Lights of Her Mind

He didn't want to go back there, and he couldn't comfort himself by explaining why. But he strolled back to Annelore's manor with the witch-girl at his side, both of them trapped in an awkward quiet. He felt none of her thoughts for the first time in a long time. There was nothing at all.

If nothing else, the fact that she had never done this before severely troubled him. She had readily accepted their relationship from the instant she had exploded into his head with rays of eagerness and brilliance, exposing herself in her inexperience with her talents. Now, however, she pulled back. She refused to give him a glance. She didn't say anything as her eyes strayed into the side darkness. There was no denying her anger. However, with him? No, he didn't want to believe that, or maybe he couldn't.

Finally, unable to stand the distance any longer, he came to a stop in the middle of the road, his hands fumbling with his staff's smooth wood. He hadn't yet turned to face her. She stopped as well, imitating his pause, although she hardly seemed to notice. "Child," he said gently, then extended his mental hand in the hopes of better connecting with her in this way. Youngster? She didn't even look at him, though.

Gramor did something unusual: he walked over to her and put a kind touch on her shoulder. He had never thought it would be nice for her either, even though she never flinched when he made such contact. She didn't even recognize him this time, though. He yearned to see her face, to catch a glimpse of her eyes, anything to show her feelings. "Amara," he said softly.

"You're right," she said abruptly, turning to look at him at the same moment. She felt his touch on her shoulder, and a moment of bewilderment passed across her face. But as usual, she showed no signs of being bothered. In fact, after speaking, she appeared to be about to disappear once more.

"Am I correct?" he asked. "You mean my caution?" Finally, he felt a spark of wrath emanating from her consciousness. She might accept that he was right, but she was obviously offended. He lowered his voice in an attempt to console. Therefore, we are obstacles in his path, and he is a task. It might be true. But he still wants to get you away from me, no matter what. He hesitated a moment. "He might value you more than any mortal in this world."

His remarks, if anything, just made her angrier. His fingers ached from the abrupt release as she wrenched away from his palm and faced him as though he were an enemy. She asked, "Should I care about it?" which was a question he hadn't expected. "What is he to me? He is a gift from God. You have damned blood, and you are more to me! Should I take pride in the fact that I betrayed my own devotion to get his?

Then she whirled away from him, and the lights of her consciousness came flooding back to him, first slowly, then quickly. "It is human blood," she added in a purposeful tone, "that submits to such a god-sent without inquiry." She hesitated to murder him because of human blood, and I stayed to bandage his wounds when I ought to have attended to hers because of human blood! Forget about human frailties and blood! Isn't I a witch? How does human blood—? However, after saying this, she stumbled and her voice trailed off into nothingness.

"Is a witch not a person?" He ventured, glad to feel something at all from her, even this mixture of fury and self-doubt. "As opposed to the rest of mortalkind, not bound to holy blood?"

With a voice so gentle that it chilled even his lifeless flesh, she said, "Then let me be like you." "Your fate is better than mine."

He just grabbed her arm and twisted her to face him once more without planning his response. He may have held on too tightly and turned her too quickly, but he didn't stop to consider it. She gasped in agony. He ripped the hood off his face, fell on his knees in front of her, and grabbed her chin, making her look into his eyes. With a deep and raw rage that he couldn't remember ever unleashing at her before, he snarled, "You want this?" "You wish to share in this fate?"

Amara didn't even hesitate to comply. She didn't try to turn her head away or strain in his grasp. She just stared at him for a long time in silence, her thoughts a whirlpool of blues and golds, unheard words entwined with a bittersweet affection. "You know," she whispered, her voice soft and childlike in a way that was rarely the case, "I had forgotten." "Should I be sorry that you don't seem strange to me?" she asked after pausing.

For a moment, her words made him numb, but then he made himself let her go. In order to breathe, he even had to force himself. He had never considered the possibility that she had forgotten his hideous features. His mouth was dry once more. "I apologize," he replied quietly. "I apologize." He got up, moving slowly and unsteadily, and then he felt her hand grab his. "Amara."

"Yes, instructor?" Without resentment for his roughness just seconds before, she responded with ease. "What is it?"

He attempted to talk but was unable to do so because he had nothing to say. Finally, he turned to the road ahead and led her on again, reassuring her that it was nothing. He reattached his hood almost inattentively. "We're going to see Elyra now." Despite the matron's cautions, he did not advise her to go alone. He suspected more and more, remembering the night before, that this no longer worried her. Now that the youngster understood the elderly woman was her grandmother, he didn't want her to deal with it alone. And in order to completely close this chapter of his life, he might have needed to visit Elyra personally.

But for reasons he couldn't understand, his rage at the elderly woman had already subsided with Amara at his side.