" And you?" My scalp tingled, and an ache began at the base of my spine, fear or eagerness, I did not know. "What would you ask of me?"
His eyes held mine. "I would ask the impossible."
I struggled to let the Goblin King hold my gaze as heat stained my cheeks. "Bear in mind that I am no saint," I said, "and cannot work miracles."
His lips twitched. "Then I would ask for your friendship."
Startled, I removed my hands from the table.
"Oh, Elisabeth," he said. "I would ask that you remember me. Not as we are now, but as we were then."
I frowned. I thought back to our Goblin Grove dances, to the simple wagers we had made when I was a little girl. I struggled to find the truth hidden within my past, but I was unsure which was memory and which was make-believe.
"You do remember." He shifted closer in his seat. There was something like hope in his voice, and I could not bear it.
The Goblin King lifted his hand. The table beneath us vanished, swallowed up by the earth once more.
He placed a finger against my temple. "Somewhere within that remarkable mind of yours, you kept those memories safe. Too safe. Hidden away."
Was the Goblin King the friend I had imagined- remembered- as a child? Or was he truly the Lord of Mischief, blurring the lines between fantasy and reality? I was restless and itchy within my own mind.
He left his seat and kneeled before me. His hands rested on the armrests of my chair, but he was careful not to touch me.
"All I ask, Elisabeth," the Goblin King said, "is that you remember." His words were a bass, their notes resonating in my bones. "Please, remember. "

― S. Jae-Jones , Wintersong (Wintersong, #1)