The young boy twirled the stem of the flower in his tiny hands. He was playful, yet in such an elegant way, it led his mother to wonder how he could possibly be so young. True, the prince had a trait for being charming yet restrained- characteristics of his father. His mother, the queen of all the elven lands, knew that her son would one day pay the price for her doing- for the means of her conceiving him. That boy, the embodiment of purity, had been conjured by dark magic. The queen already knew she would die as a result of the methods, for the deed had to be paid with something of equal worth. She asked for a favor that meant more to her than her own life. The greatest payment she could provide was her life, and so the prince would eventually pay handsomely for what is left.
And so, the boy continued to twirl the stem as his ebony strands danced in the wind. His elongated ears could pick up on the sound of newborn birds pleading for food. Cleverly, he could make out it was coming from the tree thirty steps away from his being, three grown elves above him. He smiled at his own cunning, unaware of the path he will tread and the innocence he will lose.