She doesn't care. At least, that's what she tells herself.
She doesn't care that she never gets lost, that she can see things nobody else can. She doesn't even care that the goblins keep a constant guard. She doesn't care that other, darker, more dangerous things do as well.
She doesn't care that she craves the feeling of magic against her skin. That, regardless of if she likes it or not, every second she can find is spent looking for it.
She talks to him aloud, sometimes. She's careful to never speak is name, or give him a door, but still – she talks. She laughs, bitterly, at how his world has stolen the beauty from hers.
Eventually, she stops talking to anybody else, except Toby. He doesn't remember anything, not really, maybe a few brief images of goblins, of a dancing, white haired man, but not enough for him to suspect.
He tells her she should find what makes her happy, in his childlike way. He brings her chocolates and teddy bears, and gets confused when they do little. When he stays the night, he finds her on the couch, not really asleep – but perhaps dozing. He tries to hug her, every time, and sometimes he succeeds, but sometimes she feels like air to him.
She keeps a bowl of peaches on the table that she won't let him eat from. He knows when she bought them; he was there. They were just normal, market peaches, kind of dull looking – but when she touched them, with her long, pale fingers, they seemed to brighten.
They stay fresh, in the bowl that she won't let him near. She doesn't eat any, but he finds her looking at them sometimes, her features twisted in an odd expression almost like longing.
One night, when he's visiting and she's dozing, he takes a peach. He cuts it up and grinds it with a spoon, trying to make it into juice like his mother does with oranges. He succeeds, sort of.
He wants her to smile, and he doesn't understand why she won't eat the peaches. So he pours the juice down her throat, gingerly, while she dozes. Not enough to choke her or anything, because he's smart, but enough that he hopes she'll stop longing for them.
The next day, she doesn't wake up, but in her sleep she's smiling a small, soft smile. So he let's her sleep, and watches TV in the other room.
She wakes up late, the sun is almost down. She takes him home, still smiling, and she tells him that if he ever wants to talk to her, all he has to do is wish it.
He asks if he can visit again. She laughs like she hasn't in a long time, and kisses his hair before she leaves.
The next day, she goes missing. Everyone is called to search. There aren't any clues. She just vanished.
A few months later, he remembers what she said.
He wishes.