"Dance with me, Mr. Tumnus!"
I twirl her round and round until she's out of breath; her eyes alight with a sort of peaceful gaiety that I always associate with the youngest Pevensie.
"Pour me some tea," she asks, and of course I do. Dollop of milk, two sugars, as always.
"Play me a song," she says, and I cannot deny her. She sometimes dances.
I don't know if she has realized yet how utterly tame I have become. My decisions are hers to make. I must obey her every word.
Because I love her and I love keeping her happy.
I must show her who I am, someday. I've spent all our moments knowing her. Though, I cannot allow myself to hope that she'll love me when she knows me.
But, for now I'll walk her through the woods, swim with her in the stream, sing Narnian lullabies at night before she sleeps.
I try not to give myself away when I look at her. I'm sure it is plain as day to her siblings, but she has always found a way to overlook others' faults. She sees Mr. Tumnus, not me. Not Tumnus.
Not the fool in love.