That was true, wasn't it? Lotte had no one. She didn't even really have Alastor, though he supposed he was the closest thing she had to having someone, from what he'd gleaned of her life in the two nights they'd met. There was no one she could tell anything to, she was absolutely right, anything he said was safe with her. It might have seemed a terrible imbalance of power, but the truth was, Alastor had hardly anyone to speak of Lotte to, either. Those he did, he hadn't. Not for any pressing reason, really. It wouldn't matter, if he did. But he'd wanted to keep it for himself, when it had only happened once. Something to take out and look at on the long, smoke-scented nights, like the bottles of her blood glistening on his shelf.
To have a secret, that was something. That was magic, on its own. Judgment, what anyone else would think of him, didn't matter much, didn't really factor in. But the thrill of knowing there was something only Alastor knew, that was worth playing close to the vest.
"She rides everywhere," he said, glittering bright with energy. "All at once. It's frightfully clever of her, don't you think? You only have to know where to look."
He could see those gears turning in Lotte's head again, clanking behind the egg white milkiness of her eyes in the dark. It would take so little to pop them out of her head, see her brain at work behind them for real, not just in his imagination. One long reach of his claw, one little curve, to pluck them out. And he might let her see again afterwards, terrible, psychic second sight. But he wouldn't. He only stared into them long enough to dare her to look away for fear of being burnt out by his brightness.
"Exactly that," he hummed, pleased at the astuteness of her guess. "She will try to stop you, that's the rub. She'll turn me into all manner of horrible things, I imagine, to make you let go. A lion," he supposed, though he didn't really know, precisely, "A terrible, biting badger. Hot iron. What can your skin withstand, my dear? You'll have to find out. There's no letting me go until it's over, and it won't be over until I'm a man again."
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That was true, wasn't it? Lotte had no one. She didn't even really have Alastor, though he supposed he was the closest thing she had to having someone, from what he'd gleaned of her life in the two nights they'd met. There was no one she could tell anything to, she was absolutely right, anything he said was safe with her. It might have seemed a terrible imbalance of power, but the truth was, Alastor had hardly anyone to speak of Lotte to, either. Those he did, he hadn't. Not for any pressing reason, really. It wouldn't matter, if he did. But he'd wanted to keep it for himself, when it had only happened once. Something to take out and look at on the long, smoke-scented nights, like the bottles of her blood glistening on his shelf.
To have a secret, that was something. That was magic, on its own. Judgment, what anyone else would think of him, didn't matter much, didn't really factor in. But the thrill of knowing there was something only Alastor knew, that was worth playing close to the vest.
"She rides everywhere," he said, glittering bright with energy. "All at once. It's frightfully clever of her, don't you think? You only have to know where to look."
He could see those gears turning in Lotte's head again, clanking behind the egg white milkiness of her eyes in the dark. It would take so little to pop them out of her head, see her brain at work behind them for real, not just in his imagination. One long reach of his claw, one little curve, to pluck them out. And he might let her see again afterwards, terrible, psychic second sight. But he wouldn't. He only stared into them long enough to dare her to look away for fear of being burnt out by his brightness.
"Exactly that," he hummed, pleased at the astuteness of her guess. "She will try to stop you, that's the rub. She'll turn me into all manner of horrible things, I imagine, to make you let go. A lion," he supposed, though he didn't really know, precisely, "A terrible, biting badger. Hot iron. What can your skin withstand, my dear? You'll have to find out. There's no letting me go until it's over, and it won't be over until I'm a man again."