What a pretty child she was. All lace and ruffles, the perfect example of Asturia's decadence. Folken saw so many lost souls in his travels, but none so well clad as this child. She had gotten lost, and then the storm came. That's how it always happens; first one disaster, then another far worse. This was certainly no time for flight, and Folken had gone seeking shelter. When he saw her, so dishevelled and upset, he thought perhaps he might have found it.

"Are you lost?"

Celena had seen him land, and wanted to scramble away. This could mean nothing good. She knew the stories about cursed people, all those myths about strange beings that you must never go near. There were strange people that could make you dissapear. Her father went looking for one of those people, and he never came back. She didn't want to disappear. What would happen to her mother? And her brother, who loved her so dearly?

"I won't hurt you," he said. He knelt quietly, letting her decide whether she wanted to come closer or not. She did need to get out of the rain, though. The poor thing was already soaked through, and would become ill if she remained longer.

"Are you hungry?"

"Stay away. I don't want anything from you..." She knew what those white wings meant. He was some kind of demon. And demons eat children. Or they peel their skin off and leave them for dead. Something like that. At any rate, she knew they did something she didn't want to have happen.

"You've been here for awhile, haven't you? Are you all on your own?"

"No...I..." It had been awhile, and she was cold and weary. She missed her family, and how would she ever get home? It was getting dark and she had no idea where she was. Perhaps some strange far off land, perhaps demons or faeries had carried her off. But she musn't give in. She'd be strong, and then she'd get home. That was how it went, wasn't it? All those people in faerietales, they endured tests and went home better than before. They didn't give up, and she couldn't either. Her mother and her brother needed her.

"I'm fine!" she screamed. "Just stay away from me, bad man. I know what you are!"

Of course, such things always hurt to hear. But she was only a child. She most likely didn't understand what she was saying, and if she didn't let him help her she might die.

"I'll stay over here, if you wish. I'd still like to talk to you, though. I'm lonely, you see."

He seemed like he was telling the truth. He was obviously sad, too.

"But why are you lonely? Demons don't get lonely."

"We do, very much. No one will talk to us, you see. No one likes us, so we have no friends. I would like one. Someday."

Even if there were no other good quality about her, Celena did not have a heart of stone. Who would hear such things and not feel for the soul saying them? Would it be okay, though? Did he really mean that? Clarity in anything eluded her, surely the work of the damp and cold. She was in no condition to decide anything. But he seemed so sincere...she thought maybe...well, he could mean it, couldn't he? Everyone gets redemption. In the stories, they do. There's always that someone surprising who earns respect for their kind...

"Why don't you just cut those things off? Then no one would hate you." He seemed even sadder then, and she regretted the remark. But it was the most logical solution.

"You're right, I'm sure. I don't know that that would solve everything, though. I'd still be me, you see. Without my wings, I'd still be the same. And it is myself that is hated."

"Maybe...maybe if you learned proper introductions, you wouldn't scare people. It's rude, you know, just to come up to someone you don't know." Well, everyone knew that, but maybe he didn't. Monsters are always rude, so they must not have any governesses to drill them every day in boring rules.

"I don't have anyone to teach me."

"I could!" she piped up. "I know lots about it! My governess says I'm always so polite and everyone loves me because of it. I can teach you everything you need to know." She tried to take on a more proper voice, the one her instructor always used. "And then one day, you'll become a debutante."

She was only reciting a line, only repeating stories she knew. What beautiful simplicity this child had, Folken thought. The world would be much the worse for her loss, surely. Lightning cracked nearby, and on cue the rain became worse. It wouldn't be fitting if the storm didn't aspire to be a tempest. It wouldn't be a faerietale.

"Perhaps I could. But you'd have to trust me first, if you're ever to teach me. Will you?" He held his hand out to her yet, extending another chance. He hoped she might take it without hesitation, without fear.