Gilded Bay all this pain and devastation, how it tortures me inside

She didn't like the way he looked at her— it was opposite of the reaction she had been hoping for— and she liked the way he spoke to her even less. Emaleth couldn't fathom a world in which druids, witches, and magick did not exist; it had been the basis of the teachings her father had bestowed upon his daughters since their birth. While her power— if it existed at all— was not so strong to summon a swarm of locusts, it did not seem far-fetched to the four-month-old. It bothered her that the man before her did not take it seriously.

"No," she lied haughtily, a shuddering sniffle wracking her body as she continued to recover from her sobs. "I meant to do it." Emaleth did not elaborate on why, or how, but the male's suggestion had hit a nerve. She had only meant to will the trees of Donnelaith to grow! "You don't belong to the nemeton," she answered his next question, mismatched eyes now watching him warily, "so I can't tell you."