The solution to no earthly secret is beyond the grasp of your little elvish head. After living for thousands of years only boredom and the road are your constant companions. Oh, Adelyle too. People always assume that she is your caretaker because of your short height but then they notice the leash around her neck. She is a tall and slender demonette, lead on a leash after loosing her eyesight privileges. She overboiled the potatoes the other day. She is now complaining but it's not your problem.

Humans approach you constantly with offers to buy her, as she is the last of her kind. The attention that she always gets irks you a bit. Just slightly. Now you feel guilty and return her sight. A hopeful potential buyer approaches you again and you enter tirade mode. You start a convoluted story, which is an allegory to a verbal representation of saying that you are a collector too. Then you proudly show off your other, non-person, collection. It is the string of seashells that form a necklace around your neck. Each seashell is taken from the shores of a different sea. Great way to fight boredom and existential dread, you have found.

<span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">My goal is to collect a seashell from every sea! Now this is a reason to keep on living!</span></span> you say with childish enthusiasm.

<span class="mu-i">This is stupid</span> Adelyle murmurs to herself. You are forced to take her eyesight again. She puts on her leash with a sigh.

<span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">So in short, no, she is not for sale. Keep moving, pal, not my problem.</span></span> The nonsensical verbal barrage repulses the buyer successfully.

Adelyle is very loyal, Stockholm syndrome you assume. One time, after another fit of existential anguish, you let a group of drunk humans to put their what-nots in your whatever and once the demonette learned about your clandestine endeavors, she pursued the men for several days in search of retribution. You went chasing her, concerned about her potential collector value dropping, oh, and her safety, only to find her innocently sleeping under a peach tree, covered in someone else's blood. You took her eyesight privileges for a few weeks, you recollect, she made something that wasn't your problem, your problem, after all. After that whole ordeal you started calling Adelyle Aids, but you do it sparingly now because she tends to cry after hearing her nickname for some reason.

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