that however strong her powers were, they weren't nearly enough to cast glamour strong enough to hide her true self from the television cameras. One, two, that was doable, the rest...not a test of skill she wanted to undertake willingly.

Now as the tip of her pen tapped against the high grade paper she re-read over her notes. Smiling at the fluid curves and dips of her handwriting. If anyone ever saw her session notes, they might wonder if Bree had a full time engraver, rewriting her notes in the cursive font. "Has potential. Stubborn. Tread softly." Not quite the in depth psychological jargon, but it helped Bree keep track of her clients, small group that they were.

Ten more minutes of his “woe is me” whining and Bree had enough. Putting down her notepad on the side table with an audible thud, she sat up. "Have you thought that perhaps you need to alter your life style? It seems like your current method of dealing with your issues is not only adding more stress but driving you deeper into depression?"  If Bree tried hard enough, she could find every book the Merriam-Webster's dictionary had available for "Mid-Life Crisis" and use it. Humans seemed to love big words. The bigger the more intelligent the better.  Smiling a polite smile, Bree reached out and clicked a button atop of a timer. "I'm sorry Gregory, but it seems our time for today is up. I must say I am very impressed with the amount of progress you've made this week" Before the man had a chance to reply or to disagree Bree went on. "For our next session I'd like you to make a list of all the things you'd like to change about your life. Start with diet and work your way up to life's goals. It'll help shine perspective on the now and give us something to talk about next time." Next time being next week, for two hours at a three figures an hour. 

With the notepad set aside, Bree rose from her chair to the soundtrack of silk rustling against the embroidered cushions. "I also have something for you to read at your leisure. It’s a chapter from a book I’m writing...”