She finds him under an apple tree. Dead, she thinks at first, but he is just sleeping or unconscious, his chest rising and falling, his breath as soft as the breeze. Above, a blackbird sings in shrill staccato, frogs croak and gurgle from the wet undergrowth, and cobwebs glitter and twinkle with dampness from the recent rain.

She has seen human men before, although not as close, and she approaches him cautiously lest he awakens and flees. Raindrops speckle his armour and glisten on his brow, and his messy hair glows bronze in the springtime sunlight. His limbs are long, his lips full, his expression gentle. She's close enough to see every freckle and every blemish, and they're beautiful.

He's beautiful.

She's forgotten at once all other beautiful, shining things she's desired before. Gone from her mind are jewels and grand animals and dresses of gold silk brocade. Oh, how lovely he'd look beside her in the court of Elfane, a sweet human pet with a human tongue and human eyes and a fleshy human heart, and mortality in his every fibre like a pestilence.

She wants him fervently. To own him. To control him. To rip him apart and sew him back together. Before she can help herself, she is pinning him to the tree and kissing him, deeply and furiously, with a hunger that surprises even herself.

She does not let him go, even when he stirs, even when he struggles. She'll never let him go, she promises.

She'll never let him go.