Growing up, Drokn had been denied any knowledge of how elves worked. He had only been told the tales of their pristine-ness and arrogance. Of how they sneered at and looked down on the demons. So, when the demoness had reentered their lives, when one of the first things she had displayed concern about was the elf's height, it had silently marked its way within Drokn's memory. A significant detail unspoken.
Until now.
Combing her hair through the middle with her fingers, she turned back around and sat promptly on the ground, her cloak floating upward with the speed. "As I've mentioned before, elves are creatures of love," she started, massaging her injured leg. "Love is everything for an elf, quite literally."
Drokn brought up an inquisitive brow with a slight tilt of his head.
"All sorts of love. Romantic love, familial love, everything. His growth is also affected by the love he receives, and—" Vrona swallowed thickly, the thought still a heartbreaking one scraped with regret. "—the fact that he's that short despite his age means that he hasn't received enough love in his life. He was growing normally when I was with him the first few years, but..."
The demoness did not need to speak further for Drokn to understand what she had implied. The elf's height was proof that he had stopped receiving love or affection after the demoness had left, noticeably stunting his growth. Amber eyes of the demon's wandered to the resting elf breathing softly.
How much loneliness had the elf faced? How did the elf survive on his own? Drokn was thankful Eial had lived the many years, however a dull discomfort, a painful darkness creased within his chest— at the thought of the elf so bright, yet one who may have had only the woodland creatures to keep him company.
However, briefly, a thought which clenched his heart also held a different tone for the demon. For a moment, Drokn imagined how the elf would have looked like given he had enough love. How would he have looked like at the demon's own height, perhaps even taller.
The demon smirked at the thought. Despite the height, the elf would still look charmingly adorable as he did. He would probably still hop to him as he does. His blushed face would sear him just the same, the deceptive flirtatiousness of his upturned, playful gaze. How would the elf look draped over him—
Stopping himself before his thoughts ran wild in front of company, Drokn cleared his throat and steadied his hitched breath. "How did you find him, anyway? I wasn't even bonded to Eial until I met him."
A sharp breath in, the demoness's fingernails dug into the ground. Simply, she just said, "From instinct." Which was the truth. But a truth that held secrets of shame.
"Instinct?" Drokn repeated, eyeing Vrona's suspicious movements and demeanor and vague explanation.
"When Eial was abandoned by his parents, he was on the verge of death...
~~~
It was a random day of any, a younger Vrona with two young children she had rarely spent time with. She had been scribbling spells like a maddemon, dunking her quill in ink, the ink dripping its way on the parchment, creating a trail until it reached her notes. Suddenly, an overwhelming dread washed over her, a fiery instinct that boiled her blood. A sense of danger, like she was being closed into blackness, her mind in sheer panic.
Yet a part of this sensation felt oddly familiar.
Unable to resist this instinct, she jumped off a nearby window and drew her wings, the membranes caressing the drift of wind to lift her. At the time, there was no threat of her leaving, and as such, she was not heavily guarded. And as such, she left the palace grounds with relative ease.
The air against her face, fluttering her short, disheveled hair. Tears formed at the force against her eyes. Her heart pounded heavy, fast. A threat she couldn't understand.
She flew for hours through the territory-less plains, not taking a moment to rest. Until her pull led her to bushes under trees, well hidden.
Slowly, after a graceful landing, she stepped towards the source. The muffled sound she heard crinkling her brows close. And within the long shadows of trees among the falling sun that lit the fields a red and orange hue, she found him.
She spread apart the branches of a well-leafed bush and was met with a baby, fairly newborn, a crinkled face, no teeth, tiny fingers curled. The tree littered area echoed the sounds of distress from this tiny being, one so young he had not learned to cry with tears.
This tiny being...
—Vrona's pupils sharpened.—
...with his dry cries, he floated in water, rattled the small pebbles around him, and drew flame from his kicks.
~~~
That was as far as Vrona had revealed to the demon before explaining that the abandoned elf was close to dying. His blood parents had probably grown scared of his uniqueness, yet couldn't bear to kill him. So, they left him to die on his own. And, with some universal force, Vrona had been warned.
Perhaps it was because the elf was overfilled with magic? A power so strong to influence even the mother of the elf's bond.
Without stating more on the subject, she twiddled her finger on a grass blade as her memories passed. For what she had left out in her story, however, was the immediate event that followed the fateful meeting.
Where as soon as she saw the newborn elf displaying the odd powers she had the misfortune to be familiar with...
...she had mercilessly attempted to murder him.