Lurlinemas most have come at some point, but the occasion went uncelebrated. Fiyero didn't mention it to anyone. It was like a ticking bomb. Every day the Spring was closer to coming. Every day he was getting closer to having to take some sort of action.

But at the moment he didn't have to think about that. He could focus on the task at hand, inspired by his most recent discovery: the drawing room. Elphaba's father had at least made sure she would be entertained, supplying her with the never ending library. But he also seemed to encourage her to more artistic pursuits. She had taken to music to a certain degree, but she had no talent with drawing or painting.

But Fiyero did, and now that he had found the drawing room he was eager to sketch. Elphaba was less than enthused to be his subject, but he had coaxed her into sitting for him when he had promised that she could read the whole time, as long as she stayed mostly still and didn't let the book block her face.

He sat across the room from her, taking a piece of charcoal to the paper. Neither spoke. She was engrossed in her book, he was engrossed in, well, her. He'd always liked to draw and had done it alot when he was younger. When he'd been about twelve his father had encouraged him to take up more athletics, which he liked well enough. It was just refreshing to finally be able to draw again. True, he was no artist. But he enjoyed it.

A little while lated, he streached and gave the drawing one last look. Something didn't feel quite right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. All the same, he finally said, "Alright, I'm done."

"Finally!" She said as she jumped off of the couch. "Can I see?" She was at his side in two even strides- she was tall for a girl and her legs made the distance from the couch to the desk he had been working at short.

He quickly pulled the drawing over her head- he had a few inches on her. "Uh-uh. An artist never let's anyone see their work."

She pouted a little, reaching feebly over her head. "An artist only gets paid if they let someone see their work."

He smiled and leaned away from her, pulling the picture further out of her reach. "So what? I'm a starving artist, drawling for the soul. Besides, since when are you paying me to have me draw you?"

She rolled her eyes, sliding up to her toes to try to reach the paper, nearly slipping due to her natural clumsiness. He caught her with his free arm. She still held her head high. "Starving artist? So you'll be leaving? Because as long as you're here, you're still eating."

Her remark was mostly joking, but he had to ask, "Do you want me to go?"

The smile was off of her face, replaced by a somber expression. She took a step back and came down off of her toes. "No, I want you to stay. I- did you think I wanted you to leave?"

"No... Or I hoped not." What the hell? Why did it matter? He would have to go, eventually. But you don't want to just leave her. You want her to want to be near you.

"I don't want you to leave," she admitted as if she could read his thoughts, breaking his heart at the same time. Because he would have to leave, someday.

"Then I won't," he said all the same. He closed his eyes and lowered his hand, feeling silly that he still held it out of reach. "Here's the picture. I'm not so good, but you're easy to draw."

She studied the paper for a long minute, scrutinizing every detail. "She looks pretty."

Oz, there were so many things he could say to that, so many thoughts that ran through his head. He picked one and blurted, "She? It's not a random woman. It's you. That's why I had you sit for me."

She looked at him oddly and dropped the paper back on the desk he had drawn on. "You.. you think I look like that?"

"Are you asking if I think you're as pretty as the drawing?" Color flooded her face again, and she tried to stutter a response but it came out on decipherable. Taking a deep breath, he said, "Because if you are, the answer is no." She couldn't keep her face from falling. He gently put a hand under her chin, lifting it. "I think you're much more beautiful than any drawing I could do." She smiled at him, his hand drifting over to her cheek. She rested her own soft hand on it. The moment seemed frozen, perfect.

Until Lianna coughed from the doorway, making her presence known. She had been too late to hear their conversation, but had seen enough. She strode into the room, lightly grabbing Elphaba's arm. "C'mon dear. You need your sleep."

"I'm not a child, Lianna. I can go to bed when I feel like it."

"Really Elphaba, what's gotten into you? Your father put you under my care. I have to do what I see is best for you. C'mon now." Her grip tightened- she could never remember Elphaba talking back to her. The girl was subdued and followed her.

"Good night!" Fiyero called out.

She stopped to look back to him. "Good night."

Lianna saw that the girl was safely in her room and then let the panic take over. What had been about to happen in there? It was plain to see that Elphaba was completely taken with their guest- an attractive young Prince? It was any girl's dream. She seemed to trust him completely, not doubting him. But what did he think of her? Was it dumb luck that he wound up snowed in with them? What did he think about her? Did he mean for her to fall in love with him? Did he care for her? Would he hurt her? When the snow thawed, would he leave her? Get what he wanted and leave her broken?

The Wizard of Oz had given Lianna careful instructions those seventeen years ago. The most important of which was: no one should ever meet the girl. She could have no outside contact. It had hurt Lianna to watch the lonely child. She had thought the rule bordering on cruel.

But that didn't change the fact that Elphaba was different. It didn't change the fact that her father was the most powerful man in Oz, either. Lianna, for the first time she could recall, had no inkling of what she should do.