Pretty
@acompanyofx asked: “Do I have to have a reason to take someone as pretty as you?”
It was the sort of situation where one might say they couldn’t remember the last time they had been so frightened. But Cat did. She remembered it precisely. It was more than two years ago, now, when she had been crossing the street, and felt an hand on her arm, and heard that voice. But she had conquered that fear, fought the man whose voice had once paralyzed her with fear, even helped to organize a coup against the corrupt government he worked for. She had grown very strong, doing that, and it took a lot more to frighten her.
But this time, there had been no hand on her arm, no voice, nor armed guards lurking in the alleys. She had simply been one place, and then another, sitting in a leather armchair and facing a stranger in what appeared to be a study, a table between them and a fire lit. She had never seen magic like that, and this man…she had never seen magic like him, either. He had no scent, beyond expensive cologne. He had no heartbeat, no breathe, and yet he spoke. His eyes, for the brief moments she had dared to meet them, were an inhuman violet that almost glowed, and there was…something she couldn’t explain. Something around him, like she was looking at him through warped glass or a strange mirror, that made her want to recoil.
“That’s not the most reassuring way you could have answered that question,” she said, quietly.
