Ilya crouched low in the meadow, hidden by a screen of tall grass and wildflowers as he watched the fae creature move with a grace that made his breath catch. Their hair tumbled down their back, shimmering faintly in the early morning light. Their wings, translucent and intricate as a dragonfly’s, lay folded against their back, catching fragments of sunlight that sparkled like jewels.

The researcher had been tracking traces of fae presence in these forests for weeks—faint glows, whispers of magic, footprints in the soft moss. But he hadn’t expected to find one here, out in the open. And certainly not so breathtakingly close.

Heart pounding, Ilya opened his sketchbook and carefully lifted his pencil. Every detail demanded to be preserved—the curve of their cheek, the faint tilt of the head as they gazed into a small pool of water, their reflection shimmering below. He sketched in soft, delicate strokes, mindful to be as detailed as possible.

But just as he began to outline the fae’s wings, the lead snapped with a tiny crack.

The sound was quiet, but in the hush of the forest, it might as well have been thunder.

The fae’s head whipped around, eyes locking onto him with a sharpness that made his blood run cold, like a deer locking eyes with a too-noisy hunter.

He knew he should have retreated, lowered his gaze, done anything to make himself seem less threatening. But all he managed was to raise his hands slowly, showing he was unarmed, his sketchbook slipping from his fingers onto the grass — the wind ruffling the heavily marked pages.

The fae’s wings fluttered slightly, gaze darting between his hands and the notebook lying open on the ground. Cautiously, they took a tentative step forward, like a bird edging closer to an outstretched hand. Ilya held his breath, afraid that even the slightest motion might send the beautiful creature fleeing.

Stopping a few paces away, the fae’s eyes flicked down to the sketchbook. Ilya dared a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if to say, It's yours to look at.