"Hello Maeve, I have been waiting for you all morning," and the fairy child thought that she liked the way this woman said her name, that it had a nicer ring to it than it had when her previous foster parents had said it. Her own violet eyes had watched the woman's of green, looking for pieces of dishonestly or ill intentions, but she found none. So she mumbled a barely audible hello, which seemed to be satisfactory. The green eyed woman and Maeve's social worker did the last minute paperwork and instructions as Maeve stared down at her clothes, a peach shirt, cream colored genes and tattered brown shoes. She wondered what this new home would be like, and how long she would have to stay until she would have the opportunity to make a run for it. Though the woman's intentions seemed good and the children she could spot seemed happy, the way they ran with an almost carefree abandon. "Alright," the blonde woman had said. "Well, my name is Whitney, you want to meet the rest of the motley crew?" she asked playfully, eyes twinkling, smile broad yet soft. Maeve merely shrugged, the international sign of children for 'yes, I suppose, but I don't want to talk right now, I am shy.'

But the woman with peridot eyes would not be so easily deterred. She merely smiled and those green eyes set to racing around her yard, trying to locate all of the children that gleefully ran about. A bark of laughter erupts around the scenery and turns Maeve's attention away from the car pulling away with her social worker residing in it, crossing her fingers and hoping this match would prove to be successful for the runaway foster child with those haunting violet eyes.

"You are free to run around as you wish. I just ask for you younger ones that you don't play in the street, for your own safety. Also, dinner is at six every night, and we all eat together," she says, again, those emerald eyes shining with such adoration for the fair haired child, in such a way Maeve was unused to. She smiles faintly in response. The woman asks if she would like to set her bags down in her room and to see the rest of the small, but pleasant home. The fae nodded weakly. The woman walked with the child with those delicately pointed ears, showing her the room the was to be her bedroom. It was painted a beautiful baby blue, like the sky with multicolored bedspreads over the two beds in the room. Maeve's eyes widened in surprise, she was so accustomed to sharing rooms with four or five children, not just one. "I apologize for you having to share a room. I used to have so few of you that everyone had their own room," her eyes are distant, a small smile on the woman's face, the sincerity dripping from her voice like water droplets a top a canopy of leaves. "But I just cant say no when someone needs my help."

At the dinner table that night, Maeve was able to meet all of her foster siblings, including herself, there were six children in total, not the smallest that Maeve had ever been in, but certainly not the largest. And despite the number of children to the one parents, the green eyed woman gave each and every child individual attention in the matter of the span of time it takes to eat a meal. Each of the children, though some more energetic than others, knew the rules of table manners that had been put in place, yet they had the freedom to speak their minds, voice if they found a rule, or statement unfair. The woman with her emerald eyes encouraged the discussions, even tried to involve the ones with the quieter voices, including Maeve.

That night Maeve had been unable to sleep and so she had creeped from her room and opened the backdoor that led to a large, spacious deck, the moon illuminated it in an ethereal glow, but as she looks around, the fae child realized she was not alone. There the blonde woman sat in an old rocking chair, staring up at the stars. Maeve's first reaction was to assume it was some kind of trap, after all, her information was presented to her foster parent about her being liable to run away. "I was not going to run away," she murmured quietly, wondering if she would believe her. "I just couldn't sleep." And a vague smile spread across the woman's face. "Neither could I, and I don't know you about, but I could use some company."

So they sat together on the porch, and at first Maeve had said very little, but as her foster mother opened up about her husband's death, and her inability to conceive. She told the fairy child how it had been her and her husband's dream to have a home full of children, and they had applied to become foster parents. And now, she was living that dream for him and herself. It was after she had said this that Maeve found herself talking about how she felt about being in foster homes, how she could take care of herself (though she never told her about her powers.) How she felt different than other children her age, and her love of dance, reading, and drawing. They talked until Maeve's eyes grew heavy and she fell asleep under the moonlight, her hand having slowly inched towards the blonde woman's all night, until it rested gently against hers. The next morning, she awoke tucked into her bed, with a note that said 'thank you for the chat under the moonlight, Maeve.' And the child knew exactly who had written such a note.

Maeve, so innocent is entirely unaware of the protectiveness Roman has seemed to harbor for the child, she just sees him to be a kind soul, someone who helped her with the officers. All she feels is his large hands cradled around her to protect her, and that is enough for the sweet natured girl. She could feel it in her blood, in her bones, that he meant no harm towards her, and for that Maeve offers him her unyielding trust. He lifts her so easily off the ground, drying those laws of gravity that hung overhead as she nestles into his arms, unburdened by her own body weight any longer. And his smile, it is so beautiful and soft. Her pale hand reaches upwards as it graces with the softest and quietest of touches against his tanned face, as she returns his smile. And then she says one of those things, that shows wisdom beyond her years and that natural intuition that the fae girl possessed. "You have a beautiful heart, Roman," she says, sounding far older than age of only eight as violet eyes peer into his before fluttering open and shut with exhaustion.

She does not fully fall into a slumber while she lays limp in the lion man's arms. These past few days, Maeve could not have helped but feel rushed, everything moving quickly, knowing she had to stay on her toes and stay vigilant if anyone suspected she was here in the city unaccompanied. She had just needed a moment, a moment not to constantly be on guard, to breath, and she finds it in the arms of her new found friend.It is only when tenor tones reach her ears that Maeve then suddenly opens her eyes violet eyes entirely. "I like to draw," she says, even as she says it, she realizes it is not truly a game. "I have been using the hotel's pens and notepads to make drawings, I can show you, if you'd like," she says shyly, wondering if she were overstepping any boundaries with the man. When he asks if they are close, Maeve then turns strange lavender eyes upwards. "Yes, I can show you the rest of the way," she says, suddenly much more awake after a moment of vulnerability, her words hinting at him lowering her down to the ground. And when she is put down she stands on those slender legs and reaches for his hand, not wanting to become separated from her lion as she leads him to a pair of sliding glass doors. "They will think you are my dad," she says embarrassed, again wondering what boundaries she was crossing. The purple eyed girl moves through the doors, leading the way to her room in which she had been staying, her steps small, but quick. And she looks up at Roman with those strange purple eyes of hers, "No one will bother us, I told them not to." And she does not wait for the questions to follow for something within her stirs a trust for the lion unlike any other she has encountered, except perhaps Tobi. "I have a special trick, I can make people do things." She admits guiltily as she finally drops her hand from the lion's, as if she were no longer worthy of his touch.