He can feel her presence
even before he steps into the Arcanist’s Guild. If that sensation had a sound,
it would hit him like a chain of clean, pure notes amidst constant buzzing
static. He hadn’t realized how alone he felt until now, when he’s about to meet
with someone whose mind mirrors his own. Someone whose thought processes and
emotions – whose very personality – has been subtly altered by magicks so new
that even the greatest mages in the realm are as yet unaware of their
existence… or perhaps so old that they became lost to time until an amoral
genius discovered them anew and unleashed them on a hapless Duskwight.
But Michaux stopped
thinking of himself as a mere victim a long time ago. He didn’t ask for Elinore
to give him these mental abilities, but now that he’s had them for
approximately ten moons, they’re a part of him. He wouldn’t give them up now
even if he could, no matter how much pain and trauma they’ve brought him, and
no matter how many bad decisions they’ve prompted him to make.
Which brings him to the
present moment. Because he thinks he’s just made one of the biggest mistakes of
his life, and he needs to talk to someone who will understand why.
After entering the
guild, his steps lead him unerringly to the private quarters of the live-in
arcanists. He comes to a stop before a particular door, lifting his hand to
knock, but then he lowers it again. Someone is already stirring within. His
presence has already been felt.
The door opens, and he
finds himself looking down into a pair of golden eyes that glow with subtle
aetherlight. He once found that strange, luminous quality to her eyes
disconcerting, but now he knows that his own eyes have the same understated
glow.
Apart from her eyes,
Elinore looks somewhat different than he remembers. Her naturally bronze skin
tone has deepened in a tan, and her petite figure – once so waifish that it
seemed a strong wind might carry her off – has filled out slightly. She’s
wearing less clothing than he’s ever seen on her – a tight black top and a
short gray skirt instead of the long, voluminous dresses that she’d once
favored – but it suits her somehow. She’s no longer a daughter of Ishgard,
though, that much seems clear. La Noscea has claimed her as its own.
They gaze at each other
in silence for several long moments. Then Elinore smirks faintly and holds the
door open for him. “You’re dying to tell me something. You’d better say it
quick before I pluck it out of your head myself.”
Michaux hadn’t really expected much in the way of a greeting, so he’s not
disappointed by her brusqueness. He knows this woman almost as well as she
knows herself.
Roses And Grimoires 