Life was a tragedy at times, or so it would seem. And yet, sometimes it seemed like everything was pitted against you, leaving you feeling alone, empty, beaten, broken, lost. Life was unjust at the best of times, and then at other moments it truly seemed to be a blessing, a miracle. But for a foster child, who may have friends she cherishes like a perfect snowflake that landed on a gloved hand, or a curved shell that revealed the sounds of the ocean if one pressed a pointed ear against the opening, but for Maeve it would seems that life's hardships were forever attempting to cloud her silver lining each and every day. But Maeve, sweet, selfless Maeve, she knows others have it harder than herself. There were other children, abandoned by their parents with out a care. No mother to love them or father to protect them. And while the fae child cannot claim to possess such things either, she at least knows what it felt like to snuggle closely to her mother, to hear her voice fall from her tongue with beauty and grace. Now she too had the pack at the arc, she had Roman, and so much more in her little world.

Despite that sorrow, tragedy, pain, and turmoil, Maeve will forever smile, because life will always give her those moments of beauty.
Sometimes they just like to hide, under jungle gyms, behind large boulders, inside grey clouds.
But they were there, all the same.

Maeve was not accustomed to playing with other children. Not in school, in the children's home, or the smaller foster homes she stayed in. Most of the time, other children tended to disregard her, or the fae child simply did not take an interest in whatever game was being played, finding little enjoyment in them herself. She never much cared for toys, nor television, or video games that so many her age seemed to love. Rather she would enjoy losing herself within the ages of a book, or drawing whatever pictures came to her head (it made no difference to her if she used crayons, markers, pencils or pens), or she spent her other time dancing. But, at the end of the day, all of this had to fall around Maeve's goal in life: survival. Running away from homes and living in hotel rooms, she had even spent the night on the street a time or two, truly it is a blessing she is alive to this day. The fae had little times for games that other children seemed to have an endless bounty of time for.

Being a child that did not often draw others (especially other children) to herself, Maeve does not expect anyone to come.

Maeve, the little thing that she was, certainly did not expect any amount of her blood being spilled to cause any sort of commotion within the playground on this day. She didn't know that vampire could smell the little blood from her knee like a shark smelling a drop of blood in water. It could draw them like vultures to a carcass. But as she watches her pale skin become touched with a line of crimson, Maeve is not thinking of those things in the slightest. And she certainly isn't thinking those things when a little girl about her age makes her way towards the pale, fae child.

The platinum blonde child spots the ten year old vampire moving in her direction and for the slightest of moments her heart quickens in anticipation, even as Maeve convinces herself that most likely she was not coming over to play with the faerie. The little dove of a girl is careful to watch her with those strange, amethyst eyes and then suddenly, she is close to her, blissfully unaware of the control the child possess to not attack Maeve on sight. She pauses, and Maeve is unsure of what to expect, but as the vampire's voice rolls over the pale girl, hear heart flutters in her petite breath as she fills with the warmth of the meeting another her age. So unaware of the potential danger the golden haired child may have put herself into.

"Sand?" The buttermilk haired child response to the girl. Despite the fact the girls only appeared to be two years apart, those two years when you are so young feel like decades, centuries even and Maeve instantly thinks the older child to be far wiser than herself. "Will it help my heads stick better?" She asks, peering up at the girl through pale locks that she brushes behind those delicately pointed ears. Those amethyst eyes glance down at the cut on her knee, the blood had stopped flowing and she had managed to wipe most of the blood away, but pink smudges still remained on that pale skin of hers. She places her hands down upon the golden sand and scoops up a handful and proceeds to rub it between her hands like the girl had said but the cream haired child stands up, though she stands quite a good deal shorter than the vampire girl, her faerie stature keeping her smaller than most children her age, let alone a child two years (at least appearing two years) older than herself. Soft smile touches her lips as she makes her way over to the monkey bars, climbing up once more with that courage to try again that children so effortlessly possess.

The pale child slowly makes her way across the monkey bars, the heart in her chest beating rapidly, but then it begins to slow as she realizes she is nearing the end of the bars and that she would be able to accomplish the task, that this climb would not result with her crashing down into the sand like her previous attempt had resulted in. As she reaches the last bar, she carefully climbs down, turning to give a gentle smile towards the vampire child. Maeve with her hair like liquid gold moves over to the girl, shy all of a sudden. "Thank you," she says, high soprano voice ringing out clearly as violet eyes raise to peer into Anna's only blue ones. "I'm Maeve," the pale fae child says. And though she is never to say what next comes to her mouth, she says it anyway. "Do you want to play with me?" What an unlikely pairing a child born of a fae and a child born of blood, finding one another, on a playground on a drizzling afternoon.