03-26-2024, 03:28 PM
Such strange tales had fascinated him in his youth – the phoenix ablaze, the siren’s song, the demon’s grin – but he has never quite fixated upon them either.
Even as he stands now, exhaling a thin veil of smoke from the fire in his lungs, surrounded by shadows that flicker and move of their own accord, he does not realize the vaguely hellish look he possesses. Short of fangs and a forked tongue, he could nearly pass for some lesser devil himself with his coat of sooty gold and coppery eyes peering from a darkened mask. If he could see himself in full, he would have grinned with approval.
Instead, he lingers at Umani’s side and poses questions like an interview about her experience with death and with loss. It does not quite cross his mind that such queries might be intrusive or upsetting to her.
Such is his thirst for knowledge.
But as she speaks, his mind does return to the notion of the winged bird with its wild fire and various magical properties. A true master of death, he muses in the back of his mind while his ears turn to capture her voice.
“Perhaps…” he replies vaguely when she wonders whether the fae had been testing her by stealing her son’s life. “I certainly would not put it past them. But then, you shouldn’t dismiss the idea that his death was only natural.” Only now does a vague hint of empathy touch a faint print of guilt upon his conscience.
“We all must die, eventually,” he continues with a barely noticeable attempt at sympathy as if to soften the blow of his prior words. “Some sooner than others. At least, those of us who do not have such gifts as yours.” Here he nods toward her to suggest her newfound loophole. (He is unaware of a similar magic lying dormant in his own blood.) “If his death was not a test, it was at least a lesson to learn from.”
He falls silent for another moment, gathering his thoughts. “I believe a more likely reason for your magic’s manifestation is twofold,” he goes on. “Because you fought to avenge his death, the fae were sympathetic to your trauma. And because, in your heart, you were willing to die for him in spite of him being gone, they gave you their blessing to start again.”
He does not admit that he is curious to know whether her rebirth was a one-off event or if it would be a repeating facet of her life. The only way to find that answer, obviously, would be for her to die again and although he may not have the purest heart, he is certainly not callous enough to test that theory himself.
“The phoenix from my mother’s story was equally compassionate,” he recalls aloud. “She mentioned its benevolence, too. How it would seek out those in need and rescue them from their plights, even at risk to its own life.” He studies her again. “Since your new power seems to mimic that story, do you think you’ll become a hero too?” His smile now is a bit disquieting as he imagines the endless possibilities of deathlessness and the gallantry it might inspire.
Even as he stands now, exhaling a thin veil of smoke from the fire in his lungs, surrounded by shadows that flicker and move of their own accord, he does not realize the vaguely hellish look he possesses. Short of fangs and a forked tongue, he could nearly pass for some lesser devil himself with his coat of sooty gold and coppery eyes peering from a darkened mask. If he could see himself in full, he would have grinned with approval.
Instead, he lingers at Umani’s side and poses questions like an interview about her experience with death and with loss. It does not quite cross his mind that such queries might be intrusive or upsetting to her.
Such is his thirst for knowledge.
But as she speaks, his mind does return to the notion of the winged bird with its wild fire and various magical properties. A true master of death, he muses in the back of his mind while his ears turn to capture her voice.
“Perhaps…” he replies vaguely when she wonders whether the fae had been testing her by stealing her son’s life. “I certainly would not put it past them. But then, you shouldn’t dismiss the idea that his death was only natural.” Only now does a vague hint of empathy touch a faint print of guilt upon his conscience.
“We all must die, eventually,” he continues with a barely noticeable attempt at sympathy as if to soften the blow of his prior words. “Some sooner than others. At least, those of us who do not have such gifts as yours.” Here he nods toward her to suggest her newfound loophole. (He is unaware of a similar magic lying dormant in his own blood.) “If his death was not a test, it was at least a lesson to learn from.”
He falls silent for another moment, gathering his thoughts. “I believe a more likely reason for your magic’s manifestation is twofold,” he goes on. “Because you fought to avenge his death, the fae were sympathetic to your trauma. And because, in your heart, you were willing to die for him in spite of him being gone, they gave you their blessing to start again.”
He does not admit that he is curious to know whether her rebirth was a one-off event or if it would be a repeating facet of her life. The only way to find that answer, obviously, would be for her to die again and although he may not have the purest heart, he is certainly not callous enough to test that theory himself.
“The phoenix from my mother’s story was equally compassionate,” he recalls aloud. “She mentioned its benevolence, too. How it would seek out those in need and rescue them from their plights, even at risk to its own life.” He studies her again. “Since your new power seems to mimic that story, do you think you’ll become a hero too?” His smile now is a bit disquieting as he imagines the endless possibilities of deathlessness and the gallantry it might inspire.
doctor