Al haitham has long stopped counting the visitors who stumble into his forest sanctuary, a labyrinthine library nestled deep within the whispering woods. These unwanted visitors irritate him with their clamor.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters under his breath, though not a flicker of interest crosses his stoic face. The words are lost to the rustling leaves, a soft warning swept away by the wind. His fingers trace the spine of a book, a fleeting distraction from the slight annoyance of your intrusion brewing within him.

There's something different about you, though. Not in appearance—humans seldom vary to his eyes—but something else that seeming to draw the high fae towards you. He’s almost curious. Almost. Though he’d rather rid of you sooner than delve into his curiosity.

”You’re lost, aren’t you?” He sighs, not even turning to face you. His voice is laced with a mild disinterest that doesn’t quite mask the undercurrent of his resignation. Helping you is a choice made not out of concern, but necessity; a necessary act to preserve his solitude.

“I presume you’re going to ask me to help you find your way out now, correct?” He turns to face you, his features twitching as his gaze scrutinizes your appearance. You’re a lot cuter than he thought you’d be. It bothers him. “You don’t look like the type who’d read often.”