This certainly was not Maeve's first time attempting to avoid capture. In fact, this was quite a regular occurrence for the creamy haired girl. After the third home that she had run away from, Maeve had then been labeled a 'runner.' Permanently marked in her file which is given to her potential foster parents to see before they would commit, and apparently, 'runners' are much more difficult to place. Again, and again Maeve had been talked to, by foster parents, by judges, by her social worker, and every time she disregarded what they had said. None of the homes in which she had been placed had ever given her the warm and fuzzy feeling that you get when a mom or dad hugs their child and tucks them in for the night, or when a parent makes you soup when you are sick, or when you just know the ones you are with are you forever family. Maeve had never experienced that before, except when she had been with her birth mother, however brief that time had been.

Although, there had been a time when the fairy child with those creamy locks had come so close to having just that, so so very close, yet just beyond the reach of her fair skinned hand.

She had been place in yet another home, after having stayed in a group home for a short period of time while they figured out just where to place the fairy child. Maeve remembers pulling up to her new home, having been about six years old at the time. The house was quaint and small, but you could tell it was the type of home that had character, and while it may have been old, the yard was immaculate, and everything was clean, with lots of flower growing in the garden. Out came a petite woman, who looked to maybe be in her thirties, with golden hair and bright emerald green eyes, like four leaf clovers. She word simply blue jeans and a pastel pink top, it caused Maeve to look down at her own cobalt blue shirt with a white peter pan collar, simple blue jean shorts, and black shoes. She tapped those shoes against each other as her social worker instructed her to stay inside the car while she talked to the woman. Maeve let her violet eyes rove to her hands, a restless energy taking over her as always occurred whenever she was about to meet a new foster parent. And then there is a knock at her window, causing the fair skinned child to jump and see a friendly smile staring in at her.

And when Maeve laid eyes on the golden haired woman and saw a bright smile on the woman's face like Maeve was a gift all for her, the fairy child felt something grow within her, he smallest glimmer of hope nestled within her petite breast, and though Maeve tried to squash such feelings, it would not be smothered entirely.

That feeling seems to almost return as she stares up at the man named Roman. As he reassures the child and crosses his heart to know that the information he provides is true, Maeve offers him a shy smile, her heart rate beginning to slow as she is subconsciously soothed by his baritone voice. The ball of nerves that had been growing within her slowly begins to leave her body as she stares up at those golden eyes.

She shuffles backwards slightly out of surprise, but she instantly feels a light touch from the man with tender hazel eyes, a silent thank you is issued from the fae as a small, polite smile carves its way onto her features towards him. After her nerves once again receiver from the surprise of the bird, Maeve shakes away the fear and realizes he had extended his hand towards her and quickly the fairy child returns the gesture, her own hand reaching out meet his, as she adds a small curtesy for the man. "My pleasure," she says brightly, staring at him through long, innocent lashes. The child was so trusting, so ignorant to the world and the dangers that lurked around every corner, especially in a city such as Sacrosanct, but her willingness to see the good in everyone as she looks through rose tinted glasses clouds her judgment. Besides, Roman protected her from the men in blue and Maeve would ever be grateful to her new found friend.

She buries herself into the warmth of man's neck and shoulder, so entirely trusting of him, knowing that nothing could happen whilst Roman was around, for the man has already saved her once and Maeve is positively certain he would do it again. The relief of no longer looking after herself if even for a moment floods over her as she leaves her entire self so vulnerable. It would be all too easy for someone to take the child, rendering her a prisoner of their own, but this is the furthest thing from the fae child's mind, especially as the were lion wraps his strong arms around her with all the gentleness of snowflakes on eyelashes. As she takes a deep breath, remembering this feeling within his arms she knows that he is hers and she is his, perhaps in a way akin to brother and sister, or perhaps uncle and niece, but whatever their relationship may be, Maeve knows that he has come into her heart, however brief their meeting was. Children know these things, so sensitive to the world and the ones living within it. They listen and see things that adults forget to look for as they get older, but Maeve sees, hears, and feels it all, so much, and everything in this moment is tell her that this is right, that her life is going where it needs to go.

"You will take me home?" She asks, as she feels him lift her small, slight frame off the ground as easily as one lifts a tiny, baby kitten. Amethyst eyes stare up at him, though she looks tired, after the commotion of the storm earlier in the day, and now having just ran as fast and as hard as she possibly could from the police officers, it had taken its toll on the small child, and now she exhaustedly goes limp in the man's arms as they hold her strongly up with such ease. "I am staying at the hotel a few blocks from here, with all the big windows," she says, hoping her description would be enough to point the man in the right direction. The same big windows that had given her a front row seat to such a terrifying show as a thunder storm. Suddenly, her voice brightens slightly, though eyes remain almost half closed, but a smile touches her lips like the gentleness of a single drop of water falling within a pond. It ripples slowly across her delicate face. "You wont have to leave right away, we can play a game if you want," she offers, trying to be courteous, but she knows deep down the offer is more for her own self indulgence than wanting to make Roman happy. The child has been alone so much and for so long, she aches in her heart for company. So, perhaps a game would be an awfully good place to start.