I call him the devil because he makes me want to sin
(and every time he knocks, I can't help but let him in)
“I am many things,” he counters smoothly, enjoying the fight she put up, the way she did not immediately submit to the pressure of his hands. If he was to be a true maestro, he would need to learn to work with many materials. Some would be like Rhae, soft and malleable. Those were easy. It did not meant that the end result was not a masterpiece, but it was not difficult to get there. Others were like Karaugh. Brittle, thin. He rather enjoyed breaking those and watching the pieces splinter off. Not easy, but not difficult.
But, oh, Heartfire was something else entirely.
Metal, perhaps.
He would need to weld her, rise heats to extreme temperatures, scald his palms, to achieve anything with her, but it would be worth it. It would take blood and sweat, but it would be beautiful. So, no, he does not mind the venom in her voice, the defiance in the tip of her chin. It is but another symbol of the great ways that she will ultimately bend to his whim, and how rich that would be. How grand of a day.
“But enough about me. Let’s talk about you,” his voice remains low, a throaty whisper, He can feel the tendrils of fear making their way across the forest floor, the way that she resists their pull even as the climb up her sides and expand within her, claiming her as their own. He continues to deftly pull at the strings of the fear, manipulating the landscape around them—making it more ominous, darker. Leaving it open to her interpretation so that it could react to her fear as it grew, as it took on a life of its own.
He ignores her weak retort, brushing it aside as he leans over, beautiful mouth.
“We could have so much fun together.”
They could. He will.
