“Michael?” ten-year-old Charlotte Christianson called out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Michael seemed to appear from nowhere, looking concerned.

“Yes, Miss Charlotte?” he asked quietly, staring down at her.

“I do not care!” she blurted out, holding back tears.

The young boy knew she was referring to their conversation from earlier that day. He exhaled slowly and leaned forward, bringing his face close to hers.

“You do not know what this would lead to, Miss Charlotte.” Michael said, much wiser than his mere twelve years would suggest.

“I do not care.” she repeated. “And stop calling me that!” Charlotte added, clenching her jaw.

Michael smiled down at Charlotte fondly as he brushed one of her long, dark tresses away from her pale skin.

“As you wish.” he murmured before pressing his lips against hers.