"I agree," Elijah said. "We never had much, but I always remember being happy." It was a time that would never return again: oil lamps, checked tablecloths, storm cellars, hearty meals cooked up by his mother, an actual dinner bell being rung to summon them in from the fields when it was time to eat. Sometimes, in the middle of the day when he was trapped inside away from the sun, it made his chest ache with longing to think those days over.
Trust and witch weren't words that went together as far as Elijah was concerned. Maybe he simply hadn't known any who weren't entirely in it for themselves, or maybe he didn't trust easily. Possibly both. "That could possibly work," he remarked. He had no idea how much magic a witch would retain after being turned into a vampire, but then he'd never needed to know. Obviously it could be done; Letha would know much more about that end of it than he would.
Elijah's eyes traced the fading orange light almost longingly, watching raptly as it disappeared. Night, then. It was safe for him to go outside, to get in his car and drive to work. The portion of outside hours he could inhabit was here at last.