What Elian had so dearly yearned to show her was a wheat field. A perfect circle had been sliced in its middle, one they currently sat in, crossed legged as they looked up to the moon. "I always came here when I was a child," he said as he glanced Ophelia's way. "I used to wonder—and I still do—if this part of the field will ever grow back."

Ophelia cocked her head as if to ask, Does it not? Why?

This time, it seems Elian understood; that, or he had merely wished to tell her his story from the start. She did her best to listen. She did her best to keep herself from losing track of his words when the glint of the sky above made his emerald eyes turn into darker hues of sickly blues. "They say it was witchcraft," Elian told her, in a tone that did not evoke fear, but curiosity—a thirst for knowledge. "Others think it is a prank. Yet, we've tried everything to make the soil fertile again—nothing ever works. I..." Elian bit his lip. His eyes darted to their feet. "I always believed it was real," he said. "Magic. And now,"—his gaze met Ophelia's again—"with you here,"—he smiled—"maybe we'll finally get answers. You don't know how happy that makes me, Ophelia."

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Ophelia turned her head away. Her heart was beating, fast, in ways that made her head spin and her throat dry. She didn't know why she'd believed Elian's interest in her was true from the start. Perhaps, she thought, that she had wanted to trust in him—in the good of this world filled with wonderful but deadly creatures and tales.

She gulped.

I'm nothing to him.

"Sorry." Elian chuckled. "Did I scare you with all this talk of magic?" He leaned in. His fingers brushed against her knuckles. "I didn't mean to," he said. "It'll be okay, I promise."

Elian grinned again. Ophelia wanted to throw up.

I'm nothing. I'm neither a friend, nor a foe.

I'm useful.

Convenient.

Proof.

Cattle.

"I promise, I'll protect you from the enchantress, whomever she may be."