There had been a time many, many years ago where the sentiment the
woman before him expressed was one he readily shared. Magic was
not always what it was cracked up to be–it always had a price. After
so many years of living with it, however, seeing what it could do for him,
how powerful one could be with the assistance of magic, that senti–
ment was easy to put out of his mind. If only she knew what power she
possessed and what heights she could reach if she only learned to
control it. With that knowledge, he could not fathom how she could ever
want to rid herself of the great power that resided within her.
When the question passes her lips, he’ll admit to a strong sense of
bitterness stirring in the pit of his stomach. None of this shows on
his features, however, that would be far too revealing. No. He
keeps his face impassive, almost jovial even, amused—-that
impish persona he’s spent centuries growing into and perfecting,
the one that simultaneously terrifies and enthrals the masses
in equal measure .She doesn’t see the gift she’s been blessed
with. For a man who had to take the power he possessed and
watch it morph him into the creature he now was, led him to push
away those he loved, it irks him to an immense degree how
someone could want to rid themselves of a power they were
always meant to have. It would be going against nature to take it
from her.
He can, of course. There are ways, but he has no interest in heeding her
request. Admittedly, part of it is to spite her–he can’t help himself, it’s
just how he is sometimes—–just to irritate her and deny her what she so
desperately wants. The other part, the stronger part, however, is because
he cannot bring himself to rid her of her gift, nor his potential to use it
through her for his own gain. Imagine what he could do with her at his
side, with the knowledge and power she has inside her that she’s yet to
discover. It would be more criminal to take it from her. It’s a beautiful gift
she has and he won’t be the one to squander it nor rip it from her.
From where he sits in one of his high-backed chairs at his long, elegant
dining table ( the one he rarely uses–it’s lonely eating for one at a table
meant for many ), he leans back as he looks her over as though sizing
her up, fingers tented over each other, head cocked to the side. He’s
toying with her, giving the appearance that he’s even considering her
proposal. It would benefit him, he knows, down the road, he’s sure of it.
But he can’t do it. He won’t. He has other plans in mind for her and her
powers.
‘ No–I don’t think so, dearie. You see, I need those gloves for something else.
( a lie that slips easily from his tongue )
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