"Perish the thought, Sonia," he says, spreading his hand over his heart like flinching from a mortal blow. "Look at your beauty. Look at that smile. Although..."

He hesitates a long moment, looking between the bowl of groats and her. Then he continues on, "They did say...that Baba Yaga took the form of a beautiful maiden sometimes. And here I just accepted this food without thinking." He draws in a deep, alarmed breath, though the corners of his eyes crinkle in real amusement. "And how many groats have I eaten - oh, dear. At least a hundred. How many years must I now spend enslaved by your wicked magic...?"