It was almost as if I had raised Jack myself.

Even all the villagers loved him. Starting from the time he could walk, I had little to no influence over what kind of child he had become. He was always wandering, from around the farmhouse, to around the fields, then to the streets where the shop owners treated him to sweets, to anywhere else his heart fancied. At the age of three, he met carpenters who lived by the mountains that gave him a tiny hammer, and trusted him with a few planks of wood, letting him mimic their work. Everyone loved him so much, and no one had the heart to even think of him as being in the way.

Jack was an adorable child. He had a round, cherubish face and tufts of delicate russet hair. His favorite thing to wear was his grandfather's old multicolored ball cap, and he wouldn't go anywhere without it. There was not a single person in the village who didn't have the privilege of enjoying his trusting smile. And how he loved to run! Beneath the oversized hat, one could only see his chubby arms and legs waving around everywhere.

Before he could speak, he would watch birds singing, and he would coo at them as if yearning to communicate with them. If he wanted to pick a beautiful flower, one of my Harvest Sprites would run over and try to explain the value of its delicate little life, though usually in a game of funny faces and hand gestures. He loved my Harvest Sprites, and in the mountains the carpenters would stare at him with puzzled looks on their faces. To their eyes, he was talking to and laughing at nothing but empty space.

A child with that much energy, of course, is bound to fall down… all the time. I calmed his fussing if he fell down by himself, and he would hush immediately, staring at me, seeing me, his chocolate eyes widened with fascination and wonder. I would blow on his scraped knee, and once he got home, I would see to it that any of his wounds healed immediately, within a day. I gave him miracle cures if he got sick, sent away the rain clouds when he had too much fun playing outside. If he found a wild animal that he wanted to hug like a plush toy, I would soothe it, and let it lay tranquil in his tiny arms until the boy was ready to put it down.

Once, he lingered by my pond and almost took a dive, tripping on his shoelaces. I gently grabbed him by the shoulders. Jack was just as elated as I was, to understand that only he could see me. With a finger in his mouth and his eyes large and sparkling with curiosity, I was amazed at how easily the boy could move me to tears. Unable to do so myself, I pointed at his shoes and sat patiently, coaching him until he figured out what to do. Then, he crawled to a bush, pointed at my face, and pointed at a puffy light-blue hydrangea.

"Are you saying I look as pretty as a hydrangea, Jack?" I asked sweetly, a flush rising to my face.

Little Jack clapped his hands together and laughed merrily. His voice rang out clearly. No more than pure, innocent laughter. But what I recognized in his laughter was the same type of vibration that shook the roots of the oldest trees, when they rejoiced for the nourishment of heavy rain. I heard the song of the birds when they announced that one nest welcomed baby birds freshly hatched, after warmly protecting the eggs for so long. The vibration in Jack's laughter retold stories from a thousand years ago, of all the positives and negatives of nature, life, and all their wonders.

Sadly, I already knew how the story would have to go. With only so much I could do to a human child, I had doted on him too much already. They always went away one summer, and wouldn't come back until adolescence.

So the only thing I could do, once Jack hit age six, was ensure that he had an open mind and was receptive to all voices around him. He would have to pay attention at the local school, at the church. He would have to sit still in the benches. I temporarily closed his ears to the wind and the earth, but didn't need to do a thing when it came to children his age. And, just as before, there were five little girls. One day he would have to come back and choose which one he wanted to marry. Over time I made it so that he carried special memories with one of the girls that I chose. I'd have them play together near my pond, share their secrets, and form a magical bond that only children can have, untainted by adult motives or doubt. I was granted special jurisdiction over only one person's life, and I had to make it count. I had to make it perfect.

When that fateful day came, I watched with a broken heart. His human family, in my eyes, were merely vessels. Little Jack was my baby, but he could never truly belong to me.

"You'll be back to play with her again next summer, I promise," his grandfather explained to him, lifting a tearful and frustrated Jack into his arms, rubbing his little back with his large, wrinkled hand.

The little girl would have tears in her eyes, too. She clutched at her pretend apron, practicing already to be his future wife, watching her simulated dreams of having a household together shatter temporarily. What if he never came back? I felt her pain.

"Then you can buy her a nice present in the city for when you come back!" the sweet old man suggested.

When the little girl's breath caught in her throat, so did mine. I crouched behind her and put my arms around her little chest, listening to her pulse, understanding how much she loved him now, and would continue to love him once he came back. Until then, I didn't want her to live with the pain. She'd have to temporarily forget.

I whispered, and she said as I dictated, in her honest, pure, naïve little voice:

"One day we'll get married for real, Jack! Don't forget!"

This was my first test.