@bonesaint inquired: ‘you have thirty seconds.’
Oғ ᴄᴏᴜʀsᴇ, the impatience of youth. He gives her a century before such things would die down, if she doesn't do herself in in a fraction of the time. Brilliance only ever burns out bright and quick or overstays it's welcome. At the rate of arrogance taken from her voice (not unlike his own, in many ways, though he's spent the last decades softening it, not because he's gotten any less so, but because it is more suitable to get his way often enough), he gives her about a year.
More then than the current body he resides in. By the amount of sheer necrotic power he takes from it, he assumes the dark blonde that's more freckles than unmarked skin will compose under his hands in half that time, so he's already looking for a new life to devour. How lucky for her that she's not what he looks for. The taste of her power in the air is delicious enough to almost be tempted.
"I'm merely saying", and his voice is almost uninterested, too even, distant, as if he wasn't very carefully treading on the topic, as if she hadn't demanded that he explains his words any further, "that most people stick too much to tradition. Simply because necromancy comes from dead matter does not mean it cannot be applied to living one, to manipulate the very fabric of the world, even if it causes it's own decay in turn. It seems doubtful nobody has done full research on the topic yet."
A thing he's proof of, but that's not for her to know. Or anyone. He wouldn't ever share any of his findings, of course, but it would be nice to discuss it every once in a while. Knowledge for knowledge's sake is one thing, but it's a whole other thing to be an expert on a field and having to keep it secret, so skirting, every so often, on the idea in theory merely.
