Eleazar now understood that he had taken his jest too far; that he must tread lightly in any playful teasing to come. Ophelia’s emotions were fragile, and he would treat them as such. He was dealing with a mentally ill mortal. He mustn’t forget that. So, with a sigh, he gently rested a hand against her left knee, hoping that his serenity would somehow transcend to her.
“One thousand times, I apologize, dear lady,” he repeated, his tone painfully earnest. “I should not have been so callous in my jesting.” He decided to uplift her further by offering her a genuine smile. “I tease only those whom I have taken a liking to. It was not my intention to hurt you so, and I hope to redeem myself immediately.”
He released her knee, rising to his full stature, though his eyes never once left Ophelia. He hoped—he prayed—that she would not do anything senseless in her moment of woe, but even if she did, he would be able to stop her.
“If you wish it,” he added, “I shall leave. I seem to have caused you nothing but distress.” Eleazar bowed his head in guilt.
The young woman dried her eyes as she looked into his. If she had needed any confirmation that he appeared to be living marble, his eyes would provide that. They were not mortal eyes. Befriending fairies, succubi and kitsune had taught her that none everything is human, much as mankind wishfully thought it was.
“You are forgiven. She is sensitive. She is hurt. Current wounds ache and words press upon them with some regularity. You meant no harm.” She gulped and watched his hand remove itself. She slid her own hand against the tree’s trunk and silently rose to her feet. As she looked down where he knelt, she asked. “What are you, Mister Eleazar? We stand not in the presence of our own kind today.”
I am going out for tea to celebrate. Is anyone interested in joining?
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“
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I would give you violets, but they withered…
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”
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